CHAPTER 42: SPEED IS ACCELERATION

Darius sat in the stands, his shoulder still aching from earlier. Bandages peeked out beneath the cuff of his sleeve, half-concealed, half-forgotten. He didn’t flinch when he moved anymore, but the sting was a quiet reminder.

The ring had been repaired. Again. Smooth, polished stone now gleamed under the protective dome as the next set of names flashed through the air.

"Next match: Aiden Virell vs. Renna Fallor."

He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, watching his friend descend the steps.

No smile. No nerves. No hesitation.

Aiden moved like a man walking into a lecture he’d already memorized.

Darius’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

Aiden’s not someone you notice at first. Even in class, he’s precise, thoughtful. Glyph-focused. A perfect theory mage.

But that’s just the surface. That’s who he is when he’s being polite. When he’s holding back.

This—

Darius tilted his chin forward, eyes sharp.

—isn’t a class match.

The crowd shifted. The heat from the previous duel still clung to the arena. Students leaned forward. They expected another clean exchange. Another glyph-based performance. Maybe a light show, maybe a few containment circles. Nothing more.

They didn’t know.

Aiden stepped into the circle. The light in the crystal above sparked, signaling the start.

His opponent—Renna Fallor—smirked from across the ring. Tall, fire-aligned, with short braids and confidence crackling at her fingertips. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t test the waters. She lifted her arms high and launched the opening volley.

Ten fire shards, sharp-edged and glimmering, arced into the air in a tight pattern. Four split left. Four right. Two barreled down the center. Every angle covered.

The air hissed.

Her control was clean. Tactical. Refined.

She clapped her hands once, hard.

The shards converged—a twisting star of flame aiming straight for where Aiden stood.

The crowd leaned in. Even some of the upper-year students raised their brows.

Darius didn’t move.

The fire slammed down.

Boom.

Smoke exploded across the ring. Heat burst up against the barrier, rippling it. Dust rolled out like a curtain.

A few students gasped. One whispered something about an early knockout.

But Darius was already watching the back of the arena.

Because that’s where Aiden was.

Renna blinked, her head snapping around just in time for her body to shift—but not fast enough.

Aiden’s fist hit her side like a cannon.

Not fire. Not light.

Just force.

She flew five feet sideways, caught herself with a rough tumble, and rolled back to her feet, teeth bared.

And Aiden?

He stood where she’d been a moment ago, arms loose, glowing faintly from the elbows down.

No glyphs.

Just light, coiled like bands of pressure across his forearms.

He exhaled. Calm.

Renna snarled and fired a second volley—faster, rougher, now reckless. Wide arcs of flame, smaller projectiles with randomized trajectories, meant to catch him even if he blinked again.

But he didn’t blink.

He moved.

He leaned left. The fire flew past.

He stepped once, fast enough that the air cracked, and appeared just behind the second shot, dodging it before it even reached him.

Then he was on her again.

A flurry of motion—two jabs, a knee, a sweep.

Renna blocked one. Two. The third grazed her ribs. The sweep knocked her balance, and he vanished before she could retaliate.

She cast an emergency flare—a flame burst that swept in all directions—but it met nothing.

He wasn’t where she was.

He wasn’t anywhere visible.

Darius watched, chin propped on one fist now.

Aiden fights like a scholar when people are watching.

But when he stops thinking about what’s proper... he fights like light.

Fast.

Relentless.

Unforgiving.

Renna stumbled back, panting.

Aiden reappeared to her left, hand glowing brighter now. No burn. Just pure speed packed into muscle and magic.

He threw a punch.

She ducked—and the wind snapped behind her as his fist passed.

She spun, desperate, launching another fire wheel. Aiden kicked it apart mid-spin, flickers of ash dancing around him as he stepped forward and tapped her shoulder.

It wasn’t even a punch.

It was a warning.

She growled. Sweat ran down her neck.

Aiden tilted his head.

"Still want to keep going?"

Her eyes blazed. She thrust both palms forward.

The fire erupted outward—not aimed, just detonated—a wall of heat and roar. Enough to silence the front rows.

But there was no scream.

No reaction.

No impact.

Aiden reappeared behind her again, faster this time.

She turned—

—and saw him raise a hand.

"Please—!" she cried suddenly, her voice cracking.

"Don’t—don’t hit me again—! I’m just a girl! You wouldn’t hit someone defenseless, would you?!"

Tears brimmed at her eyes. Her body shook.

Aiden paused.

For half a second.

Just enough.

She lunged.

A hand hidden in her sleeve flared, light catching on a concealed flame rune, pointed right for his jaw.

But Aiden had already moved.

His body shimmered once—and then vanished forward.

"We’re all equal in the realm of magic."

The punch hit like a falling star.

A single straight blow, fast enough to disappear before it landed.

Renna’s head snapped back.

Then her body followed it, lifted clean off the stone.

The impact thundered a beat later as her body was slammed into the floor by the same fist—one downward drive that struck with the weight of her own momentum.

Crack.

The ring broke.

A web of fractures raced outward from where she hit, spiderwebbing across the stone like a dropped glass pane.

The force blew dust into the stands.

A crater formed beneath her.

And she didn’t move.

Aiden stood over her, light still dancing across his arms, breath even.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t smirk.

He just turned, shoulders loose, and walked away.

Behind him, Renna lay unconscious, limbs sprawled, flame still curling weakly from her fingers.

Darius sat back in his seat, finally letting out a breath.

"That’s the real Aiden."

"The one who doesn’t ask permission."

"The one I never want to fight."

Aiden didn’t look back as the referee raised a hand.

"Victory: Aiden Virell."

The words echoed through the arena.

The cheers came a beat later, rising in waves. They weren’t wild like after Darius’s fight, or stunned like after Kai’s. This was the sound of respect. Of something earned. It was quieter, but deeper. The kind of sound that lingered even after the clapping stopped.

Aiden returned to the stands calmly, steam still trailing faintly from his coat. He sat beside Darius without a word, resting his arms on his knees.

Kai leaned back on the other side, lips tugged into a grin. "You didn’t even use a glyph."

Aiden rolled his shoulder, watching the stone in the center of the arena begin to smooth over and repair itself.

"Didn’t need to."

Darius smirked faintly. "Remind me never to spar with you again."

"I already told you once," Aiden said with a shrug. "I only play nice in practice."

They fell into silence as the next names were called. The tournament rolled forward. The day moved on.

But the fights didn’t get weaker.

If anything, they got wilder.

One student unleashed a cascade of gravity spells, folding space and dropping his opponent out of the air with shifting pressure fields. Another girl, thin and pale, summoned a skeletal dragon from a necklace of bone she kissed before every cast.

A boy Darius vaguely remembered from the early Chapters of his draft—Lem Carridan, a support-focused mist mage—stole the spotlight by manipulating the moisture in his opponent’s bloodstream to lock their muscles, freezing them in place without lifting a finger. A terrifying technique.

Others, Darius recognized more intimately.

Some of them he had created.

Minor characters. Side notes. Classmates who were supposed to exist as flavor.

He watched them win.

Lose.

Push themselves harder than he’d expected them to.

One kid he barely remembered naming turned out to have magnetism magic, pulling steel from the stands to build a floating arsenal. Another, a supposed joke character with "flower-based spells," used pollen clouds to sedate her opponent while building a razorvine cage around them.

Another match began. Then another.

Time passed.

With every duel, the energy shifted.

No one was coasting anymore. Not even the noblebloods.

Not even the gifted.

This was survival now.

Not just advancement. Not just status.

Survival.

And that thought stuck.

Because Darius remembered how he’d written this arc.

It started like a tournament.

But it ended with real casualties.

He’d planned it to escalate—gradually at first. Higher stakes. Harsher consequences. Blood on the field, not because anyone wanted it, but because magic wasn’t made to be contained forever.

The next round is where things get dangerous, he thought. Not just tests of strength. Tests of intent.

Fighters wouldn’t be paired randomly anymore. The higher brackets were chosen. Deliberate.

And the Archmage was still watching.

Sitting high above, veiled in silence and shielding, choosing who would rise and who would burn.

If I’m not careful, Darius thought, I could die in the next match.

The thought didn’t make him panic.

Strangely... it grounded him.

He looked down at his belt. The wand Orien had used—now his. It still hummed faintly, the counter-runes glinting in the last of the light.

Then he looked at his hands.

At what he’d created.

Clones.

Custom techniques.

Precision.

Speed.

Growth.

I was never meant to last this long. But here I am.

He sat back in his seat, watching another student explode an entire section of the dueling ring with a beam of mana that carved a trench clean through the floor.

He laughed, quietly.

Kai gave him a sideways glance.

"You alright?"

Darius smiled.

"Yeah."

He adjusted his collar, exhaled.

"I think I can survive the next round."

Aiden tilted his head. "You sound surprised."

Darius didn’t answer right away. He watched the newest fight unfold, spell against spell, energy crashing in waves across the ring.

Then he smirked, eyes half-lidded.

"Maybe I won’t even have to fight Lucien."

Kai choked. "You really believe that?"

Darius shrugged.

"I don’t know. Maybe."

He rested his hand lightly on the wand at his belt.

"But maybe I’ll win."

And for the first time since waking up in this world, that didn’t sound like a fantasy.

It sounded like a possibility.