The Tournament Begins

For the next two days, Lu Mao and the others stayed inside the guest house, never once stepping out.

Novia woke up that very night. She had simply overused her magicules, and after a night's rest, she was perfectly fine.

Early the next morning, she was already sitting by the window eating. The guest house's kitchen had started sending meals to her room before dawn: roasted meat, stews, whole grilled fish, and towers of honey-glazed pastries.

When Lu Mao knocked on her door to check on her recovery, she was holding a bowl of steaming thick soup in one hand and a half-eaten piece of roasted meat in the other, her face still bearing that cold, unapproachable expression.

On the third day, the finals of the Elite Spell Formation Tournament officially began.

Early in the morning, the guest house staff knocked on doors one by one, asking the guests if they planned to watch the tournament.

An old mage living next door readily agreed. As he tidied his robes, he asked the staff member about this year's panel of judges for the finals. The staff member replied with a smile before knocking on Lu Mao's door.

Lu Mao had originally intended to politely decline.

They had come to Falan City to deliver a letter. Now that the letter had been delivered and Maurice's stronghold had been taken down, it was best to avoid any unnecessary trouble.

Furthermore, they had already exposed that someone in their group was a demi-human. The people of Lumdor harbored a deep-seated prejudice against demi-humans. The only reason it hadn't caused a major uproar was because Mayfield had stood his ground against all objections, and they had also destroyed Maurice's cultist stronghold in the process. Even if anyone wanted to pick a fight, they would have to keep their mouths shut for the time being.

But this was only temporary. Sooner or later, someone would bring it up. There was no need for them to keep showing their faces at a time like this.

Just as he was about to decline, the staff member added:

“President Mayfield specifically requested that if it is convenient for you all, you must attend. This year's tournament will have a large and diverse crowd. The president is worried that some might take the opportunity to stir up trouble, and he mentioned that having you there would put his mind at ease.”

Lu Mao looked back. Novia showed no expression, but she gave a slight nod.

Naturally, the others had no objections either.

Truth be told, aside from wanting to keep a low profile, they were actually quite curious about the Elite Spell Formation Tournament.

After all, it was rumored to be the highest-profile magic festival on the Western Continent. Since they were already here, it would be a shame not to see it.

...

The tournament's finals were held in the colosseum right in front of the White Tower. The entire structure was built of giant white stones, its outer walls embedded with dozens of magic crystals that glowed with a faint blue aura in the morning light.

The spectator stands were divided into several tiers, ranging from general seating to high-tier private boxes:

The outermost tier was the general seating for the public, which required a few silver coins for admission. The middle tiers were reserved seats for scholars, merchants, and Guild members from various countries. Further up were the VIP boxes, reserved exclusively for nobles and representatives of major factions from different nations. At the very top were a few high-tier VIP boxes with the best views, open only to Guild executives and specially invited guests.

Erich followed his father, Count Hagen, into a VIP box.

Though it was called a VIP box, it was only on the upper-middle tier. Even his father couldn't enter the true top-tier boxes. However, this didn't stop his newly made friends from sucking up to him.

“Young Master Erich, this is a VIP box! There are at least twenty or thirty noble families present today, and those who can secure a spot on this tier are few and far between.”

A young man wearing a bright blue mage robe leaned in, his face covered in a fawning smile.

Erich's lips curled upward. He waved his hand and offered a faux-humble response, “Oh, it's nothing.” Ever since Lu Mao had publicly humiliated him, he had become much more reserved.

A few days ago, someone had gone out of their way to tell him that the young girl by Lu Mao's side, who barely reached his shoulder, was actually a pure-blooded dragon of the Demon King candidate level—the kind that could flatten his Count's estate with a single claw.

From then on, he completely abandoned any thoughts of getting even. He didn't care what kind of powerhouse this Lu Mao was; they wouldn't be staying here long anyway. Once this group left, he would still be the young master of a grand noble family in Falan City.

As he was indulging in his pleasant thoughts, his peripheral vision caught a group of people walking toward him from the end of the corridor.

Lu Mao walked at the front, with Novia still floating beside him. Lumu followed behind, while Sorge leaned on his staff, and the troll carried his wooden club at the very back.

Erich's smile froze on his face. He quickly spun around, turning his back to the corridor, pretending to look at the scenery outside the window.

His companions, completely oblivious, murmured beside him:

“Huh? Those people just walked past... It looks like they're heading toward the high-tier VIP boxes? Isn't that area restricted to Guild executives and specially invited guests?”

Another companion lowered his voice and chimed in:

“Haven't you heard? The incident at that suburban manor a couple of days ago—they were the ones who did it. I heard that white-haired girl is a genuine dragon. President Mayfield personally arranged for them to stay at the guest house.”

Erich's companions exchanged glances, then looked at Erich's stiff back. They seemed to realize something but didn't dare to ask.

On the low table in the VIP box sat an exquisitely bound parchment booklet. Its cover bore the joint emblem of the Alchemists' Guild and the Mages' Guild, with gilded letters reading: “The 12th Elite Spell Formation Tournament Finalists Registry.”

Lu Mao casually flipped it open.

The first name was Klein Wald, nineteen years old, the top student of the Korvo Magic Academy for three consecutive years. A Seventh-Circle mage, specializing in the cross-application of elemental magic and alchemy.

The second was Gloria Ashton from Lumdor's local Royal Magic Academy, twenty years old, a Seventh-Circle alchemist specializing in potions and life alchemy.

Flipping further, there was Leon Croft from the Famlok Royal Magic Academy, a Seventh-Circle elemental mage specializing in wind-fire dual-element composite magic, with an extremely wide attack range but slightly weak precision control...

Lu Mao flipped through the pages one by one, getting a general sense of the participants.

Just as he set the booklet back down on the low table, the spell formation core in the center of the arena slowly rose.

Three nested magic rings expanded in the air, shrouding the entire colosseum in a pale blue barrier of light.

The massive purple crystal at the top of the White Tower suddenly lit up, shooting a beam of light straight into the sky. It then exploded into a sky full of tiny, starlike particles, scattering down over the spectator stands.

A collective gasp instantly echoed through the stands.

In the reserved middle seats, several visiting scholars were also conversing in hushed tones.

An old scholar wearing pince-nez spectacles stroked his beard and sighed in admiration. “I haven't been here in three years, and Falan City's spell formation craftsmanship has improved yet again. These starlike particles are formed by directly crystallizing mana before dispersing them, without a single trace of waste.”

A younger chamber of commerce representative beside him chimed in, “I heard the judging standards for this final are higher than in previous years. Not only is President Mayfield personally presiding, but even the Church of the Goddess of Life has sent representatives to watch.”

Another plump man dressed as a merchant lowered his voice and added, “Did you hear about what happened at that manor in the suburbs a couple of days ago? Apparently, a cultist stronghold was taken down. The Guild has been busy investigating moles within the city guards these past few days.”

The old scholar pushed up his glasses and did not reply, merely casting a meaningful glance toward the high-tier VIP boxes at the very top.

Mayfield rose from the judges' bench and walked to the speaker's podium in the center of the colosseum.

“Welcome, everyone, to the finals of the 12th Elite Spell Formation Tournament. Lumdor has prepared three years for this grand event, and you have prepared even longer. Regardless of today's outcome, to stand here is already to be the pride of your respective academies.”

He looked around. “I declare the finals officially open.”

Applause erupted from all directions, mingled with whistles and cheers. Someone in the stands shouted a contestant's name at the top of their lungs, and nearby supporters immediately yelled back, refusing to be outdone. The two groups began a shouting match across several rows of seats.