The respect was rarely given. It was measured, weighed, and often denied. In the noble households, it was even more complicated since the respect was not born from the truth.
It was born from display. The strength, especially the magical one, erased the doubt faster than any explanation ever could.
Baston understood this fact clearly.
He did not need them to like him. He needed them to hesitate before underestimating him again. And there was only one language that the noble families truly acknowledged.
It was the power.
The arena inside Xavierius estate had not been prepared hastily. With just a little tinkering, it was ready to use. That much situation was obvious.
The polished marble floor reflected the light too evenly. The boundary runes that were carved along the edges of the circular platform glowed faintly, indicating the pre-installed protective enchantments. The servants moved efficiently and quietly as if they had already prepared for today's event.
Everything was not spontaneous. They had expected this or perhaps, they had arranged it before.
Baston sat on a wooden bench at the edge of the training ground while the final preparations were made.
He appeared relaxed, breathing slowly, and eyes half-lidded. He was just like a fat boy who was about to be humiliated in a noble's home. That was what most of them saw but he was observing everything.
The number of servants present, the positioning of spectators, and the slight fluctuation of mana in the upper balcony. Someone was watching and evaluating his every movement intently.
The mana signature was faint and it was almost respectful in its concealment. Whoever casted the observation spell was experienced. It did not probe aggressively since it simply lingered like a quiet eye behind a curtain.
He resisted the urge to look toward the balcony. Looking above would confirm his awareness and such awareness would change the evaluation.
Instead, he shifted slightly on the bench and adjusted his sleeve as if he was uncomfortable. The small gesture was deliberate, clumsy, and harmless. He would let them think that he sensed nothing.
But inside, he reorganized his plan.
If this duel was a performance, then it must not look like a performance. It must look natural enough so people could appreciate it.
The sparring would be calculated but not staged, strong but not threatening, and capable but not ambitious. The line between impressive and dangerous was thin in the noble households. Too much brilliance would invite the control and too much weakness would invite their contempt.
He needed something in between which was the measured excellence. He did not need to defend himself too much earlier when the younger boys mocked and cornered him.
There was no point since his words would dissolve inside this place like the mist under sunlight.
If he accused Theodore and the others of bullying, the adults would smile gently and call it as the youthful misunderstanding. The apologies would come but it was meaningless.
Theodore would still look down on him and the others would still laugh when his back was turned.
This duel was inevitable the moment he stepped into this house but such inevitability could be useful. They thought this was disadvantageous for him.
Inside enemy territory where he was surrounded by the noble blood and under their rules, they did not know that he had agreed for a reason.
If Alicia's father wished to evaluate him, then he would give him something worth evaluating. The butler stepped forward into the center of the arena. His posture was straight and his voice was steady.
"Alright, everyone... This is only a sparring. There is no need to take it too seriously and you may use your magic freely. If any dangerous or excessive spell is unleashed, I will immediately negate it. I will also intervene if either of you is unable to continue. Without further ado… Begin!"
Theodore stepped into the circle confidently and his chin was slightly raised.
"You can attack first," he said with a faint smirk, "If I attack first, you might lose too quickly. That would be too boring."
A few boys snickered behind him but Baston did not reply. He appreciated the offer. He needed an information so without a word, he lifted one hand before his mana gathered.
There was no chant and no spell name. The air temperature dropped subtly before a sharp glacier shard was condensed instantly and shot forward.
Theodore's arrogance vanished in a blink, "WIND SHIELD!"
A swirling wall of compressed wind formed in front of him just in time. The ice shard collided and shattered. The sound echoed sharply in the arena.
The gasps soon followed. It was not because of the collision but because of the silence that preceded it.
Baston had not spoken. Among the novice wizards, the incantation stabilized mana. Among the intermediates, speaking the spell name accelerated the release. Among the advanced users, just the silence was enough.
The whispers soon spread and the reaction was precisely what he expected. The shock came first, the doubt came second, and the reevaluation came third.
The younger boys responded with emotion but the older observers did not. One of them leaned slightly forward while another one crossed his arms, studying instead of reacting.
Baston noticed all of this response.
In the noble families, the children learned early that magic was inheritance and such inheritance defined the hierarchy. A poor boy who was displaying the silent casting disrupted that invisible ladder.
It was not the ice shard that unsettled them. It was the implication toward such talent.
Where did he learn the magic?
Who taught him?
Who supported him?
The power without backing was suspicious and the power with unknown backing was dangerous. They began wondering which one he was.
"He didn't chant the words…"
"It's fine since most of us also don't need it anymore. Still, he even didn't state his attack… "
"Is he that proficient?"
Theodore's expression hardened, "Don't get cocky just because you can cast quickly! The battle isn't decided by technique alone!"
He then swung his arm violently, "WIND SLASH!"
A crescent blade of wind tore forward. Before it could reach Baston, an ice slab rose from the ground, intercepting it. By then, another wind magic hurled before another ice magic stopped it.
The wind blades rained from multiple angles as Theodore accelerated. It was just like his body was lightened by wind magic.
He darted across the arena, casting rapidly, and trying to find an opening. Such wind magic favored speed, fluidity, and relentless pressure.
Meanwhile, the ice favored stability, control, and endurance. Baston did not chase and he did not rush.
Several ice pillars emerged around him in precise positions, forming the calculated barriers rather than random defense. Every slab was angled and every placement was deliberate.
He was not constructing the barriers randomly.
Each pillar altered the wind flow and each surface forced his opponent to adjust the casting trajectory. The ice did not merely block the wind since it redirected the flow.
The frost mist thickened intentionally and the visibility decreased by a fraction. It was not enough to impair the spectators but it was enough to disrupt Theodore's peripheral awareness.
After all, the wind relied on freedom while the ice imposed on terrain.
Baston was slowly converting a speed-based duel into a territory-based duel and Theodore did not realize it. That was the real gap between them since his understanding was more than the opponent.
The wind kept scraping against the frozen pillars, but still, Theodore could not penetrate the defense.
From the side of the arena, the butler narrowed his eyes. Baston's style was efficient, too efficient to cope.
The fat boy was not merely defending since he was studying both of the opponent and the arena. Each wind slash revealed Theodore's casting rhythm and each movement exposed his mana output.
After several exchanges, the boy changed his tactics.
He halted while his mana surged, "WIND CANNON!"
A compressed sphere of rotating air blasted forward with explosive force.
"BAAAAM!"
The first ice slab shattered violently. The fragments scattered across the arena floor but behind it stood multiple blocks.
Baston had layered them to make the opponent became harder to target him. Even though so, Theodore grinned briefly. There was a hope inside his eyes.
In the meantime, the impact radius was smaller than Baston anticipated. The wind cannon emphasized the penetration over the spread. Its concentrated force was lethal against a single target but it was inefficient against the layered defense.
Eventually, Theodore's strongest offensive option was at this stage. He stored the information carefully.
In the future encounters with wind users, the vertical mobility and the layered obstruction would remain effective. Even during sparring, the knowledge was valuable and it should never be wasted.
"I can break them! How long will you hide behind the pillars?"
The taunt echoed but Baston said nothing. Instead, more ice erupted from the floor. Half of the arena slowly transformed into a frozen maze. The movement space shrank rapidly, making the wind lost its advantage.
Theodore's brows twitched. The spectators murmured uneasily and the butler's expression shifted. This was no longer an efficient way for mana usage.
This was too excessive yet Baston did not appear strained. His breathing remained steady and his eyes were calm. Creating these many ice blocks should have exhausted someone of his apparent level yet he was entirely different.
"How much mana does he have…?" the butler wondered silently.
Theodore's attacks slowly became less frequent. His breathing grew heavier and his wind cannon required more focus now. The imbalance was subtle but to the experienced eyes, the outcome was already written.
The subtle tremor in Theodore's left hand did not escape Baston either.
Mana exhaustion always revealed itself physically before the collapse with the stiffened shoulders, fractured casting rhythm, and narrowed eye focus.
The spectators could not see these signs clearly from the distance but he could. He did not increase the pressure since he simply maintained it.
The sustained calm was more terrifying than the aggression. Theodore was slowly losing to the inevitability.
"Damn it…" Theodore thought desperately, "If I don't change something, I'll lose..."
His gaze flickered upward. Soon, an idea popped up but it was quite risky. There was no other way except to take the risk at the moment. His mana surged again, but this time, it was much longer and more unstable.
Baston watched quietly. He could interrupt and he could end this now but he did not. He wanted to see toward his opponent who already completed the incantation.
"FLY!"
The wind gathered beneath him, lifting his body slowly into the air. Several gasps soon erupted among the audiences.
"He's flying!"
"That's quite advanced!"
From above the ice pillars, Theodore now regained full visibility. For a moment, the younger boys cheered loudly. The balance seemed restored but Baston's eyes narrowed slightly.
Flying required continuous mana output and sustained control. Theodore's reserves were already compromised and he was only accelerating his own defeat.
There was a brief flicker in the wind beneath Theodore's feet. It was almost imperceptible but it was there. The instability confirmed what he had calculated earlier.
The spell was beyond Theodore's sustainable limit.
If he attacked now, he could end it dramatically. With a precise ice spear, a shattered aerial balance, and a spectacular fall in the end. The audience would be shocked but the spectacle was not his goal.
He prioritized his control against the circumstance so he waited. And by waiting, he allowed the defeat to appear self-inflicted. That was far more humiliating and far more memorable.
However, the butler quickly stepped forward immediately, "The match is over! Baston wins…"
The outrage soon exploded from the spectators, "What?!"
"They're still fighting!"
"That's unfair!"
However, the butler's gaze remained firm.
Theodore's floating body trembled. His face paled and his wind magic destabilized. Before he could also protest, his consciousness faded.
The butler quickly caught him mid-fall. The silence descended, showing that the truth was simple. The boy had exhausted himself while his opponent had not even attacked directly.
Baston had allowed the opponent to defeat himself.
The younger boys did not understand but the older observers did. This was not the overwhelming strength. This was the calculated defeat. More importantly, it was the silent one.
There was no need for the grand finishing spell, crushing finale, and the magnificent display that was meant to intimidate.
The steady pressure was already enough. To some, it appeared anticlimactic. To those who understood the magic, it was unsettling because the battle suggested something deeper.
His mana management, psychological pacing, and the control were beyond excellent.
Baston stepped back calmly as the servants rushed forward.
He did not look triumphant and he did not look proud. He simply looked thoughtful as if the duel had answered a question that only he knew existed.
*****
Above the arena, behind a layered privacy enchantment, another pair of eyes had been watching the entire time.
Alicia's father stood in a quiet study with a hovering mirror before him. He had expected the talent but he had not expected such restraint.
The boy never panicked and never overextended.
He consumed Theodore's aggression and returned nothing unnecessary. More importantly, he had noticed something. The slight pause before Theodore's final incantation and the way Baston did not interrupt. He had allowed the spell to complete.
He wondered why the boy didn't finish the battle quickly like a hot-blooded youngster.
The man slowly folded his hands behind his back.
The fat boy did not behave like a child who was desperate to prove himself. He behaved like someone who was measuring the environment, testing the boundaries of his understanding about their judgment.
It was a dangerous type of intelligence.
"Interesting…" he murmured.
In his mind, a quiet calculation began. A talented child could become a powerful asset.
Moreover, a controlled and strategic mind were even more valuable. He misinterpreted Alicia's invitation as the youthful admiration.
Perhaps, she had seen the potential inside the boy.
If cultivated properly, Baston could become useful. He was not necessarily a family by marriage but it was the allegiance that was more important than the blood. He could be a helper or a future pillar.
The man turned away from the mirror, dispelling the magic slowly.
Outside the window, the mansion's gardens were bathed in the afternoon light.
His voice was soft toward the view on the battle, "Not bad…"