Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 877: The Waiting Game

A torrent of incandescent heat washed over Mordred's senses. The sheer ferocity of the fire caused his skin to tingle, even from his safe vantage point within his chamber. Blinding white flames descended, striking a dome of shimmering ice. A cacophony of crackling roars and the furious hiss of steam erupted into the atmosphere.

Dense plumes of white engulfed the arena, impacting the surrounding combatants like breakers crashing against a rocky shoreline. The mist dissipated as swiftly as it had materialized, revealing the sodden remnants of what had once been a formidable ice barrier. Barely an inch of the once-thick wall remained intact.

Yet, that meager remnant proved sufficient. The fiery assault had failed to breach the armored woman's defenses. Mordred's eyebrows would have surely shot upwards in surprise had he been physically present. The intensity of that particular attack was staggering; he doubted he had ever witnessed flames reach such a searing temperature.

Mordred would have found it exceedingly difficult to devise a means of defense against such an onslaught. Although he was certain the attack wouldn't have vanquished him in a single blow, his own arsenal was significantly more adept at countering ice than fire. In truth, facing a fire mage, there was likely no superior magical counter available.

He was not the sole observer impressed by the display. The fire mage herself bared her teeth in an expression that was a disconcerting blend of a sneer and a growl.

"You actually managed to survive that one, did you? That's better than I was expecting. What's your name, girl?"

"It's been a long time since I've been called a girl," the armored woman responded. Her ice wall dissolved, parting like a curtain as she advanced through it, sword held steady and forward. "But it is customary to know the name of your killer. I am Fuyin."

"Killer?" The other woman's lips twisted into a more pronounced smile. "Coming to a friendly tournament with such killing intent. Whatever for? I haven't killed anyone close to you, have I?"

"You don't need to," Fuyin stated, her voice as frigid as the delicate, white spiderweb patterns of ice that began to spread across the ground at her feet. She lowered her stance, preparing herself. "I know what type of person you are. I can read you."

"Is that so?" Wisps of white fire snaked across the ground, coiling around the blonde-haired woman's form and gathering above her wrists. "Well, you'll do. I wasn't expecting to find anything interesting so early in the tournament. I figured it would be at least a few boring rounds of toasting incompetent opponents before I got a chance to have some real fun. How fortunate for me. Since I'm the one visiting... I suppose I'll follow your traditions. You want to know the name of your killer, right? Then you can call me Cinder."

"Did you come up with that yourself?" Fuyin inquired, tilting her head slightly. "It is painfully uncreative. Choosing a name after your magic is just droll. Or did you fashion your magic after your name? That might be even worse."

Cinder's reply manifested as a powerful surge of white-hot fire that crashed toward Fuyin, incandescently scorching the earth between them into blackness. Fuyin deflected the attack with a swift sword movement. Ice fractured as razor-sharp spikes erupted from the ground, forming a jagged barrier before her. Their opposing magics collided with a deafening hiss, fire and frost shrieking as they consumed each other. Mist billowed out across the arena once more, enshrouding any unfortunate bystanders caught too close in a vortex of white.

Mordred retracted his consciousness, ascending into the air above the arena. He had thoroughly assessed both combatants. There was no longer a need to continue observing their duel. Pillars of light continued to descend around them, signaling the elimination of other mages.

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Both Fuyin and Cinder were formidable powerhouses. Neither was likely to fall anytime soon and as a result, they would be among the last standing once all other weaker participants were eliminated. It seemed inevitable that both would advance to the subsequent rounds of the tournament. Prolonging his observation of their ongoing battle would not be the most prudent use of his time, a mistake he had already made once before.

At the current pace, the initial rounds were drawing to a close rapidly. It would be prudent to ascertain if any other contenders exhibited exceptional talent before the cut-off time for the current stage and the commencement of the next round. While the probability of such a concentration of noteworthy mages appearing in the opening round seemed somewhat remote, Mordred was not one to leave things to chance or coincidence.

***

"Not all of those mages appear to be Rank 5," Brayden commented. He was slouched in his chair, one hand casually draped over the backrest. Despite his relaxed posture, his gaze was intently focused. "There are some Rank 6 individuals mixed within that group. I would have expected them to be filtered out earlier. It's hardly ideal for spectator enjoyment if all the truly talented Rank 5 participants are eliminated right at the tournament's commencement."

“Perhaps the number of Rank 6 mages is insufficient to fill multiple arenas?” Lee speculated, her gaze drifting towards a rope hanging nearby. Her focus was clearly not on the ongoing battle, as she had barely glanced at the arena. After finishing her meal, she had fixated on the rope, apparently contemplating whether pulling it would yield more food. “Maybe they're rationing them, or something like that.”

“It’s possible they're allowing weaker Rank 6s to compete in the Rank 5 groups,” Noah offered. “I doubt there’s a shortage of Rank 6 mages in a place like Obsidia, especially with people converging from everywhere. I haven't sensed that the average Rank 6 is at the top of the pecking order anymore. While they might not be abundant, they're likely not as comparatively scarce as they were in Arbitrage.”

“Noah’s likely right,” Brayden agreed with a slight nod, his eyes fixed on the aerial projection of the unfolding fight. The pace had begun to slacken. The least powerful mages were eliminated swiftly, leaving behind those who were either adept at evasion or skilled enough to prolong their resistance. “Nobody's achieving an immediate, decisive victory. If a truly formidable Rank 6 were present, they would effortlessly dispatch everyone else.”

“Unless they were deliberately holding back,” Noah countered, a frown creasing his brow. “These battles are visible to all. Rumors will inevitably circulate, and I'm certain we aren't the only ones with an inside source feeding us information. If Mordred can manage it… others can too. And if I were a powerful Rank 6, I’d likely refrain from showcasing the full extent of my abilities. There’s always someone stronger. Preserving a surprise trump card is always a prudent strategy.”

“You’re contradicting your own hypothesis,” Braden grumbled. “Shouldn’t you stick to your initial guesses?”

A crackling static filled the room, causing Noah’s hair to stand on end.

“How may we be of assistance?” a man’s voice warbled.

Both Noah and Brayden swiveled towards the sound's origin. Lee, having pulled the rope, offered them an apologetic smile.

“Food?” Lee inquired.

“Understood.” The electrified voice dissipated, and the ambient static discharge faded with it.

Lee released the rope, which retracted about a foot into the ceiling. She then cleared her throat. “I was hungry. And if you place an infinite food supply rope in front of me and expect me not to use it, then you're being foolish. I am going to pull the food rope.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” Noah conceded, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the tournament. A few more mages were being eliminated, but the participant count had already significantly dwindled. The bout, he surmised, would conclude shortly.

Indeed, less than thirty seconds later, a deafening blast, akin to cannon fire, rent the air. All three winced as the shimmering projection above shattered, replaced by the mustached visage of Baun.

“The first round has concluded!” Baun bellowed. “However, do not vacate your seats yet! The next round will commence without delay. We have numerous eager combatants poised to enter the ring. Therefore, without further preamble, prepare for the commencement of the subsequent round! Combatants, verify your badges!”

Flashes of light illuminated the space beneath Baun's image as mages on the arena floor were swiftly returned to their quarters.

Fist materialized a few feet away from Noah and Brayden, her arms visibly splattered with blood – none of which appeared to be her own. “Huh,” she remarked, her gaze falling upon the empty table, her expression crestfallen. “Aw.”

“It’s alright,” Lee assured her. “I’ve ordered more.”

Noah, however, was not paying them much mind. His attention was riveted to his badge.

It was glowing a cheerful green. And despite the circumstances, an eager grin spread across his lips beneath his mask. He had always detested waiting. The time had finally arrived for Spider to make his grand entrance.