Once the referee gave the command to begin, 21 lunged at Colt with his axe raised high.
He was strong—no doubt about that—but even with only level 66 power, Colt could win easily.
Well, even if Colt truly were level 66, he'd still have the upper hand. Berserk made 21 lose control of himself.
No matter how powerful someone was, reckless swinging would always lose to experience.
And Colt had experience.
21's strength only worked on those who didn't know better—students, mostly.
Still, even without the berserk state, 21 was formidable. He could've gotten the top score on his own merits.
Colt wanted to test his strength first, so he began with a basic shield spell.
Three translucent shields layered in front of him—but 21 smashed through them like paper.
Déjà vu...
Colt jumped back, keeping just outside the reach of the axe.
The arena was vast and open, with no out-of-bounds. Range classes always had an edge here in terms of distance.
But it was balanced with the levelness of the arena.
The students in the audience were watching with breathless excitement.
Top-ranked students clashed often, but 99% of those fights were 21 challenging 31 or 41. Last year, he'd even gone up against the former 41.
But that had only happened once. After that, he realized the gap and never challenged him again.
This, however, was the new 11. So even teachers were watching from above.
The duel unfolded with Colt dodging and weaving, staying on the defensive while 21 chased after him, axe swinging in wide arcs.
But after two minutes, Colt had already mapped out his power—his range, his timing, his weaknesses.
And then, suddenly, Colt dashed forward.
The crowd gasped. A mage running into melee against a close-range fighter?
Suicidal, or just plain stupid.
Neither, in Colt's case.
As he closed in, he cast a low-tier water spell. It appeared instantly in his hand—instant-casting like that wasn't unheard of, but still rare enough to draw notice.
Instead of launching it, Colt kept the water gathered in his palm.
That control alone required serious skill. Most attack spells behaved like projectiles. They surged out the moment they were formed, like a cannonball.
Especially elemental ones like this.
To the untrained eye, it looked like he was just stalling—holding it to fake 21 out.
But any seasoned mage would know: this was no bluff. That was a genuine Water Ball.
Not that 21 would care. He wasn't the calculating type while in berserk state. He charged faster, his instincts overriding everything else.
And that was exactly what Colt wanted.
21 swung his axe in a downward arc, relying on brute strength.
Colt jumped forward instead of back.
Since 21 was swinging with his instincts, he swung his axe while thinking that Colt would dodge backward.
However, since Colt moved forward, the axe was behind Colt.
And now, Colt was directly in front of him, his face only inches away.
He hurled the Water Ball point-blank into 21's eyes.
The impact made him jerk back—and that's when Colt landed the first punch.
It wasn't just a punch. It was reinforced with high-density mana.
He could use an element, but it could cause permanent damage on 21.
Colt didn't need such things. So, the punch was only strong.
He didn't need magic to break the boy, only strength. Well, it wasn't only strength this time since he had something extra in his punches...
The punch staggered 21, and made him stumble. But Colt didn't stop.
He stepped in and struck again.
The audience erupted in noise. No one expected a mage to press the attack. He could've just retreated and cast spells from a safe distance.
But Colt had a reason.
He could easily go back and bombard 21 with magic.
Of course, he also knew it. But the permanent damage he would give was a different kind.
21 had to learn not to risk others, let alone Seila, for his idiotic reasons.
So he'd end it this way—clean, direct, and controlled.
His fists rained down.
At some point, 21 dropped his axe. His berserk state flickered, then faded. His clarity returned, just in time to see another punch coming straight at him.
His face contorted. Bones cracked.
And in that moment, he understood.
He could catch the appearance of a boy with white hair and red eyes, and immediately understood what kind of situation he was in.
No, it was better to say that he remembered. He'd seen it last year—when he challenged the old 41.
He knew what to do.
All he had to say was, "I surrender."
The referee would stop it instantly.
At least, that was what had happened last year.
But the punches didn't let him speak.
He couldn't even scream.
From the crowd, he heard sounds of pity, distant and hollow, like echoes through water. But he couldn't respond.
Why isn't the referee stopping this?
That was the real question. This should've been over long ago.
Is he waiting for me to faint?
That was one of the valid reasons to end a match.
But after this kind of beating? He shouldn't have had to reach that point.
How long has it been? An hour? It had only been five minutes. But it felt like an eternity.
Am I going to die? I messed with the wrong person this time...
And then—it stopped.
The punches vanished like they'd never happened.
He looked up. The referee met his eyes calmly, like nothing was wrong.
He wasn't even questioning if he wanted to give up.
Why? I can't even talk. Just stop it already...
Luckily, Colt didn't hit him anymore.
Maybe because he was relieved after seeing Colt turn around and walk away, he breathed in.
The breath stung, causing his lungs to hurt. And he gave in to the pain. The world darkened, and he blacked out.