Under Lance’s call, the apprentices of Battle Magic Class One moved in ebb-and-flow order, like waves finding a patient shore.

Time hesitated, then slipped away like frost under a shy sun.

The third mock duel rolled in fast, like storm clouds over white ridges.

If nothing goes wrong—like a calm pond unbroken—

As long as Battle Magic Class One finishes intact, “Lance’s” mission at Maple City’s Royal Magic Academy ends, like a candle reaching its base.

Fulin, wearing Lance like a mask, would gain certification, become a knight-mage, and unleash fully at the Knight Festival, like a blade drawn clean.

But the end of a mission also means farewell, like a winter wind unclasping hands.

Every apprentice in Battle Magic Class One wore reluctance, like leaves clinging to a frostbitten branch.

At the foot of the Domed Mountains, the arena air pressed down like a low sky of stone.

Jasmine couldn’t find the right comfort; she pinned on a prayerful smile, like a lantern lit in snow. “Everyone, chin up, okay~?”

No one answered; heads rose then fell like snow-heavy reeds, eyes slid away like fish under ice.

For a heartbeat the lifted mood collapsed again, like a drumskin sagging in rain.

It wasn’t disrespect for Jasmine; it was weight in their chests, like iron in cold water.

Parting loomed like dusk. The present was headwind, like a gull fighting gusts.

The Frost Knight rode the wind and mocked, like sleet on bare skin.

“Lance Morrison, you’re wanted by the Tribunal.”

“You still show yourself.”

“Who gave you that courage?”

Because of the pairing rules, Battle Magic Class One and the Frost Knight’s Elemental Class One both won twice, like twin comets on the same track.

So the third clash was inevitable, like a tide meeting a cliff.

There was no suspense, like a stone rolling downhill.

This mock duel would decide their wager, like a seal pressed on hot wax.

Fulin sank into the role, like ink into paper.

Facing his cold taunts, Lance answered with calm fire: “Because I’m the Blazing Fire Knight.”

Yes—this was the persona Fulin crafted, a screen to keep her true body unseen, like a fan hiding a face.

“Because I’m the Blazing Fire Knight,” her words fell like a spark on dry snow.

Ask why Fulin keeps going; that one line is enough, like a banner in a storm.

The crowd watched, gasps and sighs smoking in the cold like breath from a herd.

The Frost Knight glared, teeth grinding like flint.

“You’re arrogant—like a wildfire you won’t douse.”

“Death’s at your doorstep, like a shadow across your door, and you don’t repent.”

“Do you know how many big names you’ve angered, like hornets from a nest?”

She knew, cool as moonlight on ice, before she moved.

If not for fear of the royal house, elders of the great families would have acted, like wolves tasting blood.

Lance’s situation in Maple City hung by a thread, like a bridge over mist.

But she wasn’t worried, calm as a sealed lake.

Lance said, unhurried as drifting ash: “Does that have anything to do with me winning?”

Yes—victory is Fulin’s equation, like lines drawn to one point.

It solves everything without exposing her true self, like a hidden spring feeding a river.

The steps are laid out, and the answer is waiting, like a lock ready for a key.

Seeing Lance’s brazen hide, the Frost Knight scowled, like thunder packed behind brows.

“Fine. Struggle all you want. Let’s see how long your frenzy lasts,” he said, voice like a cold blade.

The head referee chose the moment like a bird landing on a branch, blew the whistle, and stilled the scene like snow on drums.

“Friendly exchange ends here. Return to your areas and await the judges for format,” he called, words like chalk lines on stone.

For fairness, the duel format must be set on the spot, like dice cast before battle.

The venue sat at the foot of the Domed Mountains behind the Academy, like a doorstep to stone skies.

For many reasons, the Domed Mountains were fully developed, green kept like velvet, trails crisscrossing like veins.

Around an unscalable dome-shaped rock peak at the center, a hard-stone ring road ran eight kilometers, like a belt cinching a giant.

Their position was one starting point at the foot, like a stitch on the belt.

Normally you’d see lush slopes, like a sea of leaves.

But on the edge of deep winter, wind and snow sealed the range like a white lid.

It matched the scenes outside Maple City; everywhere was white, like paper uninked.

The vast snow thinned the crowd’s heat, like cold water poured on coals.

People would usually argue about formats and odds, like sparrows chattering in hedges.

Now, among nearly ten thousand, only scattered whispers drifted, like smoke from small fires.

One junior apprentice whispered to the senior beside him, voice like a thread: “Hey~~ senior, what do you think?”

Outside the Academy and in biting cold, the senior wore a formal, bookish outfit, like a clean robe against frost.

Lost in other thoughts, he blinked like an owl and asked, “Think about what?”

“The Blazing Fire Knight burning the Golden Flower Marquis’ estate~~,” the junior said, words like sparks.

“Ah~~ that…,” the senior sighed, breath like mist, and pushed the heavy bridge of his thick frames like moving stone.

“We don’t know the cause. But the arsonist walks free, like smoke slipping through fingers.”

“The longer it drags, the more the Golden Flower and Silver Silkworm families’ authority takes a hit, like rust on a crown.”

The junior brightened like dawn. “As expected of you, senior. Is that the Blazing Fire Knight’s goal?”

The senior sighed again, like wind through reeds. “No, it’s not that simple. The Blazing Fire Knight may think farther than we do.”

“Oh? How?” he asked, curiosity like a cat’s paw.

The senior rubbed his hands till warmth bloomed like embers. “Think about it. The Academy suddenly takes knight-recommended students, like opening gates in spring.”

“There’s a royal election, like banners rising.”

“And the Knight Festival, like drums calling warriors.”

“If you link it together, threads weave into one cloth, like a loom humming.”

“Lance, at this exact timing, openly burns the Golden Flower Marquis’ mansion, like a torch raised in snow.”

“Don’t even ask how he did it, like a trick swallowed by smoke.”

“With that in mind, do you still think it’s simple, like stones tossed in a pond?”