Mike smiled faintly.

"It's still too early to be surprised," he said calmly.

Golden mana surged.

The sword in his hand rippled like liquid sunlight, and a sharp arc of golden light sliced through the air toward Roth.

Roth's instincts screamed.

"Tch!"

He kicked off the ground and leapt backward just as the golden slash skimmed past him, carving a clean trench into the arena floor behind him. The barrier flickered briefly from the impact.

Roth landed heavily, boots scraping against stone, eyes narrowed in focus.

"…That's not ordinary magic," he muttered. "Magic doesn't move like that. It's being freely shaped."

He straightened, grip tightening around his greatsword.

"This isn't spellcasting," Roth continued, a grin spreading across his face. "It's closer to gold manipulation."

Mike's smile widened just a little.

"That's right."

Golden mana flowed again, spreading from his sword into his arm, then branching outward. For a moment, it looked as if veins of gold were crawling across his skin before stabilizing.

Roth laughed—a deep, excited sound.

"Hahaha! Good! That just makes this fun!"

He slammed his greatsword into the ground.

Boom!

A shockwave rippled outward as red aura exploded around his body, heat distorting the air.

"Berserker Drive!"

Veins bulged along Roth's arms as his muscles swelled, his presence turning heavy and oppressive. The crowd felt it immediately—raw, violent power pressing down on the arena.

Mike didn't move.

Instead, the golden sword in his hand dissolved, reforming instantly into two shorter blades, perfectly balanced.

The audience gasped.

"He reshaped it instantly…"

"No chant?"

"No delay?"

Mike rolled his shoulders once, relaxed.

"Come on," he said lightly.

Roth's grin turned feral.

"Don't blink!"

He vanished.

The next instant, Roth reappeared right in front of Mike, his greatsword already mid-swing—faster, heavier, and far more lethal than before.

Mike smiled.

"You fell for it."

A bad feeling surged through Roth—but it was already too late.

Mike had been ready from the moment Roth vanished. The golden blades in his hands split apart, turning into dozens of razor-thin golden shards that hovered for a heartbeat—

Then fired.

Because of the sudden distance shift and Roth's own explosive speed, he couldn't dodge in time.

The shards struck him squarely.

"Argh!" Roth grunted as several golden blades slammed into his armor, driving him backward.

More followed, forcing him to block and retreat.

"Just give up," Mike said calmly, stepping forward. "You can't win against me."

Roth laughed through the pain.

"Hahaha! I'm a berserker!"

He roared, slamming his greatsword into the ground as red aura exploded around him. His wounds began to knit together at a visible rate, his presence rising sharply as his power climbed to another level.

Mike narrowed his eyes.

"So you're pushing it even further."

Golden mana surged again as Mike swung his arm.

A massive golden shield formed instantly in front of him.

Roth charged, laughing wildly.

"Hah—ha… ha?"

His laughter cut off.

His greatsword slammed into the shield—but instead of shattering, the golden barrier absorbed the impact completely.

At the same time, Mike moved.

The shield dissolved—then twisted.

Golden mana flowed like liquid metal, reshaping itself around Roth's greatsword and locking onto it.

Clang.

The weapon stopped dead.

"…What?" Roth exclaimed, trying to pull it back.

He yanked once.

Nothing.

He pulled harder, veins bulging in his arms—but the sword didn't move an inch. The golden construct had wrapped around the blade and hilt like an unbreakable vice.

"Tch—let go!" Roth growled, pouring more strength into it.

Mike didn't even flinch.

"Too late," he said calmly. "Once it's bound, it's mine."

In the next instant, Mike was behind Roth.

A golden sword had already formed in his hand, its edge resting calmly against the back of Roth's neck.

The arena went silent.

"Match over," the referee announced sharply. "Winner—Mike."

Roth's berserker aura faded as he froze, then slowly exhaled. He raised both hands and stepped back.

"Tch…" he muttered, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked grin. "Your combat sense is insane."

Mike lowered his blade, the golden light fading as he nodded slightly.

"Good fight."

And above the arena, the floating crystals updated silently.

Mike Vester — 1 Victory.

"Do you wish to rest, or continue fighting?" the examiner asked.

"I can still fight," Mike replied calmly.

"Very well," the examiner nodded. "Next challenger, enter the arena."

The remaining three contestants glanced at one another. After a brief pause, Kael Fangstride stepped forward—the Beastkin Rogue.

Despite his lean build, his presence was unsettling. An assassin-type class awakened to perfection. Even as he walked, there was no sound of footsteps.

Kael stopped across from Mike, his sharp eyes calm and focused.

The referee looked between them.

"Ready?"

Both nodded.

"…Begin."

In the next instant, Kael vanished.

Mike's eyes narrowed as he scanned the arena.

This won't be easy, he thought grimly. His speed is on a completely different level.

—Slash!

Pain flared.

"Argh—!"

Mike staggered half a step as a dagger sliced across his side, blood seeping through his clothes.

A wave of gasps rippled through the audience.

"Woah! Mike Vester has finally been injured!" the commentator exclaimed excitedly."Will he reveal his tamed beast now?!"

Mike steadied his breathing, one hand pressing lightly against the wound as golden mana began to stir around him.

Kael was still nowhere to be seen, remaining hidden in stealth as he circled the arena at high speed.

Dozens of golden blades formed around Mike, spinning rapidly as they orbited his body like a living slicer. The air itself hummed with danger—if Kael came any closer, he would be torn apart instantly.

"Mike still hasn't revealed his beast!" the commentator exclaimed.

"He's using pure defense with his Golden Magic—no, this isn't just magic, it's Golden Manipulation!"

"He's created a tight-knit formation around himself," another added. "There's no easy opening anymore. Approaching him head-on would be suicide!"

Kael clicked his tongue softly from the shadows.

Tch… so he closed off all close-range approaches, Kael thought. As I sensed he is really the strongest among others.

But he didn't panic.

Instead, his figure flickered briefly at the edge of Mike's vision—then vanished again.

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