The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 141

On the second day, the stands were bustling with crowds that had arrived early. Not only were the noble sons and daughters from yesterday present, but many wealthy merchants had also found ways to slip in, bringing their children to broaden their horizons. Many city guards also gathered as close as possible, eager to witness the rare spectacle of thrilling duels.

Today's battles were not just between the victors of the first round but also featured the mighty clashes of Advanced Mages. They promised to be the highlight of the day.

The Commanders and Elders had arrived early, recognizing the critical nature of today’s fights, especially with the Advanced Mage Protégés’ tournament scheduled. Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Protégés from the Eight Orders gathered at different sides of the arena, each eager and fully aware of the significance of the second round. A victory could propel them into the top ten, while defeat would mean the end of their chances. If yesterday’s bouts had been fought with a casual ease, today’s would be tense, with everyone summoning their full spirit and strength.

"Do you reckon Alavin will win today?" Eyla, cradling a small fox, asked with a mischievous smile, her blood-red eyes gleaming wickedly as she looked in Alavin's direction.

"Are you interested in him?" a Bloodlore Protégé asked curiously.

"Do you think he's really just a servant? I bet Cobalt Strike hasn't told the whole truth."

"Who among you will take the field today?" Orland asked, glancing at Alavin and then Roald. "You can deal with Alavin, but Roald... he's mine!"

Roald, feeling the intensity of Orland's gaze, sensed trouble. Had he really caught the eye of that man?

"Are you scared?" Cedrick asked coldly.

"Are you joking?" Roald retorted.

The atmosphere grew more intense as Protégés from each organization made ready, their attention turning to the main platform. Was it time to begin?

Without much ceremony, the old Lord of the City proclaimed the start of the second round of the tournament.

Alavin was the first to take the stage. "For Cobalt Strike, Alavin calls for battle!"

There was no need for dawdling when a battle was at hand. With the first fight upon them, he was ready to lead.

"Well done, lad, quite the bold move."

"Indeed, it takes guts to volunteer for the first battle."

"Quiet now, quiet! Pay attention. I refuse to believe that he, a mere Stage VIII, could keep defeating Stage IX Protégés."

The stands, unusually silent, were determined to observe Alavin's Combat Magic and tactics closely, after having been bewildered the day before.

"I'll go!" declared a Protégé from the Earthbound Spirits, but before he could advance, Lylian leaped gracefully onto the arena. "From the Floral Enchantress, Lylian accepts the challenge."

"Lylian, come down. Alavin is a challenge for the Earthbound Spirits," protested the other man.

Ignoring the protest, Lylian strode toward Alavin and pointed her sword at him. "I can't stand showoffs."

Alavin, dumbfounded, wondered how could he be called a showoff.

The audience smiled at the matchup. "The youngest against the lowest ranked—this seems like a fair fight."

"Isn't Alavin about fifteen as well?"

"I heard he's nearly sixteen."

"Fair! Though young, Lylian is a formidable force. She’s ranked in the top three of the Floral Enchantress' team this time."

Alavin, facing Lylian, felt resigned. "I don't fight girls."

"You're just scared you can't even beat a girl," Lylian retorted, her appearance innocent, but her presence commanding. She didn't waste more words; instead, she charged at Alavin with a sword technique so brilliant it left a dazzling trail in the air. Her powerful strike was aimed directly at him.

"My apologies," Alavin said as he suddenly vibrated his arms, flicking forth eight throwing knives from his fingertips, each gleaming sharply as they flew in unison toward Lylian.

Whoosh! The knives whistled through the air, spinning rapidly and stirring up visible whirlwinds, tracing semicircular paths locked onto Lylian.

Throwing knives? The crowd gasped in surprise, wondering if this was cheating or if Alavin was using a form of Combat Magic.

Even Roald and the others were stunned. Combat Magic using throwing knives? Where had Alavin learned that?

Lylian, unflustered, dodged with agility, emerging unscathed from the barrage of blades.

Thud, thud, thud—the knives struck the ground of the arena, chipping it into fine debris. They embedded deeply into the surface, which was made of a special material resistant to even the slightest scratch, hinting at the knives' formidable power.

Alavin charged after his thrown knives, his fist seemingly slow but reaching Lylian first, and with a thunderous roar, he declared again, "My apologies!"

Lylian's eyes narrowed, and a gust seemed to radiate from her, lifting her into the air with the grace of a startled swan, effortlessly avoiding Alavin's heavy punch.

The graceful beauty was a stark contrast to the ferocity of Alavin's punch—a visual feast.