Reborn as the Archmage's Rival
Chapter 34: Prelude to Battle

Chapter 34: Prelude to Battle

The sun had barely crested the horizon, but the training field behind Dormitory Seven was already alive with movement.

Darius tightened the straps on his gloves, breath clouding faintly in the morning chill as he took his position near the far end of the grassy arena. Across from him, Kai was stretching his arms overhead, muscles flexing beneath his sleeveless tunic, earth-toned mana already stirring faintly at his feet. Aiden stood at the center, adjusting the bracers on his wrists as soft light pulsed gently from a rune drawn across his palm.

They didn’t need to speak.

Over the past weeks, the three had fallen into rhythm—waking before the sun, eating quietly, and walking together through dew-damp grass to this field where their real lessons began. No professors, no spectators. Just the three of them pushing themselves to break through their limits, day after day.

Today was no different. And yet, everything was different.

The Mid-Year Tournament was no longer a distant event. It was here. Tonight, the duels would begin. Victory or reassignment. Recognition or obscurity. For some, this would be the end of their time at the Arcanum. For others—it could be the beginning of everything.

And they all knew it.

Kai struck first.

With a sudden stomp, the ground beneath him shifted, a jagged panel of earth launching upward like a spring-loaded trap. He used it not for offense but for propulsion, throwing himself forward with a yell, fists glowing with ruddy mana. Aiden responded instantly, twisting his wrist and calling forth a thin wall of hardlight between them. The impact sent a bright shimmer across the barrier’s surface, but it held, if only barely.

Darius didn’t wait. He surged forward, channeling Zephyr—not to fly, not to vanish, but to glide. His feet barely touched the ground as he moved, body wrapped in controlled gales that hissed beneath his boots. A subtle burst of wind spun him into the fray, catching Kai from the side just as the boy turned to flank Aiden.

The hit didn’t land. Kai dug his heel into the earth, anchoring himself mid-motion, and threw up a stone slab between them that Darius narrowly flipped over with a burst of air beneath his feet.

"Better," Kai grinned, landing in a crouch as the slab crumbled behind him. "You’re getting sneaky"

Darius didn’t respond. He was already pivoting, pulling a sharp gust of wind into his palm and flinging it low—less a spell, more a precise release of force aimed at Kai’s footing.

Aiden capitalized immediately.

As the wind forced Kai off-balance, Aiden moved with surgical timing. A pulse of golden light coiled around his fingers and then lashed out in a whip of pure mana. It wasn’t harmful, but the impact forced Kai further back, stumbling toward the field’s edge. He caught himself just in time, hand slamming into the dirt to summon a half-dome of stone as cover.

Darius turned toward Aiden just in time to see the boy release another spell—an orb of clean, radiant light that hovered in front of his chest like a second sun. A moment later, it pulsed outward in a soft wave. Darius felt it as it passed over him: soothing warmth, mending minor strains in his arms and legs he hadn’t realized he’d picked up during the clash.

"No glyphs," Darius noted aloud, landing nearby.

Aiden gave a small smile, the corners of his mouth barely twitching. "Pure spellcasting. Took me three weeks to stop needing the anchor. It’s not perfect yet."

"It’s damn close," Kai muttered, climbing out from behind his crumbling earth shield. "That blast made my back tingle. In a good way. I think."

Darius exhaled, his focus returning to the ever-present hum of mana inside him. He crouched slightly, placing a palm on the ground. A swirl of air gathered at his fingertips, and then his form blurred—Zephyr active, but held back, the wind circling his limbs in tightly bound rings rather than spiraling out of control. He darted forward again, not toward either of them, but through the middle—forcing them both to react.

Aiden threw up another barrier, thinner this time, focusing on speed. Darius slipped past it with barely a touch, the spell disintegrating behind him. Kai launched a small rock spike at his legs, but Darius pivoted midair, redirecting with a burst from his back foot.

He didn’t strike either of them.

This wasn’t about landing hits.

This was about control.

He touched down on the far edge of the field, wind dispersing in a controlled spiral that blew the morning mist into elegant arcs around him.

The field fell quiet.

Kai dusted off his hands, then gave a low whistle. "Alright. You’re definitely not the same guy who we met on day one."

"Speak for yourself," Aiden added. "You used to launch yourself into walls."

"Once," Kai snapped, pointing. "Once. And I did it for dramatic effect."

They laughed—quiet, short. The tension didn’t break, but it softened around the edges.

Darius flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar tickle of wind lingering under his skin. "Again?" he asked.

They nodded as one.

No countdown. No signal. Just movement.

The second round began in a flurry of magic and motion—rock colliding with light, wind weaving between them, pushing each of them harder. No hesitation. No mercy. They weren’t fighting each other. They were pushing each other to be better.

Each block, each cast, each dodge sharpened something dull inside them.

The tournament hadn’t started yet. But here, in this silent morning training, their battle had already begun.

By the time the sky had fully warmed from rose to gold, the boys were breathless, sweat-slick, and silently satisfied. The field around them bore signs of their effort—half-buried rock clusters, singed grass, and the lingering echo of light spells dissipating in the air.

They didn’t need to say it, but all three felt it.

They were ready.

Back in the dormitory, the halls were alive with energy. Footsteps rushed from room to room, voices low and urgent. Students adjusted cloaks, fastened belts, polished rings and glyph-etched cuffs with the obsessive precision of soldiers preparing for inspection. The air buzzed not just with mana, but with nerves.

Darius pulled on his dark academy-issued coat, the high collar snug at his throat, the silver trim gleaming faintly. His gloves, reinforced for both grip and casting precision, slid on with practiced ease. He checked the manasilk bindings beneath his sleeves, humming faintly with passive wind magic. Everything was in place.

Kai stepped out of his room in a tunic stitched with layered leathers, reinforced around the torso and shoulders. It wasn’t ceremonial—it was meant to absorb impact. His knuckles bore faint glyph lines, hastily scrawled. He cracked them as he joined the others.

"Wouldn’t mind a proper meal, but I suppose violence comes first today," Kai muttered.

Aiden followed, his robes more modest—tight-fitting, practical, pale silver edged in blue. His gloves had lightwoven glyphs running across the palms, and his shoulder guard had been freshly etched with the sigil of their dorm group. His hair was tied back neatly, expression calm but unreadable.

They didn’t speak much on the way.

The academy grounds had transformed. Banners fluttered from arched bridges, enchanted to shimmer with color when the wind passed through. Students filed from every direction toward the central campus arena—the vast circular coliseum at the heart of Virellia, built of silver stone, trimmed in golden runes.

The closer they came, the more the murmur of the crowd swelled—hundreds of voices, maybe thousands. Upper-year students, professors, sponsors, and even nobles from distant cities had gathered. The Academy’s Grand Arena, normally quiet except during lectures or evaluations, now roared with excitement.

Inside, the scale of the place dwarfed them.

Rows of stone seating rose in high tiers around a colossal dueling platform at the center. Arcane mechanisms hummed in the air, charged with spells for amplification, shielding, and broadcast. Floating platforms hovered high above—reserved for elite guests and instructors. A barrier shimmered faintly between the spectators and the ring, warding off stray magic.

Darius, Kai, and Aiden were ushered with the rest of the first-years into their section: the student block on the lower southern side, carved directly into the arena’s stone. The seats were packed, shoulders brushing. Chatter came in bursts—some nervous, others cocky, a few sounding like prayers.

Darius sat on the end of their row. From here, he could see the entire arena floor. Across from him, on the opposite end of the stands, he spotted Lucien Ashford—seated alone, one leg crossed over the other, back straight, gaze steady. Not proud. Not arrogant. Focused.

As if sensing the look, Lucien’s eyes flicked up.

Their gazes met.

Darius didn’t flinch.

Then, the arena dimmed.

A hush fell over the audience as a cascade of sparks flickered to life overhead. At first, just tiny glimmers, like candlelight in high wind. Then—flames. Dozens of them. Spiraling trails of fire wove through the sky above the coliseum, coalescing into a great wheel of flame.

The fire spun faster, collapsing inward—and then exploded in a controlled burst of crimson light.

Out of that burning brilliance descended a figure, standing atop a floating platform of obsidian glass.

The Headmaster.

He stood tall in robes layered with charred reds and dusk-blacks, trimmed in burning gold. His hair, once dark, had streaks of embers woven through it, and his eyes glowed faintly—residual fire magic lingering from the entrance. Every motion he made seemed to leave faint heat trails behind, as though the air bent to his command.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Arcanum of Virellia," he began, voice magnified by runes etched into the air beside him. "Welcome to the Mid-Year Proving."

The crowd erupted in applause, students and faculty alike rising to their feet. The Headmaster raised a single hand, and the flames above quieted instantly.

"You have endured weeks of lectures, drills, tests, and tempests. You have made allies, enemies, and mistakes. Some of you were broken and rebuilt. Some are still breaking. That, my young mages, is the cost of power. And today... we begin to see who will rise from the forge."

He paced along the edge of the platform, hands clasped behind his back.

"This is not merely a competition. It is a purification. A burning away of the weak from the strong—not in mana alone, but in will, wit, and vision."

He paused, gaze sweeping the arena.

"Some of you will lose today. Some of you will lose tomorrow. Some will be offered reassignment. And yes, a few of you may be asked to leave the Arcanum entirely."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The only sound was the distant crackle of residual fire floating in the upper air.

"But," the Headmaster added, his tone rising, "there are some among you who will be noticed."

He gestured to the uppermost platform, hidden behind a curtain of light.

"Not all who watch today will make themselves known. Among the spectators are Visionaries. Masters of their craft. Revolutionaries of spellwork. They are not here for applause. They are here for one thing."

He snapped his fingers, and the air above the arena shimmered, revealing a ring of silhouettes watching from behind the enchantment—tall figures in ornate robes, faces obscured by hoods and runes. The crowd gasped.

"They are here to find the next of their kind."

The Headmaster’s platform descended slightly, and his voice lowered just enough to sound more intimate.

"Cast boldly. Fight wisely. Innovate. Surprise us. There are no spell restrictions in this tournament. All casting is permitted, so long as it does not endanger spectators. This arena is built to withstand gods. So show us you have the will to touch the divine."

The flames rose again behind him in a fiery arc, and he turned toward the dueling ring.

"Let the Proving begin."

Applause thundered through the stands. The heat from the Headmaster’s departure still lingered in the air.

Darius sat forward in his seat.

A platform bearing a massive crystal tablet hovered to the center of the arena. The names of the competitors glowed to life one by one.

A sudden hush fell.

"Opening Match: Lucien Ashford vs. Arin Valis."

A murmur rippled through the students.

Arin Valis—the prodigy from the southern provinces, said to have command over electrical magic so precise it could numb a person’s nerves before they even felt pain. Darius had only seen her once in class. Pale hair, lightning-bound cuffs, a quiet intensity. She walked to the ring now with her arms folded behind her back, expression unreadable.

And Lucien...

Lucien rose like a shadow from his seat, walking the long steps down the side of the arena without a word. He moved as if he were already part of the battlefield. Darius watched every step, noting the faint glimmer of mana around his hands.

The first match was upon them.

He could feel his heartbeat ticking behind his ribs.

Kai exhaled slowly. "Looks like we start with fireworks."

Aiden gave a small nod. "Keep your eyes open. Every duel’s a lesson."

Darius leaned forward, the arena lights casting pale shadows across his face. He said nothing.

Not yet.

He was watching.

And waiting.