Respect was rarely given.
It was measured, weighed, and often denied.
In noble households, it was even more complicated. Respect was not born from truth.
It was born from display. Strength, especially magical strength, erased doubt faster than any explanation ever could.
Baston understood this clearly.
He did not need them to like him. He needed them to hesitate before underestimating him again. And there was only one language that noble families truly acknowledged.
It was power.
The arena inside Alicia's mansion had not been prepared hastily. That much was obvious.
The polished marble floor reflected the chandelier light too evenly. The boundary runes carved along the edges of the circular platform glowed faintly, indicating pre-installed protective enchantments. The servants moved efficiently and quietly as if they had rehearsed this.
This was not spontaneous. They had expected this or perhaps, they had arranged it.
Baston sat on a wooden bench at the edge of the training ground while the final preparations were made.
He appeared relaxed, breathing slowly, and eyes half-lidded. A fat boy about to be humiliated in a noble's home. That was what most of them saw but Baston was observing everything.
The number of servants present, the positioning of spectators, and the slight fluctuation of mana in the upper balcony.
Someone was watching and not merely watching. That person was evaluating.
The mana signature was faint, almost respectful in its concealment.
Whoever cast the observation spell was experienced.
It did not probe aggressively. It simply lingered like a quiet eye behind a curtain.
Baston resisted the urge to look toward the balcony. Looking would confirm awareness and awareness would change the evaluation.
Instead, he shifted slightly on the bench and adjusted his sleeve as if uncomfortable. The small gesture was deliberate, clumsy, and harmless.
Let them think he sensed nothing.
But inside, he reorganized his plan.
If this duel was a performance, then it must not look like a performance. It must look natural.
Calculated but not staged, strong but not threatening, and capable but not ambitious.
The line between impressive and dangerous was thin in noble households. Too much brilliance invited control and too much weakness invited contempt.
He needed something in between which was measured excellence.
He did not defend himself too much earlier when the younger boys mocked and cornered him.
There was no point.
Words would dissolve inside this mansion like mist under sunlight.
If he accused Theodore and the others of bullying, the adults would smile gently and call it youthful misunderstanding.
Apologies would come but it was meaningless.
Theodore would still look down on him. The others would still laugh when his back was turned.
This duel was inevitable the moment he stepped into this house but inevitability could be useful. They thought this was disadvantageous for him.
Inside enemy territory where surrounded by noble blood and under their rules, they did not know that Baston had agreed for a reason.
If Alicia's father wished to evaluate him, then Baston would give him something worth evaluating.
The butler stepped forward into the center of the arena, his posture straight and voice steady.
"Alright, everyone. This is only a sparring. There is no need to take it too seriously. You may use your magic freely. If any dangerous or excessive spell is unleashed, I will immediately negate it. I will also intervene if either of you is unable to continue. Without further ado… Begin!"
Theodore stepped into the circle confidently, chin slightly raised.
"You can attack first," he said with a faint smirk, "If I attack first, you might lose too quickly. That would be too boring."
A few boys snickered behind him but Baston did not reply.
He appreciated the offer. He needed information so without a word, he lifted one hand. His mana gathered.
There was no chant and no spell name.
The air temperature dropped subtly before a sharp glacier shard condensed instantly and shot forward.
Theodore's arrogance vanished in a blink.
"WIND SHIELD!"
A swirling wall of compressed wind formed in front of him just in time.
The ice shard collided and shattered. The sound echoed sharply in the arena.
Gasps soon followed. Not because of the collision but because of the silence that preceded it.
Baston had not spoken.
Among novice wizards, incantation stabilized mana.
Among intermediates, speaking the spell name accelerated release.
Among advanced users, silence was enough.
Whispers soon spread. The reaction was precisely what he expected. The shock came first, the doubt came second, and reevaluation came third.
The younger boys responded with emotion but the older observers did not. One of them leaned slightly forward. Another crossed his arms, studying instead of reacting.
Baston noticed.
In noble families, children learned early that magic was inheritance and inheritance defined hierarchy.
A poor boy who was displaying silent casting disrupted that invisible ladder.
It was not the ice shard that unsettled them. It was the implication.
Where did he learn that?
Who taught him?
Who supported him?
Power without backing was suspicious and power with unknown backing was dangerous.
Let them wonder which one he was.
"He didn't chant…"
"How…?"
"Is he that proficient?"
Theodore's expression hardened, "Don't get cocky just because you can cast quickly! Battle isn't decided by technique alone!"
He swung his arm violently, "WIND SLASH!"
A crescent blade of wind tore forward. Before it could reach Baston, an ice slab rose from the ground, intercepting it.
Then, another wind magic hurled before another ice magic stopped it.
Wind blades rained from multiple angles as Theodore accelerated, his body lightened by wind magic.
He darted across the arena, casting rapidly, and trying to find an opening. Wind magic favored speed, fluidity, and relentless pressure.
Meanwhile, ice favored stability, control, and endurance.
Baston did not chase. He did not rush.
Ice pillars emerged around him in precise positions, forming calculated barriers rather than random defense.
Every slab was angled and every placement was deliberate.
He was not constructing barriers randomly.
Each pillar altered wind flow and each surface forced Theodore to adjust casting trajectory.
Ice did not merely block wind. It redirected it.
The frost mist thickened intentionally and visibility decreased by a fraction. Not enough to impair spectators but enough to disrupt Theodore's peripheral awareness.
Wind relied on freedom while ice imposed on terrain.
Baston was slowly converting a speed-based duel into a territory-based duel and Theodore did not realize it. That was the real gap between them.
It wasn't power but understanding.
Wind scraped against frozen surfaces and frost mist filled the air. Still, Theodore could not penetrate the defense.
From the side of the arena, the butler narrowed his eyes.
Baston's style was efficient, too efficient to cope.
The fat boy was not merely defending. He was studying.
Each wind slash revealed Theodore's casting rhythm and each movement exposed his mana output.
After several exchanges, Theodore changed tactics.
He halted while his mana surged.
"WIND CANNON!"
A compressed sphere of rotating air blasted forward with explosive force.
"BAAAAM!"
The first ice slab shattered violently. Fragments scattered across the arena floor but behind it stood multiple blocks.
Baston had layered them. The second slab absorbed the remaining force.
Theodore grinned briefly.
The impact radius was smaller than Baston anticipated. It was quite interesting.
Wind cannon emphasized penetration over spread.
Its concentrated force was lethal against a single target but inefficient against layered defense.
So that was Theodore's strongest offensive option at this stage.
Baston stored the information carefully.
In future encounters with wind users, vertical mobility and layered obstruction would remain effective.
Even during sparring, knowledge was profit. And profit was never wasted.
"I can break them! How long will you hide inside rocks?"
The taunt echoed but Baston said nothing.
Instead, more ice erupted from the floor. Not merely walls but structures. Half of the arena slowly transformed into a frozen maze.
The movement space shrank rapidly, making the wind lost its advantage.
Theodore's brows twitched.
The spectators murmured uneasily and the butler's expression shifted.
This was no longer efficient mana usage.
This was excessive yet Baston did not appear strained. His breathing remained steady and his eyes were calm. That was not right.
Ice magic consumed significant mana.
Creating this many constructs should have exhausted someone of his apparent level.
"How much mana does he have…?" the butler wondered silently.
Theodore's attacks became less frequent. His breathing grew heavier and his wind cannon required more focus now.
The imbalance was subtle but to experienced eyes, the outcome was already written.
The subtle tremor in Theodore's left hand did not escape Baston either.
Mana exhaustion always revealed itself physically before collapse. Shoulders stiffened, casting rhythm fractured, and eye focus narrowed.
The spectators could not see these signs clearly from distance but Baston could.
He adjusted nothing outwardly, he did not increase pressure, and he simply maintained it.
Sustained calm was more terrifying than aggression.
Theodore was not losing to force. He was losing to inevitability.
"Damn it…" Theodore thought desperately, "If I don't change something, I'll lose."
His gaze flickered upward. Soon, an idea popped up but it was quite risky.
Mana surged again but this time, it was much longer and more unstable.
Baston watched quietly. He could interrupt and he could end this now but he did not. He wanted to see toward Theodore who already completed his incantation.
"FLY!"
Wind gathered beneath him, lifting his body slowly into the air. Gasps soon erupted among the audiences.
"He's flying!"
"That's quite advanced!"
From above the ice structures, Theodore now regained full visibility.
For a moment, the younger boys cheered loudly.
The balance seemed restored but Baston's eyes narrowed slightly.
Flying required continuous mana output and sustained control.
Theodore's reserves were already compromised. He was only accelerating his own defeat.
There was a brief flicker in the wind beneath Theodore's feet. It was almost imperceptible but it was there. The instability confirmed what Baston had calculated earlier.
The spell was beyond Theodore's sustainable limit.
If Baston attacked now, he could end it dramatically.
A precise ice spear, a shattered aerial balance, and a spectacular fall.
The audience would be shocked but spectacle was not his goal.
He prioritized his control against the circumstance so he waited. And by waiting, he allowed the defeat to appear self-inflicted. That was far more humiliating and far more memorable.
The butler quickly stepped forward immediately.
"The match is over! Baston wins…"
Outrage exploded from the spectators, "What?!"
"They're still fighting!"
"That's unfair!"
However, the butler's gaze remained firm.
Theodore's floating body trembled. His face paled and his wind magic destabilized. Before he could also protest, his consciousness faded.
The butler caught him mid-fall.
Silence descended, showing that the truth was simple.
Theodore had exhausted himself while Baston had not even attacked directly.
He had allowed the opponent to defeat himself.
The younger boys did not understand but the older observers did.
This was not overwhelming strength. This was calculated suffocation. More importantly, it was silent suffocation.
No grand finishing spell, no crushing finale, and no display meant to intimidate.
It was only steady pressure. To some, it appeared anticlimactic. To those who understood magic, it was unsettling because it suggested something deeper.
Restraint meant reserve, reserve meant hidden capacity, and hidden capacity was always more frightening than visible strength.
His mana management, psychological pacing, and control were beyond excellent.
Baston stepped back calmly as servants rushed forward.
He did not look triumphant and he did not look proud. He simply looked thoughtful as if the duel had answered a question only he knew existed.
Above the arena, behind a layered privacy enchantment, another pair of eyes had been watching the entire time.
Alicia's father stood in a quiet study with a hovering mirror before him. He had expected talent but he had not expected restraint.
The boy never panicked and never overextended.
He consumed Theodore's aggression and returned nothing unnecessary. More importantly, he had noticed something.
The slight pause before Theodore's final incantation and the way Baston did not interrupt. He had allowed the spell to complete.
Why?
To demonstrate superiority or to gather information?
The man folded his hands behind his back.
The fat boy did not behave like a child desperate to prove himself. He behaved like someone measuring the environment, testing the boundaries of his understanding about capacity.
A dangerous type of intelligence.
"Interesting…" he murmured.
In his mind, a quiet calculation began.
A talented child could become a powerful asset.
Moreover, a controlled and strategic mind were even more valuable. He misinterpreted Alicia's invitation as youthful admiration.
Perhaps, she had seen potential.
If cultivated properly, Baston could become useful. Not necessarily family by marriage but allegiance was more important than blood.
He could be a helper or a future pillar.
He turned away from the mirror, dispelling the magic slowly.
Outside the window, the mansion's gardens were bathed in afternoon light.
His voice was soft, "Not bad…"