The midday sun beat down on the Grand Arena, but in a section of the spectators box, the atmosphere was downright festive.

Cassian sat in his chair, humming a cheerful tune as he looked at his academy medallion projection which shows his stacked academy marks. Outside the academy, a single Mark traded for ten gold sovereigns, making the academy marks in Cassian’s medallion worth a small barony.

“I love this tournament, I love the magic, I love the violence, and most importantly, I love you, Ray.”

Cassian sighed happily, tossing his medallion into the air and catching it

Rina rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her iced tea.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Master Cassian. Ray is the one doing all the tactical analysis. You’re just the one badgering the bookies.”

Behind them, Svane let out a low, rumbling chuckle, his arms crossed over his chest.

Down on the arena floor, the arena was magically being restored over by academy proctors as Bruce Doyle’s voice boomed to life once more, vibrating through the stadium.

“What a morning folks! We’ve seen barriers broken, bodies battered, and absolute combat perfection! But the crucible never rests!”

Bruce roared, whipping the crowd back into a frenzy.

“We now move to the Second Round of the Second Level Groups! Twelve combatants remain in this bracket. Less brawn, more brain, and a whole lot of magical collateral damage!”

As the 2nd Level Group matches commenced, Ray leaned forward, the Grizzled Commander’s ‘Commander’s Eye’ skill active. The majority physical brawlers of the First Level Groups in the morning were replaced by mages who relied on intricate spell-weaving and elemental control.

One participant in particular caught Ray’s attention.

“Next up, representing the College of Arcanum, the siren of the 2nd-Circle… Melodye Norden!”

Bruce announced.

Melodye, a petite girl with flowing blonde hair and a deceptively innocent smile, stepped into the ring. Her opponent was a Rank-2 Iron Blade from the minor College of Combat (Valor), a massive, heavily armored juggernaut carrying a steel broadsword.

In her hand, Melodye casually twirled a beautifully crafted, twin-pronged silver tuning fork.

The magical bell rang.

The Iron Blade roared, dropping his visor and charging like a runaway siege engine.

Melodye simply smiled. She didn’t retreat. She raised her free hand and cheerfully snapped her fingers.

“Hush.”

She cast the Cantrip spell: Sonic Lash.

CRACK.

A sharp noise, like a physical whip breaking the sound barrier, echoed across the sand. The armored fighter suddenly staggered. He didn’t cover his ears; he dropped his heavy sword entirely to clutch at his temples, his forward momentum dying instantly as he let out a garbled groan of sudden agony.

Before he could recover, Melodye stepped delicately into his guard. She smiled sweetly up at him and struck her silver tuning fork lightly against his steel breastplate.

She cast another Cantrip spell: Deafening Ring

BOOM.

A localized shockwave of concussive sound erupted from the tuning fork in a tight, five-foot radius. The sheer acoustic pressure lifted the heavy fighter off his feet and hurled him backward into the dirt.

To the naked eye, and to the roaring crowd, it was a masterful display of pure Sound magic. High-pitched whistles and booming concussive bangs echoed across the arena, forcing the fighter to scramble backward as Melodye casually hummed a tune and walked after him. The crowd cheered, completely captivated by the petite mage bullying the armored giant.

But through the Commander’s Eye, Ray saw a glaring tactical anomaly.

The geometric overlay of the fight was completely out of sync. The predictive vectors showed the armored fighter’s muscles spasming, his pupils dilating, and his stance breaking before the physical shockwaves of the sound magic actually hit him. He was reacting to an impact that didn’t exist on the physical plane.

Ray narrowed his eyes. He pushed his focus deeper, initiating a Tri-Concurrent Partial Immersion.

He activated the Serene Cultivator’s ‘Aetheric Perception’ skill and the Gritty Detective’s ‘Observation’ skill overlaying it over the Commander’s Eye.

The physical world washed out into a highly detailed, multi-spectral schematic. The Gritty Detective’s Observation hyper-focused on the microscopic ripples in the air from the tuning fork, while the Cultivator’s Aetheric Perception illuminated the glowing currents of ambient energy. Here, the anomaly was undeniable.

Weaver: “Look at the thread tension, Ray! It is not a single spell. It is a dual-cast! She is using those loud, flashy Sound based spells as a hollow shell, and weaving a completely different, invisible mana signature directly into the core!”

The Crimson Weaver chimed in, using his foundational mastery of Mana Weaving to rapidly dissect the spell structure in Ray’s mind.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Through the combined lenses, Ray finally saw it. Hidden perfectly beneath the booming noise of the tuning fork, masked by the sheer volume, were insidious, invisible spikes of a completely different energy, a volatile mana that bypassed physical armor and drove straight into the opponent’s cerebral cortex like hot needles.

[SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

[EVENT: MULTI-DISCIPLINARY ANALYSIS]

[PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: INSPIRED]

[ANALYSIS: Host successfully utilized a Tri-Concurrent Partial Immersion to deconstruct a highly concealed, dual-cast spell in real-time. The seamless integration of tactical pre-cognition (‘Commander’s Eye’), energetic visualization (‘Aetheric Perception’), micro-detail deduction (‘Observation’), and structural magic theory (‘Mana Weaving’) represents an exceptional level of analytical processing and battlefield awareness. Largest mastery gain.]

[Commander’s Eye: +10% , Aetheric Perception: +15%, Observation: +10%.]

[MASTERY CAPSTONE REACHED: ‘Aetheric Perception’ at 100%.]

[You have transcended mimicry and achieved true artistry in this skill.]

[MASTERY CAPSTONE REACHED: ‘Observation’ at 100%.]

[You have transcended mimicry and achieved true artistry in this skill.]

[INSPIRED RESULT: Your deep structural analysis of spellcraft has evolved your magical sight. You have unlocked the Crimson Weaver skill: ‘Weaver’s Eye’. You can actively detect and identify the specific elemental or affinity-based signature of active spells and concealed mana constructs.]

[CUMULATIVE SKILL MASTERY THRESHOLD MET: 10+ CAPSTONES ACHIEVED]

[…]

Ray felt a sharp surge of satisfaction. Two more skills pushed to absolute mastery, plus a brand-new Crimson Weaver ability that would permanently upgrade his magical sight. It was a massive leap forward. He caught a glimpse of the final, pulsing alert regarding a ‘Cumulative Skill Mastery Threshold,’ his heart skipping a beat at the implication of a major system milestone.

But another piercing, high-pitched whistle from the arena jerked his focus back to the dirt.

He couldn’t afford a distraction right now, not when a combatant he believes is dangerous was revealing her hand. With a swift mental command, Ray swiped the glowing text boxes to the periphery of his vision, dismissing the milestone alerts to review later. His eyes locked back onto the petite blonde, refusing to miss a single frame of data.

Melodye didn’t go for a quick knockout. She toyed with him, her sadistic tempo slowly stripping away his sanity. Every time he managed to close the distance, she would cast the 1st-Circle spell: Concussive Wave to physically push him back, resetting the board. And every time she struck her tuning fork to generate a new sound barrier, she drove another invisible mental barb into his mind.

The bulky fighter began swinging his sword wildly at empty air, fighting terrifying hallucinations only he could perceive. He stumbled over his own feet, his heavy plate armor entirely useless against an attack that tore at his mind. Finally, without a single physical scratch on his body, the fighter dropped to his knees, clutching his helmet, screaming in absolute psychological agony until he surrendered.

“And Melodye Norden takes the win!”

Bruce announced cheerfully.

“A beautiful melody, and a terrible migraine for her opponent! The Arcanum choir is accepting auditions, folks, but I highly recommend bringing earplugs!”

Scholar: “Diabolical! Utterly diabolical! Dual-casting sensory obfuscation to mask a psychic assault! Her mana control is exquisite!”

The Eccentric Scholar practically vibrated with terror and awe in Ray’s mind.

Detective: “Take note of her, kid. She’s a sadist in a silk dress. That wasn’t a fight; it was an interrogation.”

The Gritty Detective warned and noted grimly.

Ray rubbed his temples, making a mental note to avoid fighting Melodye without a solid mental ward.

Cassian immediately flashed a predatory smile, raising his student medallion.

“Ah, perfect timing. For the first match of the third level, I’d like to bet forty Marks on…”

“I apologize, Senior Cassian, but the collective rings can no longer accept your wagers.”

The student interrupted, bowing politely but sweating profusely.

Cassian blinked, his medallion hovering mid-air.

“Excuse me? Why not?”

“Because, sir, you haven’t lost a single bet since you started. You are twelve for twelve. You are… Well, you are bleeding all the bookies dry. The independent bookies had to hold an emergency meeting just now. We, I mean, they, have officially agreed to place you on a universal blacklist for the remainder of the tournament.”

The student swallowed hard, glancing nervously at Ray, as if expecting the party leader to object to the racket’s decision.

Rina burst into genuine laughter, nearly spilling her tea, while Svane gave an approving grunt.

“A universal blacklist?”

Cassian looked utterly indignant, though a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his medallion.

“I am simply a keen observer of the combat arts! This is a coordinated boycott!”

“It’s a compliment, Cassian,”

Ray chuckled, leaning back as the student representative practically fled the spectator box.

“You broke the student economy.”

Cassian was about to retort, but he was cut off by the thunderous roar of the crowd as the 3rd Level Groups officially kicked off.

The first bout was a brutal, fast-paced reminder of why these competitors had made it this far. In the opening match, a towering 3rd-Circle Earth-mage from the College of Arcanum was systematically dismantled by a nimble Rank-3 Silver Fist from the minor College of Empty Hand (Valor).

Ray leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the Silver Fist’s movements. There was something fundamentally different about the participant’s fighting style.

“What a weird footwork?”

Ray murmured, not taking his eyes off participants in the arena.

“The power generation is entirely different from the standard academy forms. He’s anchoring his weight in a strange way right before impact, generating explosive force from a dead stop.”

Cassian adjusted his collar, watching the fight with a critical, appreciative eye.

“Good catch, Ray. That’s because it isn’t an Eldorian form. It’s Valorian.”

Ray glanced at him, surprised.

“Valorian?”

“Specifically, the Empty Hand style pioneered here by Master Hadrick Stoneblade,”

Cassian explained casually.

“He’s a Valorian exile. The student count of the minor College of Empty Hand is notoriously tiny. Most students here wouldn’t be caught dead learning the martial arts of an enemy kingdom, but a few purists recognize its raw, brutal efficiency.”

Ray blinked, a sudden wave of realization washing over him as he turned back to the fight.

Master Hadrick.

He thought as his mind flashed back to his first year. Master Hadrick hadn’t just been his professor for the foundational Body Tempering 101 class; the grizzled exile had also been his personal tutor during his isolation in the Spire of Sages.

It made total sense why Ray hadn’t recognized the style immediately. During those grueling private sessions, Hadrick had only put him through hellish physical conditioning during their tutor session. It had been a pure, punishing extension of Body Tempering 101 meant to forge his physique, not to teach him the actual combat applications of his homeland’s art.

Now, Ray’s horizon has broadened again. As the Silver Fist slipped past a jagged stone pillar and delivered a concussive, armor-shattering palm strike to the mage’s ribs, Ray’s Tactical Replication Protocol hummed to life in the background. He watched with quiet, intense focus, mentally logging the Valorian breathing rhythms and striking mechanics, eagerly gathering the martial data he had been denied last year.

The second bout was much shorter, a pure, visceral clash of steel between two Rank-3 Silver Blades from the minor College of Combat (Valor) that ended in a crushing shield-bash knockout barely two minutes after the bell.

Ray noted their tactical habits as well, but his posture didn’t truly straighten until the arena staff dragged the unconscious loser from the sands. The undercards were over. It was time.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep