Safety wasn't a concern. Though magic attacks could be devastating, the academy had taken precautions.
Every competitor received an equally strong magic shield from the same high-level mage—at minimum an advanced magus.
Magic Shield, a fifth-tier spell only accessible to advanced magi, ensured protection. The match ended when either shield broke. Despite the flashy, dangerous-looking duels, no serious injuries had occurred in the tournament's history.
Most participants were novice mages or apprentices, their combat indices barely reaching 200. Even if a shield broke, direct hits wouldn't be fatal. The academy gave free rein to the competition.
Beatrice's mere appearance shattered her opponent's morale.
Who didn't know the Lightning Class's ace? The moment they stepped onto the field with their shields, the poor novice mage looked ready to cry.
"Sis Sisi, go easy on me? Let me lose gracefully?" The rugged-looking boy whispered.
"Then forfeit now. Saves us both trouble." Beatrice smirked.
"No way! That's worse. How about we fake a fight? You dramatically crush me after an 'epic' battle? At least make it entertaining—"
"No talking during matches. Next word and you're disqualified." The judge glared at the boy.
"But she talked too! Why only—"
"She wouldn't have if you hadn't started!" The judge cut him off. "Begin!"
"Forfeit? Or get fried?" Beatrice threw a sultry glance that froze the boy stiff.
Seizing the chance, she unleashed a Palm Thunder. His shield rippled violently.
"That's cheating!" The boy paled as lightning struck, scrambling backward in dismay.
Perfect. Beatrice alternated between flirtatious winks and Thunderfall spells.
She was pleased. Last year, breaking a shield took multiple hits. Now? Three strikes max.
Her opponent stood no chance. Distracted by her charms, his shield shattered in moments.
"Trash." Beatrice didn't even break a sweat. The boy's eyes welled up as she strutted off.
"Number eight advances!" The judge recorded her victory.
*How's Eric and that wastrel doing?* Just then, she spotted Thunder approaching with a frustrated expression—yet his magic shield still glowed intact. Beatrice inexplicably felt cheered.
"You forfeited?!" she accused. His pristine condition suggested no fight occurred. She debated immediate execution if true.
"Nope. I won." Thunder's reply stunned her.
"How?!" A magic apprentice who couldn't cast beating anyone?
"My opponent got food poisoning. Bedridden."
"So you... won by default?" Beatrice felt the heavens were unjust.
"Judge's call." Thunder shrugged.
"Lucky bastard." She rolled her eyes.
"Let's check on Eric."
They found Eric locked in a grueling match—no free passes like Thunder. His opponent, a wind mage with a combat index of 160+, danced around his attacks.
Though Eric's spells packed more punch, they kept missing the agile wind mage. Both were panting, their shields flickering after prolonged exchanges.
"Eric's in trouble," Thunder observed.
"No kidding." Beatrice bit her lip. A first-round exit would be humiliating. But the wind mage was no pushover—never staying still for more than three seconds.
Eric's shield would break with one more hit, while his opponent's held slightly stronger.
"Looks like Eric took more hits earlier."
Beatrice's glare silenced Thunder.
Suddenly, Eric fired a Palm Thunder from distance. The wind mage grinned—thinking Eric exhausted—and dodged sideways...
Right into a waiting Paralysis Net.
Eric smiled in relief.
"Paralysis Net! Brilliant!" Beatrice cheered.
The second-tier spell dealt little damage but numbed the body—fatal in a close match.
The wind mage realized too late. That Palm Thunder had been bait, herding him into this trap.
As numbness set in, he could only watch Eric's Thunderfall strike—once, twice—shattering his shield.
Nothing was crueler than seeing death approach while paralyzed.
"Number nine advances!"
**Will Thunder's luck hold—or will the next round expose him?**