Long before Thunder stepped onto the stage, everyone had already predicted his fate—like a helpless lamb, he'd be bombarded off the platform in seconds.
But now, "Brother Meng" was making jaws drop across the arena.
No one had ever seen a lamb *dodge* like this. Every time an Ice Arrow shot toward him, Thunder would shift his stance with minimal movement, evading at the last possible moment.
*His footwork was* ***obscene***.
*His positioning was* ***scandalous***.
His loose black robe couldn't even hide the way his body *undulated* with each step.
*This defied all logic!*
Bicui's eyes were wide as saucers. *Is he a* ***rogue***?
"Eleven!" The crowd's excitement peaked. That was the number of attacks Thunder had dodged.
The distance between them was now under five meters—the ice mage had closed in relentlessly. At this range, with the speed of Ice Arrows and a mage's physical limitations, *no one* should've been able to evade so many attacks.
But Brother Meng did.
"Twelve! Brother Meng, you're a legend!"
The ice mage's confidence was crumbling. His earlier smirk had melted into sweat.
Releasing so many spells in succession was draining his mana rapidly. Yet his opponent still wore that same panicked, dodging expression.
*Just a little closer… Just a little more…*
Thunder's act was *too* convincing.
The ice mage desperately wanted to shorten the gap further, but five meters was already past the academy's taught "safe distance." Any closer, and even a non-mage could interrupt his casting with a simple shove.
"Fifteen! Holy *shit*, Brother Meng has dodged *fifteen* spells in a row! How is this possible?!"
The ice mage stopped. His face was drenched in sweat, pale as a ghost.
"What's wrong?" Thunder asked innocently.
The ice mage—No. 48—collapsed onto his backside, panting heavily. He looked up at Thunder with a bitter smile.
"Brother Meng… Are you *messing* with me?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I—I'm done." The ice mage waved weakly before flopping onto his back, limbs splayed. "No mana left. Just… come break my shield already."
In the history of Faeil's tournaments, this was probably the first time someone had *requested* their own defeat.
Yet no one laughed.
Because Brother Meng was *just that terrifying*.
"Don't mind if I do." Thunder rubbed his hands together, grinning as he approached. Channeling mana into his fist, he delivered three solid punches.
Unlike his opponent's futile spells, Thunder shattered the ice mage's shield in just three hits.
"Winner—No. 100!" The referee stared at Thunder like he was some kind of monster, barely remembering to announce the result.
"BROTHER MENG! BROTHER MENG! BROTHER MENG!"
The magic department's students chanted in unison. This was a *miracle*—an *unbelievable* miracle. This spell-less thunder-element "waste" had bulldozed through three rounds, landing in the academy's *top 13*. It was like an adrenaline shot to the entire magic department's ego.
When Thunder stepped down, Bicui and Erik were staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"What?" Thunder scratched his cheek, suddenly self-conscious.
"Brother Thunder… I *worship* you," Erik declared without shame.
"Making it to the top 13 doesn't change anything! You still can't cast spells!" Bicui grumbled, her mood souring by the second.
"But his dodging was *insane*! Like this—and this—and *this*—" Erik mimicked Thunder's movements, nearly giving him a stroke.
If Thunder's master or sect leader saw Erik butchering the **Celestial Fox Steps** like some drunken belly dancer, they'd have vaporized him on the spot.
"Mages rely on *magic*. If you're this good at dodging, why not just become a rogue?" Bicui snapped, her frustration mounting. According to their bet, she'd *lost*. Did that mean another love letter in the cafeteria? *I'll never live this down…*
"I've considered it," Thunder replied shamelessly. "But with all this mana, I figured I'd stick to the *promising* career of being a mage."
Just then, Mentor Maria arrived