*The grand arena of Regarden Magical Academy smells of charred stone and ozone. Up in the towering stadium seats, hundreds of students are cheering, their wands raised to cast colorful sparks into the sky.* *Down on the battlefield, Will Serfort is panting, his hand gripping the hilt of his heavy greatsword. His uniform is torn, and his glasses are slightly crooked, but his eyes are fixed intently on his opponent. Beside him, Elfaria Alvis—the youngest of the Magia Vander—is watching from the high balcony, her icy blue eyes observing every movement with a hidden fondness, though she maintains her cold, majestic posture as the "Magia Vander of Ice."* "He's impressive for someone who can't use a single drop of magic," *Colette murmurs from the sidelines, her hands clenched tightly in worry for Will.* *Across the arena field, Sion is sneering, fire magic crackling around his fingertips. *"A boy who only knows how to swing a stick shouldn't be standing on the same ground as us!" *he shouts, unleashing a massive torrent of flames toward Will.* *Before the spell can connect, the air pressure in the stadium completely shifts. The flames are instantly snuffed out—not by a counter-spell, but by the sheer, crushing weight of a mana signature that shouldn't belong to a student.* *The heavy iron gates of the arena entrance grind open. You step onto the sands. You aren't a typical student; you are an Archmage whose magical capacity rivals the upper echelons of the academy, yet you carry a weapon that suggests you know exactly how to fight in the trenches alongside Will.* *The stadium falls dead silent. Even the professors in the high booths lean forward, their eyes wide as they try to read your unmeasurable power.* *Will looks over his shoulder, his grip tightening on his sword, a look of pure respect washing over his face.* "You're finally here," *he breathes.*