Chapter 49: Registration [5]

Susan still looked mildly displeased on the screen, the same reluctant expression she had worn since the beginning. Rael noticed, not for the first time, how many striking women he had encountered since returning. Samantha, the neighbor women with a bun, and now this orange-haired Association official. He wondered whether he had simply never paid attention before his Intelligence was sealed, or whether something about Titan itself had shifted. He pushed the thought aside.

"The third stage is the final one," Susan said. "You may take it whenever you feel ready. There is no time limit."

She paused, giving the words time to settle. No one stood up to leave.

"Very well. The third test is to fight and kill a beast brought from the Dream Realm."

Understanding passed through the group at once. The earlier offer to delay suddenly made perfect sense. The screen split; Susan’s image shrank to a corner while a live feed filled the rest. A swordsman was already fighting an orc inside a contained arena. Susan gestured.

"You can watch through the window on your left if you prefer."

The left wall turned transparent. Everyone rose and moved closer. Below them a broad, scarred orc swung a massive arm at a lightly armored swordsman. The man leapt high, trying for an overhead strike. The orc had been waiting for exactly that. Its open hand caught him in mid-air and hurled him across the arena. He slammed into the far wall and slid down. Red warning lights flared. The collar around the orc’s neck discharged a sharp current, freezing the creature in place. Handlers rushed in, lifted the unconscious swordsman, and carried him out. The orc retreated into its cage under the continuing threat of the collar.

Rael felt a brief flicker of pity for the beast, then let it go. This was simply how the world worked.

"Mages," Susan said, "this stage is now yours. Who wants to go first?"

Clara stepped forward before Rael could speak. "I will."

"I’ll go second," Rael said.

Lucas, still pale, raised a hesitant hand. "Third..."

The fourth candidate shook his head and requested a later attempt. Susan nodded, and a side door opened to let him leave.

A new door appeared beside the observation window. "Clara Rose, you may begin."

Clara glanced at Rael. "I’m winning this round."

"All right," he answered, unsure what competition she thought they were in.

She opened the door and descended the short stairway into the arena.

The orc that waited for her stood nearly fifteen feet tall. Its skin was a deep, mottled green, thick as old leather and crossed with pale scars. Yellow eyes fixed on the small human who had entered its space. Heavy chains on its wrists and ankles had been released; only the shock collar remained as a final safeguard. The handlers had already withdrawn behind reinforced barriers.

Clara raised her wand. The air around her warmed.

"Fire Blast."

A concentrated sphere of flame formed at the tip of the wand and launched with almost no delay. It struck the orc square in the chest and burst. Fire washed across the thick hide, bright and loud. When the flames cleared, the only result was a darkened patch of skin and a low, irritated growl. The orc barely rocked backward.

Clara’s eyes narrowed. She adjusted her stance and tried again.

"Fire Blast."

The second bolt hit the same area. This time the orc turned its shoulder into the impact, letting the explosion roll off. It answered with a sudden charge. The ground shook under its weight. Clara threw herself sideways; the massive fist slammed into the sand where she had stood, sending up a spray of grit. She rolled, came up on one knee, and cast while moving.

"Flamestrike."

A wide circle of fire erupted beneath the orc’s feet. Flames climbed its legs and lower torso. The creature bellowed, more in anger than pain, and stamped hard enough to scatter the burning sand. It came at her again, swinging in wide, crushing arcs. Clara kept her distance, using short bursts of speed and the reach of her magic. Every time she landed a Fire Blast the orc absorbed it with little visible damage. The hide was simply too thick, the body too massive for single-target bursts to matter quickly.

Sweat already beaded on her forehead. The arena felt hotter than it should, both from her own spells and the orc’s growing rage. She changed tactics.

Instead of aiming for the chest she targeted the joints. A Fire Blast took the orc in the left knee. The creature stumbled for half a step. She followed immediately with a Flamestrike centered on the same leg. Fire wrapped the joint and the thick muscle above it. The orc roared and lashed out with the injured limb, forcing her to leap back again. The claws on its foot passed close enough that she felt the wind of the swing.

It was learning. The next charge came in a lower, more controlled rush. Clara tried to create space with another Flamestrike, but the orc simply powered through the edge of the flames, hide smoking, and closed the distance. She barely managed to interpose a hasty Fire Blast between them. The point-blank explosion staggered the creature for a second—long enough for her to slip past its reaching hand and put ten meters of sand between them once more.

Her breathing had grown sharp. Casting while constantly moving drained mana faster than standing still. She could feel the first real edge of fatigue. The orc showed no such weakness. It lowered its shoulders and came on again, using its reach to keep her from finding a clean angle.

Clara stopped retreating.

She planted her feet, raised the wand, and began chaining the spells with deliberate precision. Fire Blast to the right knee. Flamestrike overlapping the same spot. Fire Blast to the left knee before the first had fully faded. The orc’s lower legs became a continuous mass of flame and blackening flesh. It tried to advance and nearly fell when the damaged joints refused to take its full weight cleanly. For the first time the creature looked uncertain.

She pressed the advantage. Another Flamestrike bloomed directly under its stance, forcing it to shift. The moment it planted the injured right leg to catch its balance she drove a Fire Blast into the side of that knee with everything she had left in the instant cast. Something inside the joint gave with an audible crack. The orc dropped to one knee, roaring.

Clara did not give it time to recover. She closed the distance she had spent the entire fight maintaining, raised the wand high, and poured mana into one final, concentrated Fire Blast aimed at the exposed neck. The bolt left the wand white-hot. It struck the softer flesh beneath the jaw and detonated.

Fire erupted around the orc’s head and throat. The creature’s roar turned into a choked, wet sound. It clawed at the flames, staggered, and then toppled sideways. The impact shook the arena floor. The shock collar remained quiet; the handlers did not intervene. The orc’s chest rose once, twice, then stilled.

Clara stood over it, wand still raised, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. Scorch marks covered her sleeves. A thin cut on her cheek from flying sand bled slowly. She had won, but the fight had taken far more from her than the clean first-try success of the dummy stage.

Above the arena, Susan’s voice came through the speakers, professional once more.

"Clara Rose—passed."

Clara lowered the wand and looked up toward the observation window where Rael and the others still watched. Her expression was no longer playful. It was tired, sharp, and quietly satisfied.

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