The Academy Arena was packed.
That vast circular amphitheater, usually reserved for end-of-year trials, was hosting a special event today: the Orion Class midterm challenge.
At the announcement of the duel, the entire academy had turned out. Not only were the Orion students participating, but the Novas had also gathered — eager to gauge the strength of the so-called "general" students.
The students filled the stone stands, while at the center, the arena's sandy floor awaited its combatants.
On a slightly elevated platform, Master Calem stepped forward. His voice, enhanced by an echo spell, rang out with crisp authority:
"Welcome, everyone.
Today's midterm challenge will follow the traditional format: an Orion trio versus a selected Nova student.
The combatants are as follows: William of Orion, Lina of Orion, Menma of Orion… versus Zarek of Nova."
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Zarek? One of the most explosive and gifted Novas of his class? Against three Orions who, while showing promise, were still little more than potential?
"Simple rules," Calem continued. "The match ends if one side yields, is incapacitated, or if an instructor calls it.
Victory goes to whoever defeats their opponents or forces their surrender."
He paused, letting the silence build.
"Let the trial begin."
The sand crunched underfoot.
Zarek stepped forward, clad in a light black combat uniform reinforced with segmented plates. His golden eyes scanned the field with nonchalant calm.
Across from him, William, Lina, and Menma took their positions. Not a word passed between them. Their teamwork would speak through action.
William moved first.
Fast and surgical, he darted toward Zarek, unleashing a flurry of magical projectiles. They weren't powerful strikes, but precise and rhythmic — designed to force movement.
Zarek dodged effortlessly, not retaliating.
Lina immediately raised a curved barrier, cutting off Zarek's angle and forcing him to pivot sharply. Menma, positioned diagonally, launched an amplified dagger. The hiss of air broke the tension — Zarek barely deflected it with a conjured flame shield.
"They're boxing him in…" murmured a Nova, a bit surprised.
"Tch. They're just Orions. He's holding back, obviously," scoffed another.
The exchanges intensified.
William kept up the pressure, Menma struck in support or from range, amplifying the speed or weight of his daggers just before impact. Lina, steady and composed, placed curved shields wherever gaps appeared, covering blind spots.
Zarek, until now, was merely on defense. And it worked.
"What's Zarek doing? Why is he just dodging?" frowned one Nova.
"He's playing. He wants to enjoy this… not like him, though."
But the Orion team believed.
Their training was bearing fruit. Menma's movements were cleaner now. He wasn't fast — but he was precise. His dagger throws were controlled. He created openings; the others exploited them.
Then Zarek stopped.
"Alright," he said with a smile. "That was fun enough."
A quiet sigh. A brief glance toward Menma.
And everything changed.
Zarek snapped his fingers. A wave of heat rippled outward. Flames suddenly burst from his fists, and a wide arc of fire swept across the front line.
His next attack came fast — a focused jet of fire. Lina countered with a curved shield. It held. But the next blast cracked it open.
"He's ramping up," said a Nova, more focused now.
Zarek surged forward. Lina tried to backpedal, but he was already there. A flaming punch shattered her defense. The impact hurled her back into the sand — unmoving. Unconscious.
"Lina!" William shouted.
He charged blindly, but Zarek was faster. A right hook, wreathed in flame, brought William crashing down. His arm was singed, his breathing shallow.
Only Menma remained.
Zarek turned to him, eyes gleaming.
"You're the strong one, right?" he said with a grin.
He vanished.
Menma tried to react, but too late — a storm of blows rained down.
A punch to the gut. An elbow to the shoulder. A sweeping kick.
Menma endured. He didn't fall. Each hit rocked him, but he remained standing.
In the stands, silence fell.
"He's still up?!" gasped a Nova.
"He can't fight back… but he's still holding on…"
"This is madness. Why isn't he countering? He's just… taking it…"
Menma kept his guard up. His arms trembled. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth. But he didn't step back.
He didn't have time to retaliate — so he stood his ground.
Zarek stared, frowning.
He should be stronger than this… Ayame didn't lie to me, did she?
Troubled, he chose to end it.
His flames flared — shifting to blue. He began to cast his most destructive spell.
"No!" someone screamed. "That'll kill him!"
"Stop him! He's going too far!"
In the crowd, Ayame stood, ready to intervene. But before she could move—
A blinding light split the air.
A colossal divine sword hovered above Zarek, gleaming with holy brilliance.
"Divine Judgment."
Masaru's voice rang out — calm, unyielding.
He stood tall, gaze like a final verdict.
"Enough, Zarek. You've gone too far."
Zarek froze. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"W-Whoa. Alright. Alright. I'm done, I'm done… I just thought he was stronger, that's all…"
The sword of light faded. Masaru lowered his hand.
He stepped back, voice quieter now:
"Did Ayame give me false hope?" he muttered.
Ayame slowly sat back down.
Calem rose as well, his voice clear and final:
"Victory goes to Zarek."
In the arena, William and Lina rushed to Menma.
He was still standing. Arms raised in guard. Eyes half-closed.
But he didn't respond.
He was unconscious.
And still — he had never once let himself fall.
All around them, even the Novas had fallen silent.
And in one corner of the arena, Zarek watched Menma, frowning, still not understanding.