Returning to the competition grounds, Oliver squinted up at the dazzling sunlight, its brilliance casting sharp shadows across the arena. The weather was surprisingly clear today, a stark contrast to his last visit. Back then, the sky had been overcast, with only faint rays of light struggling to break through the thick clouds.
Now, as he stepped onto the stage, his attention shifted to his opponent. The man approached slowly, clad head to toe in a hulking suit of armor. It was a sight to behold, heavy and imposing, the armor seemed more suited for a battlefield than a one-on-one duel. Only a small slit at the top of the helmet exposed his eyes, the rest of his body encased in steel. With a massive shield in one hand and a long spear in the other, the armored figure moved sluggishly, the sheer weight of his equipment slowing him down significantly.
Oliver found himself wondering: why wear such cumbersome armor on foot? On horseback, perhaps it would make sense. But here, on this stage, the armor was overkill. Blessed or not, the man's body would tire under the weight. Even if Oliver's arrows couldn't pierce the armor, its bulk would undoubtedly limit his opponent's agility, making him vulnerable in ways that strength alone couldn't compensate for.
Oliver readied his longbow, nocking an arrow, eyes never leaving his opponent. He would have to stay vigilant, constantly on guard for the man's attack. The referee's voice echoed across the arena, signaling the start of the match. Both combatants stood still for a heartbeat before making their moves. Oliver was the first to act, drawing his bow and releasing the arrow in a fluid motion. The arrow whistled through the air, striking the armor with a sharp metallic clang. It didn't penetrate, but it was a hit.
The sound of the impact reverberated through the arena, and Oliver clicked his tongue in mild frustration. His opponent responded immediately, lifting his shield and pointing the sharp tip of his spear toward him, body leaning forward in a low stance. Was he preparing to charge?
Oliver's mind raced. He had to react fast, already calculating his next move when suddenly, everything went dark. His vision vanished, not in a metaphorical sense, but literally. The world before him turned into a blinding, overwhelming light. His opponent, the armored figure, seemed to transform into a radiant sun, glowing with such intensity that the actual sun paled in comparison.
Blinded, Oliver couldn't open his eyes. It felt as though the light had seared into them, leaving trails of blood trickling down his face from his tear ducts. His mind reeled as he stumbled, utterly unable to see his opponent. This wasn't just some trick of the light, his foe had somehow become a blinding beacon.
As the man advanced, the ground trembled with each of his heavy steps, and Oliver could sense the raw power behind them, even from across the field. The vibrations grew stronger as his opponent closed in, every step cracking the earth beneath his feet.
Normally, archers like Oliver relied on their vision to track and attack their targets, and only a rare few could use other senses, such as hearing, to compensate. Unfortunately, Oliver was not one of those rare individuals. The realization sank in, without his sight, he couldn't shoot. He had to act fast.
Instinct kicked in, and he darted to his left, trying to avoid the oncoming threat. As he ran, he reached deep into his reserves, summoning the technique that allowed him to perceive the world as if from above. His normal eyes might be blinded, but by focusing his magic into them, he could regain his vision.
When his sight returned, Oliver froze, stunned. His opponent now radiated an even more intense light. The man's armor, shield, and spear all gleamed with a blinding brilliance, turning him into a living sun on the battlefield.
"If this was nighttime," Oliver muttered to himself, "we wouldn't need a single light in the entire school. Just let this guy stand on a hilltop, and he could light up the whole place like the sun."
With his sight restored, Oliver's panic subsided. He observed his opponent, who had come to a halt, standing where Oliver had been moments earlier. The ground beneath the armored man was even more cracked than before, a testament to the sheer force he had exerted to stop so suddenly.
The armored figure turned his glowing head toward Oliver, locking onto him again. Without hesitation, he began to charge once more, his movements direct and unrelenting, no wasted effort in his approach.
Oliver knew one thing for sure: this was going to be a battle unlike any other.
"Is it really such a big deal if this is just a competition?" Oliver thought, heart pounding as his opponent's heavy footsteps echoed across the arena. "Would it matter if I forced myself to stop now?" He shook his head, dismissing the idea. His opponent's lumbering movements were awkward and slow, clearly hindered by the sheer weight of the armor.
Wait, of course, this is just a competition. The objective wasn't to defeat his opponent, but to shoot down the wooden sign attached to him. For a moment, Oliver had been so focused on the armored giant that he nearly forgot the true goal.
Quickly recalibrating his strategy, Oliver darted around the arena, dodging the opponent's powerful but sluggish attacks while scanning for the wooden sign attached to his opponent's body. If he could locate it, his years of archery experience would make hitting the mark easy, even if he had to shoot without directly seeing the target.
But no matter how he shifted his position or adjusted his angle, the wooden sign remained elusive. In fact, he couldn't even see the rope that should've been used to fasten it. Was it possible that the opponent hadn't brought a sign? No, that couldn't be. No one, not even the Principal's granddaughter, could ignore the competition's rules. Everyone had to carry a wooden sign, without exception.
It had to be there, somewhere. Maybe it's hidden under the armor? he thought briefly, but dismissed it just as quickly. The rules clearly stated that the sign must be visible. So where was it?
Oliver dodged another crushing blow, narrowly avoiding the armored figure's shield as it slammed into the ground. As his opponent turned to face him again, a fleeting realization struck him. From his magical elevated view, which allowed him to perceive things as if he were looking down from above, he finally saw it. The wooden sign was there, securely fastened to the back of the shield, tied with an incredibly thin rope. All his attention had been drawn to the imposing armor, distracting him from the target.
Shaking his head in mild disbelief at his earlier oversight, Oliver quickly refocused. The massive figure once again crouched low, preparing to charge. But this time, Oliver was ready. Even though he closed his eyes, he drew his bow and aimed, sensing the location of the target with his heightened magical awareness.
"He's aiming with his eyes closed?" the Principal muttered from the stands, watching with a furrowed brow. "Is there some sort of second sight guiding him?" The Principal could feel strange magical fluctuations in the air but couldn't pinpoint anything definitive.
The spectators, too, murmured among themselves. Most thought Oliver was just firing blindly, but a few noticed the precision with which he had dodged earlier and now aimed.
With a breath, Oliver loosed the arrow. It sliced through the air with a sharp whistle, just as before. But his opponent, seemingly anticipating the attack, raised the shield and slammed it into the path of the arrow. The impact echoed, and Oliver's arrow clattered harmlessly to the ground.
For a moment, the opponent simply stood still, shield raised. Then, with deliberate movements, the armored figure glanced in Oliver's direction, though it seemed more like a cold acknowledgment than a real glance. Slowly, the figure planted the shield and spear into the ground and began to unfasten the armor.
Piece by piece, the heavy plating fell to the arena floor with loud metallic clangs. The figure beneath the armor emerged, a woman, her powerful muscles clearly visible beneath the tight sportswear she wore underneath. Her skin, pale and gleaming with sweat, only emphasized the raw strength she possessed. The thundering sound as the armor hit the ground was proof enough that it had been no light burden.
Now freed from the restrictive armor, she stretched her arms and legs, her movements fluid and graceful, like a predator who had just shed its heavy chains. She retrieved her spear and shield, her eyes locking onto Oliver. Without the armor weighing her down, she moved with frightening speed, closing the distance between them far faster than before. Her strength, too, seemed to have increased.
"So the armor was actually restraining her?" Oliver thought, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to react. He attempted to dodge, but her speed was now overwhelming, far exceeding what he had faced earlier.
This was no longer just a battle of skill, it was a race against time.