I turned to Simon, immediately grabbing his arm and saying, "Simon, you have to forfeit. Flynn is too powerful for you to fight as you are, and you could get seriously injured. None of us will blame you."

Simon did not reply immediately, looking down at the ground before taking a long inhale and meeting my eyes. I saw fear in his face, but something else I could not place. And to my shock, Simon slowly shook his head, replying, "No. I can't just surrender the moment something difficult appears in front of me, even if its someone as dangerous as Flynn Sion. You guys are counting on me after all, and I can't let you all down."

His answer was delivered so matter of factly that I did not have a reply as he walked over to the door, opening it and walking through. I stared at the door in silence for several seconds until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Turning, Amelia looked at me before jerking her head towards the board, now displaying Simon and Flynn facing off against each other.

Simon's face was set in a firm frown, his eyes narrowed, and his stance tense. By contrast, Flynn looked somewhere between bored and disdainful, dressed in gold-trimmed clothes that looked both ostentatious and wildly out of place on the battlefield.

The referee declared a start to the battle, and Flynn immediately launched a single, crescent-shaped blade of mana at Simon. Alarmingly, he did not have to say a single word to cast it, which told me he was already well above most apprentices in mastery over the spell. Despite this, Simon had worked hard to improve his own magic, and a wall of water appeared almost instantly, blocking the attack with several feet to spare.

Rippling from the impact, the wall absorbed the energy before a whip of water launched from it, flying through the air towards Flynn. Two more light blades sliced through the air, destroying the watery attack before it reached him, continuing forward to strike Simon's defenses. A second later, another three slammed into the wall, biting deep into it and forcing him to push more mana into the spell, bolstering its durability.

By my understanding, Flynn was a hyper-aggressive combatant, much like his father, favoring a nearly constant barrage of attacks to overwhelm his opponents. With his speed, mana reserves, and deadly spells, he could afford to ignore defense.

But that left him open to a counter, and I almost immediately realized that Simon had a chance of winning this battle. His cultivation technique gave him the ability to absorb and siphon mana from other spells, which meant the longer this battle went on, the better. If he could just get Flynn to keep attacking blindly, wearing through his mana as fast as possible, he could defeat him.

And it seemed Flynn was more than happy to oblige this strategy. Again and again, he launched blades of light at Simon, slicing through the air in a near-constant barrage. Although I disliked the man, I had to give him credit that he was a superbly talented battlemage. The blades came at strange and unpredictable rates, attacking from unorthodox angles and forcing Simon to move and shape his water wall to defend appropriately.

Suddenly, the offensive barrage stopped, and Flynn tilted his head to one side, staring at Simon. Keeping his constructs raised, Simon did not attack but simply stared, keeping his eyes narrowed and his stance wide.

He did not have to wait for Flynn's next move for long. Stepping to one side, the light mage swept his arm in a long arc, muttering unheard words under his breath as a much larger blade formed in the air, shaped like a massive greatsword roughly seven feet long. I swore, realizing the attack was one of his father's signature spells, called Judgement Blade, and knew it would shred Simon's defenses as they were.

Simon must have realized the same thing, and his water morphed in the air, doubling in thickness and swirling rapidly. Thrusting his hand forward, Flynn's blade launched through the air like a bolt from a crossbow, closing the fifty-foot distance in less than a second before biting deep into Simon's shield.

Amazingly, the blade sliced deep before stopping halfway into the water, the impact sending sprays of water into the air. Simon had both arms raised, sweat running down his face as he poured all of his mana into the spell. When he saw that he had stopped the attack, he let a small smile of triumph cross his face.

A moment later, a spray of bright red burst from his chest as three crescent-shaped blasts tore through his weakened shield, shredding his flesh like wet paper. Falling to one knee, Simon reached up a shaking hand, touching the crimson lacerations on his chest before letting out a piercing scream.

Flynn held out his hand again, a half-dozen more blades forming around him, but before he could injure Simon further, the proctor called an end to the contest, declaring him the winner. Flynn turned and walked from the room with only the faintest sneer on his face, leaving Simon bleeding on the ground behind him.

"Simon..." Amelia muttered under her breath, her hand covering her mouth. Leon looked shocked, and even Sophia's eyes looked watery, slowly shaking her head.

I barely noticed their reactions, feeling a cold rage encompassing my thoughts at the violence Flynn had brought upon my friend. I knew that part of it had to be his cruelty and a desire to demonstrate his power over others in the guise of competition, but petty revenge had to also be a factor. I had crossed him, and since he could not attack me directly, he would use any opportunity to hurt my friends.

I clenched one hand around my sword sheathe, allowing my anger to simmer as I dwelled on his actions. I gave myself only a few moments before taking several deep breaths, drawing in as much mana as I could bear and pulling it into my core. When my battle came, I would need to have my strength back if I planned to win.

Several more matches passed, but I barely paid attention, keeping my eyes closed and focusing on cultivating. Finally, after a half-hour or so, my name appeared on the board, facing off against another mage named Phillip Millen. I recognized him as one of Flynn's teammates, a fire mage based upon my research and a decently powerful one at that. Glancing down at my ankle, I pressed my full weight down on it, confirming that Simon's magic had numbed most of the pain.

"Vayne, wait one second," Leon said, grabbing my shoulder with one hand.

"What is it, my lord?" I asked, turning to him and keeping my face neutral.

"I...be careful. I know you're halfway decent with your sword, but if it gets risky, surrender. That's an order."

I nodded, having no intention of following his command. Revenge on Flynn sounded appealing, but far more critical was placing high in the tournament. With Simon eliminated, I had to defeat my opponent if we wanted any hope of walking away with a prize.

And if I ruined any of Flynn's aspirations along the way, I would count it as an unintentional side benefit.

Stepping into the arena, I faced off against my foe, blonde, pale, and in thick maroon robes. I felt the heat of his mana, but it was pitifully weak compared to the fifth-years we met before.

"Are you ready?" the proctor asked, looking at both of us for confirmation. Phillip nodded, and I smiled, replying, "Yes, sir."

Taking a few steps backward, he paused for a moment before shouting, "Begin!"

Phillip's hands weaved into intricate movements as he began speaking words I recognized from my studies as the incantation for a fireball. Fire magic was powerful and destructive, strong enough to severely injure another Mist-level mage in a single, direct hit. However, I knew from my research that the spell would take several seconds to cast, giving me sufficient time to close the forty-foot gap, even with my broken ankle.

Charging at full speed, I ignored the sharp pain in my leg and drew my sword, sliding to a stop right in front of him. His eyes widened but to his credit, he never broke off casting, finishing the spell just as I reached his position.

Holding out a hand, his attack shot from his palm, strong enough that most people would find themselves charred to a crisp if they were hit directly. Briefly, I wondered if my Aether mana would provide me an unusually strong resistance to foreign spells but decided not to test it. Instead, I pushed off hard on my uninjured ankle, twisting and whirling while slashing out with my short sword.

It was a technique meant to be pulled off with a staff, knocking out an opponent's legs with a low sweep along the ground, but I had learned to modify it for a sword. Instead of bluntly knocking out his limbs, my blade traced a vicious slice along his calf. Instantly, he screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at his leg even as the fireball he threw at me exploded in the distance.

As he hit the ground, I followed through, stepping in and slashing my blade down hard but stopping a few inches from his face. Keeping my sword hovering over his head, I glanced at the proctor who froze before shouting out, "Match, Team Estton!"

Sheathing my sword, I turned on one heel and strode from the room, feeling a glare burning a hole into the back of my head. Still, I did not bother turning, knowing I needed to maintain an air of unbothered ease. I knew I needed to leave Ferris soon, and keeping such a low-profile was becoming unnecessary.

Returning to the waiting room, the Esttons were both staring at me, and Leon took several seconds before remarking, "You are more skilled than I had realized, Vayne."

I paused, before nodding and replying, "Yes, sir. Learning to wield a sword or staff in battle is excellent for self-defense even against mages, as you must have seen. Beyond that, I find exercise helps clear my mind and strengthen my body, both useful, in my opinion."

They seemed to accept my explanation, and Amelia gave me an encouraging smile. Walking past the three of them, I sat back down in a chair and closed my eyes, returning to cultivating without another word. The others must have realized I was still upset about Simon, as none of them continued talking to me, and the room fell silent again.

Despite my words, and an attempt at conveying a confident demeanor, the fact was that my match was the best possible one I could hope to get. Phillip was slow and caught off guard by my speed and skills, but the element of surprise was mostly lost. Hopefully, by looking so bored and casual about it, I could intimidate another opponent and gain an advantage, but it was unlikely.

Remembering Simon's look of horror and pain, I gritted my teeth, feeling anger bubble up again and threaten to overtake my thoughts. Ruining Flynn's hopes to win might be a secondary benefit, but it would be one I would take complete and utter delight in fulfilling.