Bartholomew struck first, crossing the distance between them in a blur of motion.
"To think you're not even worth me drawing a sword," Bartholomew sneered. "My fists alone can beat trash like you into the ground. I'll show everyone here the difference between true imperial blood and common filth!"
His aura-enhanced fist, shimmering with golden light, carried enough force to shatter stone. The attack was aimed directly at Mikhail's chest - targeting his Mana Heart - a brutal opening move meant to end the fight immediately and humiliate his younger brother before the gathered crowd.
"Too slow," Mikhail thought, even as his form shimmered and dissolved into mist. Bartholomew's fist passed through empty air as his younger brother reappeared several metres away.
The crowd gasped at the display of precise magical control.
As Mikhail moved, his mind drifted to the countless battles he'd fought in the dungeon's depths. Each level, each challenge, had forged him into something far more dangerous than his brother could imagine.
"Basic illusion magic?" Bartholomew sneered, his enhanced aura flaring brighter. The combat tonic's effects were clearly visible now - veins bulging at his temples, his golden aura taking on an almost feral quality. "How disappointing. I expected at least some challenge from someone who's been spending time with House Draconus."
Mikhail remained silent, analysing his brother's enhanced state with cold calculation. The tonic was making Bartholomew stronger, yes, but also more reckless.
Each burst of power came with subtle fluctuations in his aura - signs of instability that most would miss. In the Mirror Maze level of the dungeon, he'd learned to spot such weaknesses instantly or face death.
The platform trembled as Bartholomew channelled his aura into the ground, causing spikes of stone to erupt beneath Mikhail's feet.
Again, Mikhail's form dissolved, reappearing elsewhere on the platform. Each movement was precise, and calculated, using the minimum energy necessary. The crowd watched in growing anticipation, whispers spreading through the arena.
"He's actually holding his own..."
"The Fourth Prince... could he have been hiding his true abilities?"
"Impossible - look how he runs! He's just lucky..."
Bartholomew's patience wore thin. The combat tonic's effects intensified, his aura becoming more volatile with each passing second.
He launched into a complex series of strikes, his fists blurring with speed as he demonstrated the mastery of Imperial Pugilism that had made him feared on the battlefield.
"Stand still and die like the vermin you are!" he roared, his voice carrying the authority of countless battlefield victories.
"If you won't attack," Bartholomew snarled, "then I'll show you true power!" He raised his hands, his aura condensing into visible waves of force. "Earth Dragon Emperor's Rage!"
The entire platform shuddered as Bartholomew's technique took effect. The stone itself seemed to come alive, reshaping into the form of a massive dragon that lunged at Mikhail with jaws of solid rock.
The crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch - this was a technique that had brought down fortress walls, a manifestation of the Second Prince's battlefield prowess.
For the first time since the match began, Mikhail smiled. In the Burning Plains of the dungeon, he'd faced creatures of living flame that made this construct look like a child's toy.
[System Alert: Host's mana circulation reaching peak efficiency. Current output optimisation: 92%]
Multiple circles of pure magical energy erupted around Mikhail's feet, their light drowning out even Bartholomew's golden aura.
The stone dragon shattered mere inches from Mikhail's face, its fragments suspended in mid-air by an invisible force. The sudden display of power caused a hush to fall over the arena.
"Impossible," Bartholomew whispered, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You're supposed to be at the first circle at most..."
The suspended fragments of stone began to glow. Each piece burned with concentrated magical energy. In an instant, they transformed into thousands of flaming projectiles, all aimed at Bartholomew.
The First Prince's martial instincts took over. His aura expanded into a defensive dome as the burning stones rained down upon him.
Each impact sent shockwaves through the platform, the protection runes along its edges flaring brightly as they contained the explosive force.
In the Imperial box, the Emperor leaned forward slightly - the first sign of genuine interest he'd shown since the match began. The Empress's perfect composure cracked, a slight frown marring her features.
When the barrage ended, Bartholomew emerged relatively unscathed, his aura pulsing with unrestrained power.
"So you've been hiding your true abilities," he said, his voice cold with fury. "Father may be impressed by this little display, but you're still nothing compared to a real warrior! I can crush you with my bare hands!"
Channelling more power, Bartholomew's aura expanded to encompass the entire platform. The technique was one he'd perfected on real battlefields - Territory Control, a high-level ability that allowed him to dominate the space around him. The air itself became heavy, pressing down with crushing force.
"Let's see how well you cast spells when you can barely breathe!"
The air grew thick and heavy as Bartholomew's aura compressed the space around Mikhail. A lesser mage's will to fight would have been crushed instantly, their magic disrupted by the overwhelming pressure.
But Mikhail stood firm, unaffected. Multiple circles of magical energy now orbited his body, each one radiating power that rivalled Bartholomew's enhanced aura.
The refined control Mikhail displayed was a deliberate choice. In his previous life, he had learned that true mastery wasn't measured in grand gestures or complex incantations, but in the fundamental understanding of mana itself.
And now, as multiple circles of pure magical energy rotated around him with clockwork precision, he knew his display would strike far deeper fear into the hearts of those watching than any elaborate spell could achieve.
Those with true magical knowledge – the mages and warriors in attendance, the combat veterans who had survived countless magical battles – they would understand. Basic mana manipulation at this level wasn't just rare; it was terrifying.
The magical circles continued their perfect rotation, each one maintaining exactly the same speed and distance, defying the crushing pressure of Bartholomew's Territory Control.
In the audience, Mage Vesper's eyes narrowed, he'd seen countless prodigies in his life, but this level of control... it suggested capabilities far beyond what the Fourth Prince was displaying. His gaze darted to the Imperial box, where he saw his own suspicions reflected in the slight tension of the Empress's jaw.
What truly unnerved those with the wisdom to understand the power Mikhail was what such control implied he was hiding. Like a master swordsman choosing to fight with only basic strikes, the precision spoke of depths yet unrevealed.
The magical circles pulsed, their light steady and unwavering. No wasted energy, no flashy displays, just pure, refined control that turned Bartholomew's overwhelming pressure into nothing more than a gentle breeze against Mikhail's defences.
"Impossible," one of the court mages whispered from their viewing position. "To maintain such perfect harmony between multiple magical circles under this pressure... what else is he capable of?"
The combat tonic coursing through Bartholomew's veins couldn't mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. For the first time in their match, he was beginning to question whether he truly understood what – or who – he was facing.
"You know, brother," Mikhail spoke for the first time since the match began, his voice carrying clearly despite the pressure, "there's something I've always wanted to tell you."
He raised his hand, and the magical circles began to spin faster. "Your technique is sloppy. And you really should have brought a sword."
Before Bartholomew could respond, the world exploded into light. The magical circles around Mikhail expanded outward in a devastating wave, shattering Bartholomew's Territory Control like glass.
The Second Prince was thrown backwards, only managing to stay on the platform by driving his aura-enhanced fingers into the stone.
The crowd erupted in chaos.
Nobles who had dismissed Mikhail as the family embarrassment now watched with rapt attention. Members of House Draconus exchanged knowing glances, while other high nobles frantically whispered among themselves.
"How?" Bartholomew demanded, his voice shaking with rage and disbelief. "How are you this strong?"
"You never bothered to look past appearances," Mikhail replied calmly. "None of you did. It made things... convenient. And now, brother, let me show you why relying solely on your fists was a grave mistake."
With a roar of fury, Bartholomew charged forward, his aura condensing around his fists for a killing blow. His enhanced state had reached its apex. "Convenient? I'll show you convenience when I cripple you here and now!"
Mikhail didn't move. Instead, he made the air itself vibrate with power. The protection runes around the platform flared blindingly bright as they struggled to contain what was coming.
The last thing Bartholomew saw before everything went white was his brother's eyes, burning with fire.