Without pausing, Karion launched his second spell. A flash of orange light streaked toward Adom's chest—a stunning bolt, meant to temporarily lock his muscles.
Adom's left hand came up, fingers weaving through a quick counterspell. Not a shield—too energy-intensive. Instead, a narrow deflection field that bent the bolt's trajectory just enough to miss his chest, sending it harmlessly past his shoulder.
The entire exchange had taken less than a second.
Karion was already moving to his third attack, drawing in more mana. The patterns around his feet shifted—he was about to launch himself forward, closing the distance. Meanwhile, his hands were forming the complex gesture for a sensory disruption spell.
Clever, Adom thought. Rush in, blind me, then finish with a binding hold.
He'd need to counter both the rush and the spell simultaneously. Four potential responses flashed through his mind. He selected the most efficient.
Just as Karion pushed off, Adom slammed his foot down. A pulse of mana shot through the floor—not aiming for Karion directly, but for the space he would occupy in the next half-second.
Karion, already committed to his forward momentum, hit the mana-charged area. His sensory spell, half-formed, destabilized as Adom's counter interfered with its structure.
The older student stumbled—only slightly, but enough. His fourth attack, a quick binding sigil fired from his left hand, went wide as his balance shifted.
Adom didn't wait. He stepped forward, palm flat, and released a tightly controlled burst of force—not wild or overwhelming, but precisely aimed at Karion's center of mass.
Karion crossed his arms to block, reinforcing them with a hasty defensive shell. The shell held, but the impact still pushed him back several steps.
His fifth move came immediately—a sweeping gesture that pulled mana from the air into a pressurized wave, meant to crash into Adom from multiple angles.
Adom had anticipated this. Rather than trying to shield against all points, he concentrated his defense on his core, letting the wave crash against his extremities. It stung, but left his essential movement and casting capabilities intact.
As the wave dissipated, Karion rushed in again, this time with mana-enhanced speed. His sixth attack came as a direct physical strike—a palm thrust aimed at Adom's sternum, backed by a concussive spell that would detonate on contact.
Instead of blocking, Adom pivoted. The strike missed by millimeters. He grabbed Karion's extended wrist, using the older student's momentum against him while simultaneously releasing a disruptive pulse through the point of contact.
Karion's seventh attack died before it fully formed, the mana patterns around his free hand unraveling as the disruption spread through his system. He tried to pull away, but Adom maintained his grip, stepping in closer.
Karion's eighth attack was desperate—a wild surge of raw mana, unrefined but powerful, pushing outward from his entire body.
Adom had expected something like this. He channeled his own mana as a grounding current, letting Karion's energy flow through him and into the floor rather than fighting against it directly.
The surge faded, and Karion was left momentarily drained. He tried to back away, but his feet slid on the smooth stone floor.
His ninth attempt was a feint—a small flash spell meant to blind, followed immediately by his tenth attack: a sweeping leg meant to take Adom's feet out from under him.
Adom closed his eyes against the flash, relying on his mana sense rather than vision. He felt Karion's leg coming and jumped—not away, but forward and over the sweep.
As he landed, he thrust both palms forward in his second attack of the fight. Not a direct hit, but a shaped force that surrounded Karion like a collapsing bubble.
The boy tried to dispel it, hands moving through the pattern for a counter-compression spell—but Adom's third move interrupted him. A sharp tap to Karion's wrist, precisely where a key mana channel flowed, temporarily disrupting his casting ability.
For his fourth and final move, Adom simply shifted his weight and pushed. Without his mana properly flowing, Karion's balance failed him. He fell backward, and Adom followed him down, one hand pinning his shoulder, the other hovering over his chest, glowing with contained energy.
Five seconds had passed since the leaf touched the ground.
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"I yield," Karion said, voice steady despite his position.
Darian straightened, still grinning faintly. “Just a joke, Professor.”
"Mm. A joke." Crowley nodded once. Then his voice sharpened. "Let me ask you something: do you know how long the average duel between trained mages lasts?"
Darian blinked. "Uh... not long?"
"Correct. Seven seconds. That’s with discipline. Among students like yourselves? A little more than fifteen seconds."
He let that hang, then swept his gaze across the room.
"Do you know why?"
No one answered.
"Because ninety to ninety-five percent of the fight doesn't happen out here" He tapped the side of his head. "It happens in here."
He let the words sink in for a few seconds, then continued.
"Visualizing spells. Tracking mana flows. Anticipating movement. Structuring counters. Every action you've seen today was already calculated before either mage moved. By the time you lift a hand, the fight’s already ended—in both your minds."
"The actual action?" He snapped his fingers. "That’s just the aftershock."
A few students shifted, some avoiding his eyes.
"That’s mage combat. Not explosions. Not drama. Thought. Precision. Execution."
He looked back at Darian.
"Now imagine you're not a mage. You're a guard. A shopkeeper. A mother. Non mages. They don’t see what we see. They don’t feel the tension in the air or the threads of mana coiling around a wrist. They see a mage lift a finger or just stare and someone fall. No warning. No context. Just a body hitting the floor."
Silence.
"To people like that, we’re not people. We’re storms in human skin. And when one of us treats that power like a joke, the whole world tightens the leash."
Crowley’s expression didn’t change—but something in his voice turned quiet.
"You will not joke about using your power on civilians. Not in my classroom. Not in the field. Not ever."
Darian swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
"Good."
He waited another beat—long enough for the message to settle.
The he checked his timepiece. "Now, before you all rush off, I have an announcement."
The class remained quiet.
"As you know, the standard academic break begins tomorrow—typically one week for students to explore the city or return home briefly." He cleared his throat. "However, due to the exceptional circumstances of this year, the details of which will be provided to you shortly by the headmaster, the academy has decided to extend the break to two full weeks."
A moment of stunned silence followed, then the classroom erupted again—louder than before. Students high-fived each other, some already making plans aloud. Two entire weeks of freedom was unprecedented.
"Two weeks!"
"Are you serious?"
"Tavern crawl! Every night!"
"I can finally visit my sister in Westhollow!"
Crowley, who normally would have silenced such outbursts immediately, simply watched with a raised eyebrow. After a few moments, he raised his hand, and the noise gradually subsided.
"I expect," he said, his voice carrying easily across the room, "that you will all use this time productively. Combat magic is not practiced solely in classrooms."
With that cryptic statement, he gestured toward the door. "Dismissed. Enjoy your break."
The students needed no further encouragement. They rushed for the exit, their excited chatter filling the hallway.
Adom stayed behind a moment, feeling the new power settling into his system. His mana pool wasn't just larger—it felt different somehow. More responsive. Like his body was becoming a better conductor for the energy.
It was hard to say his body was really human anymore, with how rapidly it was evolving. His mana channels were developing at an accelerated rate, and the pool itself kept expanding. At this pace, he'd break 1000 before the month was out.
Considering a circle formed around the core once it reached 1500...
"Mr. Sylla," Crowley called, "do be careful out there."
Adom nodded, wondering if the combat instructor somehow knew more than he was letting on.
"Always, Professor."