The kick had struck the swordsman squarely in the chest plate, right over his heart and lungs. The sharp cracking sound that had echoed faintly across the stunned arena before being swallowed by the collective gasps was almost certainly the sound of ribs shattering beneath the dented metal. The impact had been bone-deep, armor-crushing.
The knight lay crumpled at the base of the fake tree like a discarded toy, his strong form broken. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he coughed violently, each cough sending searing jolts of agony through his broken body.
He struggled weakly, a once-mighty warrior reduced to this, trying to push himself up, his trembling fingers clawing desperately at the dirt and grass around the tree roots, but his limbs refused to obey the command of his pain-wracked mind.
The pain was too intense, a white-hot agony overwhelming his senses. His strength, his formidable warrior's strength, honed over years of training and battle, had been completely drained, extinguished in that single, devastating blow.
His chest had visibly caved in slightly where the kick landed; it was obvious that multiple ribs, perhaps his sternum itself, had been fractured. He was utterly out of the fight, lucky to even be conscious after such a strike.
A few yards away, hiding near the base of another tall, strategically placed tree within the arena's transformed landscape, the magician – the second opponent assigned to this trial – witnessed the entire, shocking exchange.
She had been crouching cautiously, perhaps gathering mana to prepare her next spell, but her eyes were now wide with utter disbelief, her magical focus completely broken by the sight.
Her jaw hung slightly open, mirroring the stunned crowd. She hadn't expected this outcome – nobody had dared to imagine this. The prince, Eric, the weakling, the disappointment, the boy universally mocked for his lack of talent, had just taken out a veteran Royal Knight, a warrior of considerable skill, with a single, seemingly effortless kick?
It wasn't just the raw force of the kick that shocked the magician; it was the terrifying precision, the calm calculation behind it, and the supernatural speed that seemed impossible for a human body, let alone Eric's supposedly frail one.
This wasn't the fumbling, magic-less prince she had prepared to face, the opponent she had felt confident about trapping and neutralizing with her spells. This was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something fundamentally wrong based on everything she knew.
Back in the stadium stands, the thousands of spectators were frozen in a thick, stunned silence. The earlier whispers and murmurs had died completely, replaced by a heavy quiet.
What they had just watched completely shattered everything they thought they knew, everything they had believed about the Third Prince, Eric. Disbelief warred with raw awe on their faces. The casual display of impossible physical power was perhaps even more jarring than the magic.
Quiet, hesitant whispers began to pass among them again, but this time they weren't scornful, they were filled with profound confusion and perhaps even fear.
"Did… did you see that?"
"He kicked him… across the arena? Like he weighed nothing?"
"How is that even possible?"
"Is this really Prince Eric? The one... the one who couldn't even lift a training sword properly?"
"The same prince everyone said was the weakest in the kingdom?"
"Maybe… maybe the rumors were wrong all along? Maybe he wasn't weak... just hiding?"
Even Eric's own family—watching from the best seats in the royal gallery, typically composed and stared down at the scene in stunned disbelief.
Their faces showed a raw mixture of shock and confusion as they struggled desperately to match the image of the quiet, seemingly powerless boy they thought they knew with the figure who had just effortlessly, brutally dispatched a veteran Royal Knight with a single strike.
King Noor IV, usually so composed, a man who prided himself on his stoic control, felt a complex storm of emotions swirling inside him, raging against his carefully built walls.
His mouth was actually open just slightly, caught somewhere between pure astonishment at the raw, impossible power displayed and a strange, unexpected surge of fierce, protective pride.
This frail son he had worried over, shielded from the world's harshness, perhaps even pitied in the quiet moments of a father's heart… was capable of this? This wasn't just strength; it was something beyond strength.
Roald, Eric's personal combat trainer – Adam's trainer now, technically – who had always believed he understood the limits of Eric's abilities better than anyone, sat completely frozen in his designated seat.
His mouth, too, hung open slightly, his eyes wide and unblinking as if trying desperately to comprehend what he had just witnessed, to fit it into his understanding of combat and human limits.
The raw power of the kick was one thing, but the perfect timing, the precise execution that found the weak point in the armor, the sheer impossible speed—it was far beyond anything he had ever taught Eric, beyond anything he thought Eric could ever achieve, beyond what should be humanly possible.
Had the prince been hiding this level of skill, this terrifying capability, from him all these years? Or was this something truly new, something… else? Something that had awakened within him?
As the defeated swordsman lay crumpled and groaning in the dirt by the tree, Adam's attention, now fully inhabiting Eric's body, shifted slightly. The intense focus of the warrior, of the alien mind now in control, swept calmly across the arena.
His gaze landed on the magician who was still positioned across the way, half-hidden by the artificial trees, her shock clear even from the distance.
The mage, visibly shaken by the swift and brutal takedown of her teammate, looked extremely wary. Her earlier confidence, the arrogance of a skilled magic-user facing a supposedly weak opponent, had completely evaporated, replaced by cautious uncertainty and maybe even a hint of outright fear.
She clutched her dark wand tightly.
But then, just as Adam's gaze locked onto her, Adam felt it. A shift in the magical energy. A familiar prickling sensation against his skin, a sense of power being drawn from the world.
Magical energy—thick, and heavy gathered with urgent speed—began swirling rapidly around the magician's position amongst the trees.
The air itself seemed to vibrates as mana, was drawn towards the magician unnaturally fast, far quicker than a novice or even an average mage could manage. She was pushing herself.
Beneath Adam's feet, the solid stone ground trembled faintly, not from an earthquake, but from the sheer, magical power building centered on him.
A moment later, with a sound like tearing earth, multiple sharp spikes made of compressed soil and rock erupted violently from the ground directly beneath where Adam stood!
They shot upwards with incredible speed, easily reaching almost two meters tall, their tips wickedly sharp, aimed directly at impaling him from below. It was a classic earth magic trap, a spell called [Stone Impalement], sprung instantly beneath his feet.
It was a deadly attack, launched without warning while Adam's attention might have seemed focused elsewhere, a desperate move from the shaken mage.
It should have caught him off guard, pinned him instantly.
But before the earthen spikes could even graze the hem of Adam's tunic, Adam vanished.
One blink, he was standing there; the next blink, the spot where he stood was empty, the spikes thrusting upwards into nothing but air, their lethal force spent on empty space.
He reappeared instantly, just a few feet away to the side—standing perfectly fine, completely untouched, and seemingly undisturbed, his balance perfect, as if he had simply taken a casual step.
There was no residual glow of magic around him, no flash of light like typical teleportation spells often left behind. There were no chanted words accompanying his movement, no complex hand gestures required. Just… pure, unimaginable speed that transcended normal understanding.
To the shocked eyes of everyone watching in the stadium, it looked exactly like he had teleported, instantly moving from one spot to another. It was [Teleportation], but unlike any they had ever seen.
Another collective gasp swept through the crowd, louder this time, mixed with cries of disbelief and frightened murmurs. They couldn't track his movement at all. It was like he was playing tricks on their eyes, defying fundamental laws of physics and magic.
Even King Noor IV, a renowned warrior in his prime, known for his sharp senses and combat experience, had trouble following his son's motion. He saw the spikes erupt, saw Eric standing there one second, and then suddenly Eric was just… somewhere else. The sheer, impossible speed was breathtaking.
The King was visibly shocked again, the carefully maintained mask of stern composure cracking further. But hidden deep within his expression, behind the facade of the ruler, a tiny flicker of something warm – maybe happiness, maybe relief, maybe just pure, unadulterated wonder – lit up within him.
'So this…' the King thought with a surge of unexpected, overwhelming emotion, 'this incredible power, this impossible speed… this is who my son truly is. This is what he has been carrying.'
For years, King Noor IV and the Queen had subtly hidden Eric—keeping him away from the cutthroat world of court politics, shielding him from ambitious nobles who might try to use his perceived weakness or break his gentle spirit.
While most people in the kingdom believed it was solely the Queen's motherly affection protecting her "disappointing" son, the truth was more complicated. It was the King himself who had quietly ensured Eric remained largely out of the spotlight, away from the pressures and dangers faced by his highly talented older brothers.
He saw Eric's kindness, his empathy, his gentle heart, and worried that the harsh realities of their world would crush him. He wanted to protect that gentleness, that innocence.
King Noor IV could no longer deny the immense, surging pride swelling inside his chest. This was not the son he thought he knew. This was someone stronger, someone with a hidden depth he could never have imagined.
The King's mind briefly flashed back to the recent past. Eric's coming-of-age ceremony was getting close. It was a major event, marking a prince's official entry into adult responsibilities and duties, a public declaration of their readiness for the world.
Because of this approaching ceremony, the King could no longer completely shield him from public life and royal obligations.
The Royal Council, a powerful group of nobles and advisors bound by centuries of tradition, had formally demanded Eric's participation in these royal trials. It was custom; all princes had to face them to prove their worthiness, even if everyone assumed Eric would fail spectacularly.
The King had argued against it, tried to find loopholes, wanting to spare Eric the public humiliation he felt was inevitable. But tradition was strong, and the Council had insisted, seeing an opportunity to perhaps weaken the royal family by exposing the "weak" prince.
Reluctantly, knowing he couldn't defy tradition without causing major political problems, the King had agreed.
He had braced himself for Eric's failure, prepared to manage the fallout, maybe even arrange a quiet, comfortable exile for him afterwards, far from the court.
But now… looking at the impossible figure standing calmly in the arena, a figure of effortless, terrifying power… the King felt something new. Not pity, but hope. Not resignation, but anticipation.
Back on the battlefield, Adam's attention returned fully to the magician.
The mage was still standing across the transformed arena, looking thoroughly rattled now after her surprise earth spike spell, her desperate [Stone Impalement], had failed so completely, evaded with such insulting ease that it might as well have been standing still.
Adam fixed his eyes – his golden eyes, now sharp with appraisal – on her. The magician flinched under the direct gaze. "I want to test something," Adam said simply, his voice calm and carrying clearly across the distance between them, lacking any malice but filled with a chilling, casual curiosity.
Anger twisted the magician's face, overriding her caution. She couldn't accept this, being shown up like this by the "talentless" prince, her best surprise attack countered effortlessly. She snarled, her voice filled with fury and wounded pride.
"You think you're fast?! You think you're powerful?! Fine! I'll show you! I'll show you my most powerful spell! Let's see you dodge this!"
Her voice vibrated with raw magical energy as she began chanting rapidly, words rolling off her tongue in an ancient, powerful language that few in the crowd understood but everyone could feel the immense power building behind it.
In front of her, the air began to shimmer and distort violently. A glowing magic circle started to form rapidly on the ground before her—it began as a small point of intense light, then expanded quickly outwards with visible force.
It was primarily brilliant white in color, crackling with energy, but intricate patterns pulsed through it in streaks of electric blue lightning. The circle grew larger and larger by the second, easily spanning several meters wide, buzzing loudly with intense, contained magical energy.
Sparks of raw lightning crackled violently around its edges as the magician poured more and more of her own mana into the spell, building power towards something clearly meant to be incredibly destructive, an ultimate attack. The spell's name hung unspoken in the air, a promise of devastation.
The ground around the circle started to glow with absorbed energy, and the air felt heavy, charged with static electricity, pressing down on everyone watching. It was clearly her ultimate attack, a spell meant to obliterate, not just defeat.
But Adam seemed completely unimpressed by the dramatic magical spectacle unfolding across the arena.
He ignored the growing magic circle, the crackling lightning, the magician's furious, strained chanting, as if it were all just a minor distraction happening far away.
His gaze shifted away from the struggling magician entirely, moving towards the spot nearby where his sword – his sword.
Calmly, almost casually, Adam walked over to the sword. He reached down and gripped the familiar worn leather hilt.
With a smooth, effortless pull, he freed the blade from the earth. He gave it a practice swing, testing its balance, getting the feel of it in this body, this hand.
Without even sparing the magician, who was still pouring all her energy into her massive, glowing spell across the arena, a single glance, Adam muttered quietly to himself, his voice clear but introspective, filled with a cool, assessing curiosity that somehow carried despite its low volume.
"Okay, magic is one thing… and this body handles speed well…" Adam thought, turning the blade in his hand. "Let's see… how good my swordsmanship really is in this body. Time for a different kind of test."