Cervito 8
Cherbito 8. The fight between swordsman and mage. It was a matchup they'd seen countless times.
High-level mages could erect shields and unleash spells with a mere thought. Sword Experts at the peak could wield aura blades, but those below had no choice but to charge through a barrage of spells, closing the distance with their bodies.
In the end, it's all about distance, Licht thought.
Even superhumans who had reached the realm of Swordmaster faced the same issue. Archmages of the 7th Circle or higher could use Blink magic. And that single spell became a fatally decisive blow. Even though it couldn't be cast repeatedly and drained a massive amount of mana, in their battles where dozens of exchanges happened in a single breath, Blink's ability to disrupt the flow was downright cheat-level.
Even Licht, who had once sliced through 5th Circle high mages with a single stroke, found it annoying.
I could end it with magic, he mused. But the sword is still more comfortable. In the end, magic was just a supplement—Licht's essence was that of a swordsman.
Kagagak!
His vision shifted backward as a fierce wind clawed at his face. Long ice blades scraped across the arena floor. He gripped the blade a bit longer than a standard longsword.
At the same time, intense heat washed over his face, and a massive fireball hurtled toward him. He slashed horizontally.
Chwaaak!
"He cut the magic!"
"Is that even possible?"
Flames scattered along the path of the ice blade. Compared to the annihilation spell Schult Markersy had unleashed before, this was laughably weak.
Licht raised his sword mid-stride. And there he saw her—Aila Pavria, wand aimed at him, smiling.
Smiling?
That was when it happened.
Churruruk!
Suddenly, dozens of ice chains erupted from the ground. He'd just extended his right foot and sensed an odd mana flow.
A trap spell.
Crackling blue lightning danced over the intertwined ice chains. She'd pre-set traps combining attributes along his straight-line path.
A feint, huh.
Spells of this scale would have taken considerable time to lay. The dejected expression Aila had shown when her initial elemental spells were all blocked? Pure acting. Her triumphant smile now, gazing at Licht, was proof.
No one can block all of this, it seemed to say.
So that's what she was up to.
A chuckle escaped him.
Kwagwagwang!
Dozens of chains blending ice and lightning slammed down. A massive explosion kicked up dust and shattered ice shards that refracted sunlight everywhere.
"Ooh!"
"That's impressive."
"A 5th Circle mage, as expected."
"The Pavria name carries weight."
Some who'd anticipated a one-sided beatdown muttered in surprise. Even Licht couldn't shrug off a surprise trap like that unscathed.
But defying expectations, a figure burst through the smoke.
Quaaeaek!
Aila's eyes filled with panic as he hurtled forward, wind cloaking his body at terrifying speed. The mana gauntlets on his wrists showed no damage.
She reflexively cast Haste to retreat, but Licht was far faster. No mage could match a swordsman enhanced by his unique spell Tempest and mana-reinforced body.
The moment he closed in, Licht swung his blue sword.
Kaaang!
"Eut...!"
A blue glow flickered from her wrist, expanding into a hemispherical barrier around her. The mana gauntlets blocked not just magic but physical impacts to some degree.
Blue particles scattered in the air. Aila swiftly pulled back. Looking up, she saw the ice blade in Licht's right hand split in half.
Licht said, "Show me more."
A faint smile played on his lips.
As the broken ice sword fell, a new one rose.
"Everything you've got."
He raised his left hand.
"All of it."
Churruruk!
In an instant, ice chains surged around the boy. Vivid blue lightning crackled atop them.
"Ah, seriously..."
Aila muttered in disbelief.
At the same time, dozens of ice chains plunged toward her.
***
Samuel Fredriksen. Better known as Count Fredriksen than by his given name, he sat in the highest seat of the VIP box, overlooking the arena.
The elevated VIP section offered a panoramic view of everything below. The crowd's roars, blooming elemental spells everywhere, and two young mages weaving through it all.
Well, one wasn't quite a mage.
Licht Barbalte.
Recent investigations revealed the intruder who'd crashed the Cherbito semifinals was Bryce Edmain, a former Palenia Executioner. And he hadn't acted alone—dozens were implicated.
Samuel had been handling paperwork at the lord's castle when the urgent communique came. He rushed to the arena with knights in tow.
A terrorist attack in the heart of El Sion, on Cherbito semifinal day. Grave indeed. No time for desk work.
But by arrival, it was over. Trapped spectators unable to flee. Dozens of burst corpses strewn about. The wrecked arena pulsed with lingering mana and holy power. The ringleader Executioner? Decapitated.
With Schult Markersy on site, Samuel assumed the 7th Circle archmage had swiftly resolved it.
He was wrong.
Licht Sientia... Using his mother's surname instead of Barbalte.
The one who'd single-handedly slain the Executioner was a boy named Licht Sientia. The Execution Sword was long gone.
Uncovering the boy's background took little time. His maternal line was too famous—no one in Arhen Kingdom didn't know it.
The second son of the kingdom's premier martial house, Barbalte. Bastard of the concubine, with black hair and eyes.
They said he couldn't use aura.
The boy was infamous in many ways. The family shame who hadn't awakened aura by seventeen.
But the scene unfolding now was entirely different.
A seventeen-year-old 5th Circle genius. Like Barbalte, from the kingdom's top magic house, Pavria's second daughter.
He dismantled her spells as if they were child's play, sometimes cleaving them with his sword. It was like toying with a child.
An overwhelming gap in skill. If he truly hadn't awakened aura until seventeen, he'd woven his circles in less than half a year.
Extraordinary.
Samuel felt something boiling inside him.
I want him.
A raw, intense desire.
El Sion ignored birth. Talent alone led to success.
His great-grandfather's era had ushered in El Sion's golden age, powered by raw talent gems.
Most Fredriksen retainers were from minor nobles or commoners. No bias in recruitment—dreamers flocked here from across the continent.
Clear results earned lavish rewards. El Sion was the southern continent's most prosperous city, and Samuel its benevolent lord.
Might wasn't everything; winning hearts was a ruler's virtue.
That's why he hadn't reclaimed the Execution Sword. To leave a good impression. For the future.
"Wow! Schult, look at that!"
"Heh heh, he's fighting better than I expected."
"Who?"
"My disciple. Thought he'd end it quick, but he's toying with her."
"Toying?"
"The brat's got a nasty streak. Ah, it's already over."
Beside him, his only daughter Ceriel chatted with Schult while eyeing the arena. Dane sandwiched between them looked pitiful.
"Father, are you planning to recruit him?"
A voice from the side. Turning, he saw a handsome young man with ash-gray hair like his own.
Serel Fredriksen. The count's eldest son and heir.
"You didn't order the sword's recovery for that reason, did you?"
"......"
Samuel's son was sharp, as befitting El Sion's future leader. No surprise he'd noticed.
"We'll know soon enough."
"You mean..."
"I don't know what he wants, but we'll accommodate as much as possible."
Serel's expression darkened with faint worry.
"If the Holy Kingdom was behind that incident, he might already be on the Pope's radar."
"Trivial."
"But—"
"Serel."
Serel fell silent at Samuel's tone.
"El Sion will not fall. Not even to that empire."
Palenia Holy Kingdom had no claim here. Past, present, future.
***
His ears rang. The stench of burning filled his nose.
The arena was half-destroyed. Flames flickered everywhere, cracked floors frozen over with rubble rolling atop.
Not enough.
Licht eyed the incoming spell. What started as sharp fiery spears on Aila's hands morphed mid-flight into a raging wave of fire and wind.
She can use it like that too.
Combining spells. Adapting to the situation. Aila was adept at this in tournaments.
Beyond raw power, she exploited psychology and made top-tier judgments.
Cherbito's her first time, they said.
Maybe endless spars before. As Barte's direct disciple, opponents aplenty.
In his past life, mages were prickly existences Licht could never warm to.
Now? Different. Free of obsession, he absorbed every spell the girl unleashed.
Licht raised his ice sword. The fire wave surged to engulf everything, offering no escape.
No need to dodge.
With that thought, a circular hole punched through the wave's center.
Hwaaak!
A whoosh of wind parted the flames to either side.
Aila, beyond surprise, cast her next spell instantly. Chantless elemental barrages.
He deflected them all.
Kagagagang!
As the ice blade blurred, the spells dissolved into mana. Licht condensed it onto his sword.
Aila kept firing while widening the gap. She knew one grab meant the end.
Not much left.
Her mana gauntlets flickered faintly. One slash could end them.
Channeling mana into his feet shattered the ground, propelling him forward.
Hwaruruk!
Two fire spears erupted before him—the same spell she'd used earlier.
A glint in her eyes. The spears accelerated into a fierce fire wave.
Confirming her vanish into the flames, Licht charged.
Roars from the crowd behind. Faint in his ears.
The air-cutting ice sword blazed white. Beyond it, he sensed sharp mana.
Kwaaaa—!
A streak pierced the flames. The 5th Circle annihilation spell he'd seen once before.
Light flooded everywhere, filling his vision. The spell's momentum toward him was relentless.
No panic.
I can do this.
Mid-stride, he stomped. Right arm extended. Blue sword aimed at the light beam.
Pure white mana gathered on the blade.
5th Circle annihilation magic.
He charged straight ahead.
Two beams collided dead center. A colossal blast unleashed a storm.
Kwaaaaaang!
"Ugh!"
"What spell was that?!"
Spectators squeezed eyes shut. Shields prevented spillover, but not the blinding light.
Dust choked the arena. Flickering flames. The backlash was immense.
No one would blink if both collapsed or were disqualified.
Tens of thousands fixed on the center.
After a moment.
Kwang!
A boy sprinted across the arena. Ambient mana swirled into wind around him.
In a flash, he vanished from view. His explosive leap was no joke.
Below, chill frost bloomed.
Jjeojeojeok!
Straight-line sprint, ice pillars rising in a row.
Half-shattered sword rolled. New ice sword in hand.
Dozens more blades surged upward at his gesture.
Aila staggered before him, reeling from the annihilation backlash. Wand raised shakily.
Too late.
Dozens of ice swords poured down, shredding her weakened shield like paper.
Only depleted gauntlets left.
Licht's raised ice sword unleashed three strikes.
Kagagang!
A clear ring as the blade swept away the blue glow.
Bisected bracelet fell.
Tok.
Small sound, but everyone heard.
[Aila Pavria. Mana gauntlets completely destroyed.]
The gauntlets melted into the air.
[Winner: Licht Sientia!]
The announcer's voice boomed amid earth-shaking cheers.
***
"Truly awe-inspiring. Is that really human?"
"Sientia... Some hidden noble house?"
"Sword and magic, both perfected. No nameless origin."
"Slaying the Executioner alone wasn't luck... He toyed with him."
VIP nobles exchanged views. An unprecedented boy in Cherbito history. Unknown ripples ahead.
Recruitment? Abandoned long ago. In the count's favor, one wrong move meant exile.
But the regular seats? Ablaze with excitement from the spectacle.
"Licht! Licht Sientia!"
"Love ya, kid! Thanks for the show!"
"Ah... Fought well. Shame."
"Shame? She got played one-sidedly."
"Bad luck. Without that boy, easy win."
Unlike murmuring nobles, El Sion citizens roared.
Licht approached Aila, slumped on the ground. She pouted, then grumbled at him.
"You cheater. Sword's not fair."
"Losers don't get to talk."
He extended a hand. She griped but took it, standing.
"It's over?"
"Not yet. They'll come soon."
Aila glanced to one side of the arena. Cheers were dying down.
Someone shouted.
"All pay respects to Count Fredriksen!"
A group approached. Sharp knights and mages. Elders in colorful robes from various mage factions.
Leading: Fredriksen kin, including Schult. Ash-gray haired young man a bit older than Licht, and a twin-tailed girl bouncing excitedly.
Foremost: A middle-aged man exuding authority in his stride.
El Sion's lord, Count Fredriksen. Samuel Fredriksen.
"Aila Pavria. And Licht Sientia."
He spoke up close. Licht bowed slightly. Elegant, flawless poise. Striking looks amplified it.
His attire? Irrelevant now. Behavior fit a great noble's heir. Gasps from trailing retainers.
No nameless noble spawn.
"Raise your heads."
Calm, resonant voice. Licht looked up, meeting El Sion's master eye-to-eye.
"A splendid match. Never dreamed I'd see such in my lifetime, let alone my father's."
"You overpraise."
"Humble beyond belief, even as Schult Markersy's disciple. El Sion's future shines."
Aila bowed again. At Samuel's gesture, a retainer handed over a gold-and-silver emblem.
"Aila Pavria. As Cherbito runner-up this year, I bestow the Ter Emblem and 300 gold."
"My thanks for Your Excellency's grace."
"And Licht Sientia."
The pivotal moment.
"As Cherbito champion, I bestow the Lux Emblem and 500 gold."
"My thanks for Your Excellency's grace."
"And."
All held breath at his addition.
"By ancient tradition, claim one wish. Speak it here. What do you desire?"
The awaited instant. Licht slowly raised his bowed head.
He felt countless gazes upon him.
Count Fredriksen eyed him curiously. His son-like figure, same hair, watched worriedly.
Wishes have limits.
Clear why the concern. Licht had Schult's letter but was essentially an outsider.
Even champions had unwritten rules. No excessive demands, nothing harming El Sion, no conflict-stirring wishes.
And the last one.
"Gold? I can grant treasures to last lifetimes."
Silence from Licht prompted the count.
"No."
"Honor then? I can grant Fredriksen Castle itself, with top treatment."
"No."
Murmurs rippled—not just retainers, but stands too. Distrust flickered on Fredriksen faces.
"As one walking the path of magic, curiosity and inquiry are paramount."
"......"
"I humbly request."
Licht lowered his eyes slightly, speaking evenly.
"Permission to access the top floor of the Sage's Tower."
"......!"
The count's eyes widened then narrowed. The final taboo for Cherbito winners.
In silent shock, elders and retainers erupted.