Nolhan’s stance shifted, weight sliding, his sword whispering free of its sheath with a ringing hum. He did not rush. Instead, he stepped forward with the calm certainty of a man who had lived his life by the blade.

  Veronica raised a hand.

  Wings of light shimmered briefly behind her palm, the sign of a spell gathering, but she did not unleash it. Not yet.

  She did not draw on the full breadth of her reserves; Sage’s warning still echoed in her mind. Half her mana at most. Any more, and her core would strain dangerously.

  Nolhan’s blade began to shine. Its edges faintly glowed, the sheen of condensed sword aura wrapping around it in a pale haze.

  Veronica’s eyes narrowed. Sword aura. Just like I thought. But it’s weak.

  He was the first to strike.

  A single diagonal slash swung from several paces out. The aura around his blade snapped into the air, the pressure alone tearing at the dead burnt grass and scattering dirt forward.

  It wasn’t an attack meant to harm or kill.

  It was a probe.

  Veronica tensed her finger and mana poured outward. A shimmer of translucent light flared in front of her, a dome that surrounded her entire body. The sword slash slammed straight into her barrier with a resonant crack. Her shield rippled, causing concentric circles to spread out from the impact, yet it held nonetheless.

  The old man’s eyes flickered, surprise breaking through his calm. “A barrier…?”

  A whisper ran through the onlookers. Elise, who knew the art of magic herself, murmured beneath her breath.

  A barrier was a Tier-3 technique. To see a second-tier conjure one at will… it defied what she thought possible.

  “You’ll need to hit harder than that, Nolhan,” Veronica said, a small smile forming on her face.

  His mouth twitched in answer, the faintest ghost of amusement. He reset his stance, blade aligning with his chest. Then, with two quick steps, he closed the distance and cut again—an upward vertical slash, sharper and much heavier than the first.

  Her barrier caught it; sparks screamed off the shield as the attack scraped across light. The force rattled Veronica all the same. She grit her teeth and poured more mana into the barrier until the strike slid off and dissipated.

  [Mana: 475/560]

  That wave slash had taken out roughly 80 points of her mana. That meant she could only use 200 more points. It was no joke that Nolhan’s strikes were strong. Swordsmen held a clear advantage over mages in this regard. They could continually attack until they grew tired. Mages—they could continually cast spells, but were limited by their mana pool and mana regeneration.

  Can’t waste too much mana on defending. I should end this in one or two hits, she thought.

  Nolhan advanced again, readying another cut. But this time, Veronica dropped her barrier and raised her hand skyward, fingers pointed toward the sun. The sudden shift made him hesitate, boots halting mid-step. He sensed it too; the tempo was changing.

  “Let’s see how you defend,” Veronica said.

  He adjusted instantly—right foot forward, left foot braced, his blade angled diagonally across his body. A swordsman’s guard. Ready for whatever came.

  Two white wings unfurled behind her hand, electricity flashing to life in the air around her. Sparks hissed in the sky and against the ruined earth, filling the silence with their crackles.

  Across the clearing, Nolhan’s scarred features eased into something rare. A small smile.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. “Show me.”

  Veronica’s own grin answered him.

  A third wing shimmered into being behind Veronica’s palm, radiant and shining.

  The reaction from the onlookers was immediate. Elise froze, lips parting in disbelief. Baron Welterman’s eyes narrowed. Even Viscount Leopold, pale in his chair, leaned forward despite his wounds.

  “Three wings…?” Elise whispered, shaken. Had Veronica lied about her tier? Not once, but twice? First she was a first-tier mage, then a second-tier mage, and yet, here she was, casting a third-tier spell.

  Veronica’s smile turned feral, the look of a predator about to pounce. Since this was a match to test her skills—Nolhan gave her the courtesy of preparing her spell.

  Casting a third-tier spell was still quite the effort. In an actual fight, casting above her tier without her Exalted Form was akin to suicide without preparations. It simply took too long and left her vulnerable. But for this little exhibition match, it didn't matter. She'd have to thank him later for waiting.

  If he was still conscious, that was.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  She carved her hand downward in a sharp arc.

  The sky answered her call.

  A bolt of lightning fell—swift, eerily silent, and merciless. It struck Nolhan’s position in less than a heartbeat, the ground detonating outward in a blinding spray of dirt and stone. Dust and debris engulfed him, the air crackling faintly with the aftertaste of ozone and heat.

  The crowd gasped. Some shielded their faces; others craned forward to see the outcome.

  A gleam cut through the haze, attracting everyone’s focus.

  Nolhan’s blade swept outward, scattering the cloud in a single, deliberate motion. His clothes were ruffled, his boots scuffed, but he stood unharmed, aura still gleaming faintly along his sword’s edge.

  He exhaled slowly, lips curling into a thin smile. “Was that it? That was what you—”

  But then he stopped.

  Veronica’s lips were moving. Her voice was low, carried on the crackling air. In front of her was a spell circle. With her current tier, she couldn’t cast this spell without it. Nor, without a arcanic words.

  “First comes lightning…”

  At Nolhan’s feet, the ground fractured. White veins of light spiderwebbed outward, etching glowing patterns into the ruined soil. In an instant, luminous walls of mana flared up around him, trapping him in on all sides.

  He stiffened, instincts flaring. His knees bent, blade rising. He prepared to leap away—

  “…then comes thunder.”

  Her hand clenched, and the ground erupted.

  A roaring detonation of white-gold fury swallowed Nolhan whole. Earth shattered, debris hurtled skyward, and the clearing shook as though the heavens themselves had struck. The thunder rolled like a war drum, deafening in its wake. This time, there was no mistaking it—it was a true Tier-3 spell. One of Ruin and Tempests.

  The spectators reeled, some stumbling back from the sheer force of the sound.

  Veronica stood steady, eyes focused forward. The smile on her face still lingered.

  The thunder faded, leaving only the hiss of scorched earth and the low groan of settling rubble. Smoke and dust still choked the clearing, curling in thick curtains.

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Then Baron Welterman’s voice cut through, sharp with disbelief, gathering everyone’s attention.

  “Look—there!”

  Heads turned to where he pointed.

  Through the thinning blanket of smoke, a figure emerged.

  Nolhan. But he wasn’t where he was previously standing.

  He was close, closer than anyone realized. Only a few paces from Veronica, knees bent in a controlled crouch, his blade angled perfectly at her throat. The steel glowed faintly, but more than that—a sheen of aura coated it thickly, sharper than before. It wasn’t misty this time; it was much more solid. The air itself seemed to bend around its edge, the condensed force extending the blade by an inch with a ethereal form.

  Veronica’s hands were lifted, palms open, the universal sign of surrender. Her breath came steadily, her eyes feeling hazy. And despite the sword at her neck, she smiled.

  “…So,” she said lightly, “you weren’t Tier-3 after all. You were fourth.”

  Gasps rippled through the onlookers as they saw this. Elise’s eyes went wide. Leopold’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair. He had a smile on his face, wide and entertained.

  Nolhan stared back at her in silence. His uniform hung in tatters, the edges charred. Scorched marks streaked across his chest and sleeves, and faint bruises colored his arms. He had not escaped unscathed, but he had endured.

  The aura burning along his blade told the truth of his standing. A third-tier swordsman could form sword aura, simply coating their weapon with it slightly, causing it to withstand more damage. A fourth-tier however, took it even further, coating the weapon entirely. Now, each slash of the blade never made contact; the sword aura covering it, was the thing that cut. It was now an extension of the weapon, an ethereal sheath.

  The two of them—mage and swordsman—stood frozen in that tableau. Veronica with her faint smile, Nolhan with his unflinching gaze.

  The silence stretched until Viscount Leopold broke it, coughing lightly into his hand before raising his voice.

  “This match is over! The winner is—” He hesitated, gaze flicking between the two of them. “Well. This was never meant as a contest, but a demonstration of skill. So… let us call it a draw.”

  At that, Nolhan retracted his blade with a smooth motion and straightened his posture. Veronica let out a weak chuckle, lowering her hands.

  “I think we both know who won,” she admitted lightly.

  Nolhan gave no reply, only a silent nod, and began walking back toward his master’s side.

  But Veronica’s voice followed him. She smirked.

  “Though… you beat me at maybe thirty percent power. Unfortunately, I haven’t fully recovered from my fight with the demon.”

  Nolhan’s brow twitched almost invisibly, though he did not stop or turn.

  She swore she could see him smile. Or maybe she imagined it.

  Regardless, it wasn’t a lie.

  She had fought him with exactly half her mana, saving the rest. And against the demon, she had gone as far as straining her mana core and nearly rupturing it, drawing on her Exalted Form. Compared to that, what she had shown here was restraint—a great deal of it.

  She would never waste such a trump card in a friendly spar. Not yet. Not until the moment came when she stood before a grand audience, when unleashing it would earn her recognition rather than suspicion.

  A genius mage who could strike far above her tier—someone like that was an asset no noble, no kingdom, could afford to ignore. And she meant to make sure they didn’t.

  That was why she had agreed to this spar in the first place: not to test Nolhan, but to show herself before Leopold. His reach as a viscount; his influence, stretched far beyond Welterman’s. If she were to rise again, she needed connections like his.

  Her goals hadn’t changed.

  Gain power. Gain influence. Save humanity.

  She would have to climb, step by step, achievement by achievement, until none could deny her place at the top.

  Just like she had done in the past.

  Or, technically—future.

  Sage, time travel is complicated.

  [Indeed.]

  An hour after their match, Veronica was escorted back to Baron Welterman’s mansion after a short rest. There had been talk between the Baron and Viscount Leopold—likely over how to move forward. After the cultist attack, Greystone had been shaken awake to a harsher reality. When townsfolk cried wolf before, no one listened. That could no longer remain the case.

  Of course, such matters weren’t Veronica’s concern.

  She was here in the meeting room for another purpose entirely.

  Veronica set down her cup of tea as the door creaked open. A moment later, Viscount Leopold was rolled in by Nolhan until he came to rest opposite her across the long table.

  “Miss Veronica,” he greeted.

  “Lord Leopold,” she replied politely.

  Light footsteps pattered from the hall, and soon a small figure darted in. A young girl, arms and legs wrapped in a few bandages, hurried to her father’s chair and half-hid behind it; she peeked at Veronica with wide eyes.

  “Miss Claire,” Veronica said, offering a small smile and nod.

  Claire gave the tiniest nod in return.

  “Please forgive her—she’s very shy,” Leopold said warmly.

  “It’s no bother at all,” Veronica answered.

  Nolhan closed the door firmly and took his usual place behind his lord’s chair.

  “Now,” Leopold began, “you may be wondering why I asked to speak with you here.”

  “I imagine it has something to do with why Baron Welterman isn’t present,” she replied.

  They were, after all, sitting in the Baron’s own mansion, but this was clearly meant to be a private discussion.

  “Indeed.” Leopold leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. “I’ll be direct then. What is it you are aiming for, Miss Veronica?”

  Her brow twitched. She watched him intently, repeating his words. “What I’m aiming for?”

  I'm currently leaning towards the name "Exalted Mage of Ruin" as its quite short, simple, and to the point. And its not too different from what I currently have. I'll continue monitoring suggestions and let you guys know my top choices and ill possibly set up a poll.

  Path of Veils and the Path of Longevity

  Path of Veils and Path of Longevity specialize in sustained concealment. While the other pathways use magic in brief durations, or focus on shifting mirages or misdirection, their mage instead remains active, masking locations, or identities for extended periods of time. This pairing of paths is often used to create secret sanctuaries, hidden away from the world. These include secret bases or facilities, or extended infiltration missions where one needs to constantly hide their identity. It is said that the Elven Forests only remain hidden, due to many mages who follow this path constantly shrouding their home away from the world.