Atticus knew that dissing the princesses came at a price.
If he merely dodged and won in the arena without showing his skill, his life here would slowly unravel.
Petty minds would conspire to orchestrate minor inconveniences, seemingly trivial at first, but relentless in their accumulation, each small indignity building upon the last like a steady drip carving stone.
That's why he needed to prove, beyond any doubt, that he belonged in Class Seraph, the anomalies.
***
The crowd watched in a mixture of awe and bewilderment at Atticus's performance.
He had defeated several Arcanums with a seamless display of strength, agility, and strategy. Yet, even after the grueling fights, he remained composed—clean, unscathed, and untired, as if he were a sophomore strolling into his first day of class.
The most aspect was his ability to read his opponents like an open book, it was as if he possessed an innate understanding of their every capability, every intention, reducing their strategies to mere child's play.
"Could it be a special bloodline?"
"Possible. Even with his low core rank, a potent bloodline alone could let him overpower those in higher realms."
"Perhaps... an illegitimate son of royalty?"
"His tale of being a slum dweller, it's beginning to sound more like a facade concealing something far greater."
The crowd buzzed with speculation, their voices weaving together in a symphony of rumor and wonder.
Atticus refused to show his exhaustion, though it weighed heavily on him.
He had already depleted 30% of his primal essence reserves while battling the Arcanums, with nearly half of that drained through the process of mana pattern mimicry from that tsundere.
The reason he could replicate her behavioral mana patterns so seamlessly lay in the rank of her mana core; her spells were overly simplistic, lacking the sophistication to challenge him.
The task was further eased by his primal essence, adaptability origin, creativity origin and heightened perception.
To put mana pattern mimicry into perspective:
Replicating her patterns was like solving a basic puzzle against the clock, occasionally interrupted by simple arithmetic problems that required quick thinking.
In contrast, Montmogery's patterns were a completely different ordeal, like attempting to solve a complex logic puzzle while hopelessly drunk, given mere seconds to respond, all while being bombarded with algebraic topology problem on the side.
There's still a balance of pros and cons that Atticus needs to understand regarding mana pattern mimicry.
"So, you're the pompous twerp, huh?"
Atticus recognized her instantly—it was Anna, Asher's childhood friend.
Arcanum Rank 1st.
In the novel, Anna harbored an unrequited love for Asher, a steadfast and loyal companion to him, she devoted herself to his cause, doing anything and everything for his sake.
In the game, she was not a heroine, but you could enlist her help using the magic phrase "Asher."
"If you're going to call someone a twerp, you should first ensure you're taller than them, shorty."
"What did you just say?" Anna's expression darkened.
"Knee-high nightmare. Toddler-sized terror. Two-foot temper tantrum. Pint-sized menace."
"You're begging to be killed." she growled, her voice trembling with restrained fury.
"Compact catastrophe. Half-pint of hostility. Fun-sized failure—"
"Enough!" she snapped, her composure cracking as she shot a glare toward the arbiter. "Start the duel already!"
The arbiter hesitated, clearly unnerved by the exchange, before finally initiating the match.
"Any last words?"
Anna's distorted smile twisted with overconfidence, as though her victory was already assured.
The crowd watched in captivation, their expressions laden with intrigue and tension.
They knew how formidable Anna was—a merciless force who made even the strongest opponents grovel.
Whispers rippled through the masses: 'What could he possibly do? Atticus, do you truly believe you can uphold your bold claim, to emerge victorious without a single scratch? Or will you falter and face defeat?'
Atticus walked toward her with unhurried steps, while Anna offered nothing more than a faint tilt of her head.
"Do you really think, that you can win without using your pure energy?"
Anna's magic was gravity manipulation.
"I'll punish you until I'm satisfied and then, I'll unite with Asher in Class Seraph."
With a light, careless flick of her fingers, the air around Atticus thickened.
Gravity surged in an instant, rippling outward as the ground groaned and buckled under the strain, massive fissures spiderwebbed beneath his feet, the earth flattening as though crushed by an invisible weight.
Anna's lips curled into a smirk—but it faltered.
Atticus, astonishingly, moved forward.
Unhindered.
His steps were steady, his pace unfaltering, as though the crushing density—enough to pin a war elephant to the ground—was little more than a passing breeze.
"W-what?" Anna stammered.
Atticus's steady steps brought him closer and closer, as though the expanding gravitational force was nothing more than an afterthought. Panic crept into her eyes as she poured everything into her magic.
『 Oblivion's Embrace 』
This spell—the culmination of her power—was her trump card.
A hundredfold stronger than any other she could muster, its effects were concentrated entirely on Atticus alone, the air around him distorted, and the very earth quaked beneath the spell's immense pressure.
Somehow, impossibly, Atticus remained unaffected, he continued forward, his figure unwavering as he carved his own path through the overwhelming force.
Out of desperation, Anna seized the scattered sharp projectiles around her, channeling the full extent of her power, she redirected them into a deadly barrage aimed at his vitals.
Atticus approached them, his blade flashing in a fluid dance, each projectile was struck down with precision and speed, their fragments scattering harmlessly to the sides in rapid succession.
Unfazed, he continued his advance, methodically closing the distance between them.
Anna was still a novice, and her gravity manipulation ability was limited to two basic applications: pinning her foes to the ground or redirecting projectiles with precise bursts of force.
Gravity manipulation functioned by imposing rules upon matter, bending it to obey.
However, primal essence—the force coursing through Atticus—was something older, wilder.
It existed before the laws Anna sought to command, beyond the reach of her control.
"I'm your worse nightmare, Anna."
In one swift motion, his sword was at her neck, its edge glinting with finality.
"W-what are you?"
"Atticus, a name destined to be the strongest."