The Extra's Reincarnation-Chapter 157: First Year Combat Ring (2)

Lennard's chest swelled with pride as he acknowledged the crowd's approval.

His first victory secured, he remained in the ring as the next challenger approached.

The subsequent matches followed a similar pattern.

Lennard dispatched his second opponent, a stocky boy with earth affinity, with minimal difficulty.

His third victory came against a girl whose illusion magic initially confused him but ultimately proved ineffective against his aggressive style.

"Three consecutive wins," Rean whistled. "Lennard's making quite the impression."

I nodded, watching as Lennard basked in the adulation of the crowd.

He was playing to the audience now, reveling in their attention.

"The system will now select the next challenger," Drothgar announced, activating the holographic display once more.

The names blurred together, spinning rapidly before settling on a single name that caused the entire arena to fall silent.

"Uzan Modan Jr.," Drothgar read, his tone betraying no emotion despite the significance of the selection.

A hush fell over the crowd as Uzan rose from his seat. His massive frame seemed to unfold as he stood, revealing the true extent of his imposing physique. Despite being slightly shorter than average, his broad shoulders and thick, muscular build made him appear far larger.

"Oh shit," Tylo whispered beside me. "Lennard's streak ends here."

Step…Step…Step…

Uzan descended into the ring with purposeful steps, each one causing a slight tremor in the platform.

His expression told nothing as he took his position opposite of Lennard, whose earlier confidence had noticeably diminished.

"This is going to be brutal," Rean muttered, unable to tear his eyes away from the clash.

"Begin!"

WHOOSH!

Lennard exploded into action, surprising everyone with his aggression.

He launched a perfectly executed combination—a feint followed by a mana-enhanced strike directly to Uzan's sternum.

'I've got him.'

BOOM!

The impact created a visible shockwave that rippled through the air, the sound echoing throughout the arena like a thunderclap.

"Did you see that?" Tylo gasped, gripping my arm.

"That's the Crescent Edge technique! That's at least intermediate-level!"

For a brief moment, hope flickered across Lennard's face as his technique connected perfectly.

Under normal circumstances, such a blow would have sent any opponent flying backward, possibly even ending the match outright.

But Uzan wasn't normal.

The half-dwarven prince stood unmoved, as though Lennard had done nothing more than tap him lightly.

No shock of pain, no backward step—not even a flinch.

The only indication that the attack had landed at all was the slight disturbance in Uzan's uniform where the strike had connected.

Worst of all were Uzan's eyes.

They remained fixed on Lennard, dark and evaluating, conveying a single, devastating message.

You are weak.

"…!"

As soon as Lennard realized his technique was ineffective he rushed to follow up with another attack.

But it was already to late.

THUMP…

Uzan moved.

It was a simple motion, that looked almost too casual to even be called a move.

With one hand, he executed a sweeping strike that caught Lennard squarely in the midsection.

BOOOOOOOOM!

The half-dwarven prince didn't even appear to be trying particularly hard, yet the impact lifted Lennard off his feet and slammed him into the ground with such force that cracks spiderwebbed across the reinforced arena floor.

The entire exchange had taken less than five seconds.

"…"

Silence descended upon the arena as Drothgar stepped forward to check on Lennard, who lay motionless in the small crater Uzan's attack had created.

After a brief examination, the discipline officer nodded to the medical team waiting at the edge of the ring.

"Winner: Uzan Modan Jr.," he announced, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

"Holy shit," Rean whispered, his face pale. "That wasn't even a fight. That was... execution."

I nodded, watching as the medical team carefully loaded Lennard onto a stretcher.

The difference in their abilities had been painfully clear—like comparing a candle to the sun.

"He didn't even use any special techniques,"

"Just raw physical power."

What followed was nothing short of a massacre.

Uzan's second match lasted exactly twelve seconds—his opponent, a well-regarded earth mage named Jose, barely managed to complete a single defensive spell before Uzan's fist connected with his chest, sending him flying into the barrier that protected the spectators.

By the third match, the whispers had become a roar as students from all years crowded into the arena to witness Uzan's dominance.

His third opponent actually landed a hit a precisely aimed water spell that would have sliced through steel—only for it to splash harmlessly against Uzan's skin.

The fourth challenger lasted longer than the previous three combined, using an impressive set of speed and spell arts to try slow down Uzan.

For almost a full minute, it seemed the strategy might work.

Then Uzan simply closed his eyes and relied on his other senses, tracking his opponent by the subtle shifts in air currents.

And in one devastating counter-attack later, his fourth victory was secured.

After that, the tide of volunteers dried up completely.

"Fifth match," Drothgar announced, activating the selection system once more. The name that appeared belonged to a slender boy from Class C who had been boasting about his lightning techniques all week.

"I forfeit," the boy called immediately, not even bothering to rise from his seat.

Drothgar's expression remained impassive as he nodded. "Noted. Victory by forfeit to Uzan Modan Jr."

The same scene repeated for the sixth and seventh match.

Each time the system selected a new challenger, the student would immediately forfeit, unwilling to face what had become the unstoppable juggernaut of our year.

"This is just sad," Tylo whispered, his earlier excitement replaced by something approaching awe.

"I've never heard of anyone clearing the first-year ring so effortlessly."

"Eight consecutive victories," Rean added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Two more and he gets those forty merit points."

I watched Uzan standing alone in the center of the ring, his expression unchanged despite his string of victories.

There was no triumph in his stance, no celebration in his eyes—just the patient certainty of someone who had expected nothing less.

"Is no one going to challenge him?" Drothgar asked, his gaze sweeping across the crowd.

"The merit points remain unclaimed until someone achieves ten consecutive victories."

The silence that followed was deafening.

First-years shifted uncomfortably in their seats, avoiding eye contact with both Drothgar and Uzan.

Even students who had been eager to participate earlier now seemed determined to become invisible.

Then, a movement caught my attention.

Across the arena, Kaelen rose from his seat.