Gathering mana into his feet, he dashed towards her, a fireball already forming in his palm as he closed the distance.

She only registered him when he was nearly on top of her – Stealth doing exactly what it was meant to – and by then there was no time left to properly defend. The fireball connected into her chest at close range.

She got a thin flicker of a mana barrier up at the very last instant, enough that it didn't end her outright, but enough force still got through to stagger her hard/

She swore, stumbling back.

"Who are you?! Show yourself!" She screamed, her eyes wide with the particular panic of someone who thought they had more time to prepare than they did.

Then she saw him.

Ronan didn't answer.

He was already moving into the follow-up. He activated Flame Mirage, creating an illusion that he was still standing in the same place while he moved up. It only lasted a second before his clone burst into flames, but he was already right in front of her.

He didn't give her any time to breathe.

She threw up a defensive ward on instinct, sloppy and rushed, and it bought her almost nothing – he closed through the gap left in the ward's formation, a short, precise burst of flame catching her across the shoulder as she twisted away too late. She tried one retaliatory spell, something hurried and half-formed, easily read and easily avoided with a small lateral step.

Before she could recover her footing, he was behind her, one more Flame Mirage flicker closing the last of the distance. Grabbing her head, he slammed her skull into the dirt. Then, a fireball. It exploded on impact against her body.

She wasn't unconscious, just broken, gasping, and defeated by injury as she stared up at him with hatred and fear.

"Y-you–"

Ronan didn't linger on it. He reached down, took her node, and crushed it in his hand without celebration.

His own node flared briefly in response, a quiet pulse confirming the points had been added. A figure came in and swooped her body away.

Ronan was already moving again before she was fully gone, back along the barrier's edge, searching for the next name to cross off before the field thinned out.

—

Instructor Weiss pulled another rune-etched water flask from beneath the monitoring console, twisted the cap loose, and leaned back against the padded observation chair.

Beside him, Instructor Dorian flicked ash from the half-spent cigarette dangling at his lip into a stone tray marked Authorized Only.

"Luca's already pulled a crowd."

Weiss tracked the projection feed without turning his head. "Seven students shadowing him. Three watching from distance. Smart ones avoiding him entirely."

"Ashbourne girl's holding the northern route well." Dorian tapped another feed. "Irene. Efficient. Doesn't waste movement."

"Family argument with higher stakes," Weiss muttered. "Or something like that."

Dorian snorted. "What are you talking about dumbass?" Then he gestured toward another projection. "Iris Lockhart. Control's cleaner than half the second-years."

"Refined," Weiss agreed. "Won't crack easy. I have a feeling she easily makes it to the top 5. % gold coins."

"Top 10 maybe. Top 5? Foolish."

"Heh. We'll see."

The next feed showed Grace. She held a node near a broken statue foundation, fending off two separate challengers without losing ground.

Dorian dismissed her with a wave. "Support-type. Not a real contender."

Weiss frowned. "Nah. She's held that position for twenty minutes. Two attackers, but she's still standing, despite being a 'support type.'"

"Lucky positioning."

"Positioning's never just luck. Positioning is one of the many skills that makes a good warrior great."

Dorian grunted, unconvinced.

They cycled through more feeds – Jason's Vrell's aggressive node control.

"Isn't that the boy who lost his brother in the inter-class war?"

"I believe so. They couldn't find the killer. It was done professionally, from what I hear."

"It doesn't seem like he cares however. If my brother got killed like that, I'd be swearing revenge."

"Heh, kid's heartless."

Then they showed many other performances that didn't matter as much. Aegon's defensive clusters, a tall commoner whose name neither could recall – before stopping on Kazuma Momozono. The boy moved through frame transitions strangely, slipping just outside recording coverage without technically breaking boundary.

Despite them both knowing he was strong, his presence seemed… muted.

Dorian squinted. "Kid's boring."

"Can't get a clean read on him."

"Man, he's boring to watch. Does he even do anything?"

Weiss didn't answer.

He pulled the next feed manually, scanning peripheral zones where weaker students scrambled for survival points. Somewhere in the back-and-forth, the conversation shifted into informal betting – small coin, bragging rights. Names got thrown around. Luca, obviously. Irene. The tall duelist from minor nobility whose form had impressed during prelims.

Dorian leaned forward, smirking. "I'd put money on whoever survives to the end without fighting at all. Some coward hiding in a bush somewhere."

Weiss laughed. "Happens every year. Bottom of top twenty-five."

"Every year," Dorian echoed. "Though this tournament is much higher stakes."

"You think that'll change much?" Weiss laughed.

"No. No it wouldn't."

Weiss set his flask down. Leaned closer to the console. "Actually got someone specific in mind. Not a joke pick. Real one. I'm willing to put some serious coin on him performing well."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "We've already gone through most of the names worth knowing."

Weiss pulled a different rune feed, tapping the projection until it settled on a single point marker. The name appeared beside it in faint script.

Ronan Ashbourne.

Dorian squinted at the number floating beside the name. "Four eliminations. Forty-five minutes in."

"Yeah."

Dorian scoffed. "Boy got lucky. Picked off stragglers near the edge. Doesn't say anything real about his ceiling."

Weiss shook his head. He pulled the footage back a few minutes. Played it forward slowly.

"Watch."

The projection showed Ronan's movement pattern. Never once heading toward the center where the real contest for early nodes was happening. He stuck to the barrier's edge the entire time, using it as a wall at his back and a search line at once. Every target he hit was isolated, caught with Stealth before they knew he was within range, finished fast and efficiently before help could arrive.

Weiss pointed. "If you call that luck, you've got a screw loose. That's a kid who sat down and actually thought about the math of this event. Realized the center's where the strong fight each other into exhaustion while the edges are full of easy, undefended points nobody else is bothering to collect."

Dorian studied the footage a moment longer. Some of his skepticism soured into genuine consideration. "Smarter approach than half the 'real contenders' we've been discussing for the last twenty minutes."

Weiss tapped the coin pouch at his belt. "That's exactly why I'm putting my coin on him."

Dorian, not quite convinced but unwilling to be the only one without a stake in it, matched the bet.

"Fine. Mostly so I have an excuse to keep watching this guy for the rest of the event. I've heard some unsavory things about him, but he seems solid. Heh, you might win against me this once."

"Like I don't always."

Weiss grinned. He pulled the projection back to present time. Ronan was moving across the barrier's edge again, patient, like a leopard ready to pounce, searching for his fifth target.