The arena of the Grand Magic Academy was more than just a battleground—it was a relic of the world's oldest duels.
Circular and vast, built into the floating stone of a skybound coliseum, the dueling arena hovered above the main campus, connected by shimmering gravity bridges. Students lined the tiered balconies. Professors stood at rune-warded observation posts. Even a few elders had gathered in upper boxes, hidden behind illusion veils.
They had all come to see one thing.
Argolaith.
He entered the coliseum floor through the south gate, alone. No entourage. No arcane armor. No enchanted relics.
No crest.
No glowing sigils.
Only a simple black coat and, in his hand…
A wooden sword.
No carvings. No aura. Just smooth, treated wood. Well-balanced. Light.
The murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Is that seriously all he's bringing?"
"He's facing Caelus with a training blade?"
"Does he think this is some kind of exhibition match?"
