CHAPTER 33 — Entrance exam (5)
The arena did not slow down.
It consumed time.
From the moment Rowan stepped out after his first victory, the duels blurred into a relentless sequence of flashes—fire tearing through air, wind splitting stone, water crashing against barriers that shimmered and vanished like glass under pressure.
"Next match!"
The voice echoed again.
And again.
And again.
Day 1 unfolded like a storm that refused to settle.
Rowan sat among the crowd, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His axe lay across his lap, his fingers tapping lightly against the worn handle.
Though at first he was watching the matches for pure excitement and to wait until his turn.
But as the time and dueals progressed.
Rowan couldn't help but notice things.
A boy in red robes cast three consecutive fire spells—his shoulders dipped by the third.
Fatigue.
A girl in green moved constantly—never rooted, never predictable.
Footwork.
Another contestant raised barrier after barrier of water—but each one flickered a fraction slower than the last.
Delay.
Rowan's gaze sharpened with each passing match.
The commentator's voice boomed again.
Another pair entered.
Another clash erupted.
A spear of flame tore through the air—only to be split apart by a spiraling current of wind. A moment later, a burst of water crashed down, forcing one of the contestants to stumble back.
"—and that's another elimination!"
The crowd roared.
Rowan sat among them, leaning slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes didn't wander.
They watched.
Carefully.
Not just the spectacle—
But the details.
Beside him, Eldric casually tossed popcorn into his mouth.
"…You're not watching for fun anymore, are you?"
Rowan didn't look at him.
His eyes fixed on the areana watching the matches of other contestants. Too engrossed to reply.
His eyes followed the moments of the two contestents fighting each other.
One attacked relentlessly—spell after spell, barely giving space to breathe. But his stance stayed rigid. Rooted.
Predictable.
The other retreated—but each step wasn't
backward.
It angled.
Guided.
Drawing the opponent into a position where
his own momentum betrayed him.
Rowan's eyes followed every shift.
Every misstep.
Every hesitation.
Not missing a single moment.
Looking at how much Rowan was engrossed in it.
Eldric's lips curved faintly.
But he said nothing.
By the time the sun began to dip—
The first day ended.
The noise faded.
The crowds thinned.
And the arena, for the first time since morning, exhaled.
---
Night.
The city of Aetheria shimmered under golden lights.
Towering buildings stood like silent guardians, their edges glowing faintly against the dark sky. Lanterns floated along pathways, casting soft halos of light that stretched and bent along the polished streets.
The air felt cooler.
Quieter.
But alive.
Rowan and Eldric walked side by side through a narrower street, far from the chaos of the arena.
No roaring crowds.
No explosions of magic.
Just the distant murmur of conversations, the occasional laughter drifting through the air, and the rhythmic clatter of utensils from roadside stalls.
They stopped near a small food stall.
Steam rose from iron pans, curling into the night air. The scent of roasted spices, grilled meat, and warm broth lingered heavily, wrapping around them like an invisible pull.
Rowan sat down on a wooden bench, stretching his arms behind his back before letting them fall.
"…There are a lot of strong people."
Eldric snorted.
"Took you long enough to notice."
Rowan didn't react.
His gaze remained forward, unfocused, as if replaying something in his head..
"…They're not just strong."
A pause.
"They know what they're doing."
That was the difference.
Not in the power.
But in Understanding.
Eldric took a slow sip from his drink.
"…Good."
Rowan glanced at him
.
Eldric didn't return the look.
"If you didn't realize that, you would lost tomorrow."
The words were simple and direct.
No comfort.
No reassurance.
Just truth.
Rowan lowered his gaze to his hands, watching his fingers curl slightly before relaxing again.
He nodded slowly.
"…Yeah."
For a moment, his thoughts drifted.
To his time at the dojo competition. When he was fighting for the recommendation letter.
For a moment, silence settled between them.
Rowan looked up again, his eyes drifting across the street—the warm glow of lanterns reflecting off polished stone, people walking in small groups, laughter mixing with the scent of food drifting through the air.
The world felt… alive.
And for a second—
He just sat there, watching.
The food on his plate slowly cooling down.
"…Now that I think about it," Rowan muttered quietly, "I had almost lost the dojo compilation."
"Does everything takes a long time for you to understand?"
Rowan's lips pressed into a thin line.
Eldric who was causally eating his food didn't even bother to look.
"You were quite lucky that Riven got mana rebound."He took another bite."That's the only reason you won."
Eldric pause for a bit, taking a deep breath.
"Don't expect that kind of luck here."
Eldric added, finally looking at him. "As the competition goes on, the weak get filtered out."
His gaze sharpened.
"Only the strong remains."
His eyes shifted back to his plate.
"So don't rely on spells alone..."
A brief silence.
"…Use your brain too."
"Hm."
Rowan nodded.
He lifted the plate and took a bite of his food. It had gone slightly cold—but the flavor still lingered, rich and grounding.
---
Day 2
The arena roared back to life.
But something had changed.
The fights were shorter.
Sharper.
Less wasteful.
Just as Eldric said.
The weaker contestants had already been filtered out.
Now—
Every match meant something.
The flame brust in the Areana.
The barrier flesh and the opponent was gone.
What remained was a girl with blazing red hair standing on the Areana.
The commentator's voice surged with excitement.
"Wow! Group 1 is progressing faster than any other—only twelve contestants remain!"
A brief pause—
"Next match—Group 8!"
Rowan stepped forward.
The stone beneath his boots felt familiar now.
Across from him stood his opponent.
A lean boy with ash-brown hair, tied loosely at the back. His uniform bore faint scorch marks, his sleeves slightly torn. His wand rested between his fingers—but his grip
wasn't tight.
It shifted subtly.
Rowan looks at his opponent.
'hmm... This guy.'
He remembered seeing his opponent's matches and analysising him.
Match begins.
The signal rang.
The match began.
The opponent moved first—
A burst of flame spiraled outward, forming into a sharp, compressed projectile.
Rowan didn't rush.
He stepped aside—
The flame grazed past.
The opponent followed immediately—
Another spell—
Faster.
Closer.
Rowan raised his axe—
"Water chop."
A curved arc surged forward.
The flame shattered.
Steam hissed.
The opponent stepped back—
Adjusted grip—
Again.
There.
Rowan moved.
He closed the distance.
Faster this time.
The opponent panicked slightly—wand lifted too quickly—
Spell misaligned.
Rowan swung—
"Fire chop."
The arc struck clean.
The opponent's stance broke.
Another swing—
"Wind chop."
The force knocked him off balance completely.
A flash—
And he was gone.
"The winner Rowan."
The matches continued.
And Rowan—
Adapted.
A boy who relied too much on defense—
Rowan pressed relentlessly, forcing him to collapse under pressure.
A girl who moved too much—Rowan predicted her path, cutting her off instead of chasing.
A contestant who overused lightning—Rowan waited for the delay between casts and struck precisely.
Each match—
Shorter.
Cleaner.
More controlled.
Rowan's breathing stayed steady.
His swings—
More deliberate.
Less wasted.
And More intended.
And By the end of Day 2—
The fights slowly reached their peak.
Boom.
The flames erupted.
Huff... Huff...
"Ohh..."The commentator's voice echoes.
"And with this the group 1 matches are over.
"The winner of group 1 is— Seraphine ignis."
On the areana Seraphine stood. Her breathing uneven but control.
With The group 1 getting it's Winner.
The day 2 came to an end.
---
Day 3
Match after match happened—
Rowan advanced.
Not through overwhelming force—
But through adaptation and observation.
Each opponent revealed something.
Each fight refined him.
And By the end of Day 3—
"The winner of group 3— Lyren Aerilon."
"The winner of group 4 — Selene Aquaryon"
Two more groups got their winners.
And now —
Only a fraction remained.
Day 4
The semi finals of group 8
The air itself felt heavier.
The crowd was louder.
Expectations sharper.
Now—
It was no longer just about passing.
It was about standing above others.
Rowan stood near the entrance tunnel, rolling his shoulder once before tightening his grip on the axe and then loosening it again. He exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing before stepping forward as his name was called.
The arena greeted him again—
But it felt different this time.
Sharper.
Focused.
Across from him stood his opponent.
Tall. Lean. Composed.
Short black hair framed a calm face, his posture straight but relaxed in a way that spoke of discipline rather than stiffness. His staff rested lightly in his hand, yet every finger held it with quiet precision.
Rowan noticed the details immediately.
The balance.
The breathing.
The stillness.
'This one… is different.'
The signal rang.
The match began.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then the opponent tapped his staff lightly against the ground. A subtle ripple passed through the air—faint, but deliberate.
Rowan felt it.
A test.
A measurement.
The opponent stepped forward and thrust his staff. A narrow beam of compressed wind shot forward, cutting through the air with sharp precision.
Rowan shifted his body just enough to let it pass, the edge brushing his sleeve.
Another came.
Faster.
Cleaner.
Rowan adjusted his footing, moving lightly as he avoided each strike. The attacks were precise, controlled—no wasted mana, no reckless casting.
Then Rowan stepped in.
Closing the distance.
His axe rose.
"Fire chop."
The arc surged forward.
The opponent sidestepped cleanly, avoiding it without trying to stop it.
Rowan's eyes sharpened.
'He doesn't block.'
The opponent advanced immediately, his staff striking downward with controlled force. Rowan twisted his body, the impact slamming into the ground beside him, pressing the surface slightly inward.
Rowan stepped back, repositioning.
Then—
He waited.
Watched.
The opponent reset.
Same stance.
Same rhythm.
Same motion.
And in that moment Rowan saw an opening.
'There.'
Rowan moved before the next attack fully formed.
He stepped inside the range.
"Water chop."
At that distance—
There was no time to react.
The arc struck directly.
The opponent staggered slightly.
That was enough.
Rowan stepped in again.
"Fire chop."
The follow-up hit landed clean.
The opponent's stance broke—
Flash.
He was gone.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
But Rowan remained still.
His breathing steady.
His gaze calm.
Already looking ahead.
---
CHAPTER ENDS