The crowd remained in stunned silence, their expressions reflecting a mix of confusion and disbelief.
Sixty-three seconds?
Less than half a minute?
What exactly did Byrne mean by those words? The way he spoke made it seem as if time worked differently for Luciel, as if the shorter the duration, the greater the achievement.
Without another word, Byrne strode forward, pushing open the doors to the Magic Puppet Challenge Room. His steps were firm, filled with purpose. The moment he entered, curious onlookers hurried after him, eager to witness whatever truth lay beyond.
The moment they stepped inside, they saw it—a small but distinct dent on the left side of the magic puppet's chest. Byrne's sharp eyes immediately focused on the mark, his pupils dilating in realization.
Maris, standing close by, took a step forward, his expression serious. He squinted as if trying to absorb every detail. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The last time Luciel had challenged the magic puppet, Maris had missed the crucial parts, leading him to mistakenly believe that Luciel had merely broken the puppet's internal magic circuit. But now—now he had a chance to witness the truth firsthand.
Could it be? Had Luciel's swordsmanship really reached the level of precision that Byrne had spoken of?
Had he truly attained the micro-level realm?
Byrne wasted no time. He approached the puppet and carefully opened its outer shell, revealing the intricate mechanisms within. Almost immediately, the room was filled with the faint scent of something burnt. It was subtle but unmistakable.
Gasps filled the room. The onlookers craned their necks, eyes widening in astonishment.
There, embedded within the left side of the puppet's chest, lay a magic circle—the core of its power. In the center of that delicate formation, a magic crystal flickered weakly, its glow significantly dimmed.
This was the lifeblood of the puppet, the pinnacle of magical craftsmanship, the very embodiment of a magician's ingenuity.
And yet—
It was utterly destroyed.
The complex engravings on the circle, once pulsating with energy, were now cracked and lifeless.
"So that's why it stopped moving!"
"He… he destroyed the magic circle inside the puppet!"
Whispers turned into exclamations as the realization dawned upon them.
Taylor, one of the strongest swordsmen among the students, could only stand there in disbelief, his mouth slightly open.
"This… this shouldn't be possible," he muttered. "How did he even manage that?"
Someone in the crowd gulped audibly.
"Unbelievable! This is beyond amazing!"
Byrne, usually composed, found his own voice filled with admiration as he traced his fingers over the cracks on the magic circle.
"This time," he said, his voice quiet but clear, "I deliberately relocated the puppet's core from the right chest to the left—yet Luciel still found it. Not only that, but he managed to destroy it… in under twenty seconds."
His gaze turned to Luciel, eyes filled with both awe and deep contemplation.
"I can't even begin to imagine how you did it," he admitted.
The entire room fell silent. The weight of Byrne's words pressed upon everyone like an invisible force.
The last time, Luciel had damaged the core. But this time, he had completely obliterated it.
This was no ordinary swordsmanship. This was something far beyond what they could comprehend.
Byrne inhaled deeply before speaking once more, his tone solemn.
"Luciel, your swordsmanship has taken a tremendous step forward in the realm of micro-level precision."
Then, with unwavering seriousness, he continued:
"Luciel Lanster—please, I ask you once again. Join us. The Swordsmanship Association needs a prodigy like you."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Silence.
A silence so profound it was almost deafening.
No one moved. No one spoke. The implications of Byrne's statement were simply too staggering to process.
Last time?
Luciel had already destroyed the puppet's magic core the first time he had challenged it?!
And now—
His swordsmanship had already reached micron-level precision?
The upperclassmen, even those in their fifth and sixth years who had trained as apprentice knights, hadn't even touched the threshold of such mastery.
Taylor swallowed hard, his mind racing.
"Luciel Lanster… Luciel Lanster…"
He repeated the name in his head, almost in denial.
A third-year student?
A mere boy?
How… how is this even possible?
Taylor clenched his fists.
His own swordsmanship had just reached the perfect level, and his instructors had praised him as a natural talent.
And yet—compared to Luciel—
He wasn't even qualified to carry his sword.
"Bastard!" he thought, his teeth grinding together. "How can someone be this strong?! Even Lawrence wouldn't be able to beat him…"
But Taylor wasn't the only one shaken.
Maris stood frozen, staring at the shattered core within the puppet's chest.
The intricate cracks burned into his mind, each one a testament to Luciel's sheer precision.
"Micro-level… Micro-level…"
His grip on his sword loosened—then tightened—then loosened again.
And then… a sigh.
For the first time in his life, Maris felt something he had never experienced before.
Powerlessness.
He had always been confident, always believed he could catch up to anyone with enough effort. Even with Byrne, he had thought, just a little more training and I'll reach him.
But Luciel?
Luciel was an entirely different breed.
They were both geniuses—yes.
But they weren't geniuses of the same level.
Byrne, still watching Luciel carefully, took the boy's silence as an answer.
With a nod, he smiled.
"Then it's settled. From this moment forward, Luciel Lanster will serve as the Vice President of the Swordsmanship Association."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The Vice President?
A third-year student was now second-in-command of one of the academy's most prestigious organizations?!
Even as Byrne, Luciel, Maris, and a few others left the room, the spectators remained in stunned silence.
Finally, someone whispered:
"I can't believe it. There was such a monster hiding in the third grade all this time…"
"This year's top student is going to change for sure."
"The academy is going to be in an uproar tomorrow. A third-year becoming Vice President of the Swordsmanship Association? This is going to be huge!"
"Luciel Lanster…"
A quiet voice repeated the name.
And then—
"I have a feeling," the voice continued, "that before long, this name will be known across all of Orland."