Reborn With A Technology System In A Fantasy World-Chapter 96: Fabian’s Dominance

From the Knights, a short boy with an axe walked forward with a confident posture.

From the Mages, Fabian emerged, his white hair catching the sun as he jested with his peers, predicting a swift victory.

The two fighters entered the 40-meter square, facing each other as the anticipation from the rest peaked.

Mrs. Georgina’s voice cut through the tension. "Each fighter, stand at the opposite edges of the square."

Fabian smirked, obeying with a leisurely stride, while the axe boy’s face twisted in annoyance. He muttered under his breath but had no choice, trudging back to the far edge.

The Knights grumbled and began murmuring after sensing the setup.

’They’re giving the Mages every advantage,’ Adrian noted.

The square’s size already favored ranged spells, and now the starting positions ensured Mages could maximize their distance.

Suddenly, Instructor Xana’s aura flared, as she directed it specifically at the grumbling Knights.

Several froze and their protests died in their throats as the pressure pinned them in place.

"Von," Xana said with disdain, "Can’t you control your rabble of delinquents?"

Master Von’s eyes blazed and his own aura erupted in response sweeping across the whole field that even the grasses trembled.

"How dare you target my students before the Exchange?" he growled.

The air grew thick as the two instructors’ auras clashed.

Spectators shifted uneasily, and Adrian, though unaffected by the mana pressure, felt the mood sour. ’This is getting out of hand,’ he thought, glancing at his classmates’ pale faces.

But before the situation could escalate, Mrs. Georgina stepped between them, her own aura sending a commanding pulse that silenced the field.

"Enough!" she snapped. "Cease this petty display, you too. Have you no shame?"

Von withdrew his aura, his expression hard but controlled. Xana followed, tossing him a smirk.

"You’re lucky, Von. I would have taught you a lesson, but I’ll let my students handle that on the field." She glanced at Fabian, who returned her smirk with a confident nod.

Mrs. Georgina composure returned, and she addressed the crowd.

"My apologies for the disruption. Without further ado, may the first fight of the Exchange commence!"

~WHOOSH~

The axe boy took off immediately, his boots pounding the grass as he charged at Fabian, aiming to close the 40-meter gap.

Fabian, still smirking, raised a hand and chanted, "Ignis orior, flamma crescas!"

A fireball materialized above his palm, its orange glow pulsing with heat. He held it aloft, waiting as the axe boy drew closer with unshaken confidence.

The boy’s eyes widened at the spell and a flicker of fear crossed his face, but Fabian’s inaction of holding the fireball without launching it reignited his resolve.

’I’ll duck if he moves his hand,’ the boy told himself cautiously. ’I can do this. I just need to reach him. He won’t expect it.’

His axe gleamed, raised to strike once he closed the distance.

As soon as the boy reached within five meters, Fabian’s smirk widened. He bent his hand downward, unleashing the fireball with a flick.

"Dirige flamma!"

The spell hurtled toward the boy’s legs like a blazing comet.

The boy, reacting late, tried to block with his axe, swinging it downward in a desperate arc.

’I can’t dodge this!’ he thought as the fireball came fast, striking his legs and catching his clothes on fire.

He screamed before stumbling and falling on the floor, but Fabian wasn’t done, as he changed again.

"Ignis orior—"

Mrs. Georgina intervened before he could conclude his chant.

"Ventus tempera!"

A controlled gust of air swept across the square, snuffing the flames instantly.

Master Von was already moving, sprinting to the boy’s side and helping him off the stage with a grim expression.

The axe boy limped. His legs were singed a bit, but he wasn’t severely injured, thanks to Georgina’s quick spell.

Fabian hadn’t budged from his spot since the fight began and he called out with a taunting voice that echoed across the silent field.

"Who’s next?"

Mrs. Georgina’s voice rang out calmly. "Mage Number 1 wins. Knight Number 2, you’re next."

Silence gripped the Knight side as the one-sided thrashing left them stunned.

The next fighter, a lean spearman, hesitated and his weapon trembled in his grip.

’It’s all over,’ he thought.

Fabian’s fireball had been too precise, not even giving the boy a chance to get close.

As he considered how to drop out, someone approached him, clapping their hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, dude," Karl said with a grin. "That was just a flex. We’ll win this, don’t worry. Go show ’em what you’re made of!"

He smacked the spearman’s back, propelling him forward.

The spearman glanced back, managing a nervous smile, then took a deep breath and faced Fabian.

Reaching the edge of the 40-meter square, he planted his feet firmly, his eyes locked on Fabian, who stood at the opposite end, smirking with unshaken arrogance.

The image of the axe boy’s defeat and his screams were still fresh in his mind.

’I won’t go down like that,’ he told himself, gripping his spear tighter, his resolve hardening despite the tremor in his hands. ’I won’t charge in blindly. I’ll let him act first.’

Mrs. Georgina’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Begin!"

Fabian’s smirk widening as he chanted, "Ignis orior, flamma crescas!"

A fireball materialized above his palm, its orange glow pulsing with searing heat.

He held it aloft, his eyes taunting the spearman, daring him to move.

The spearman stood still with an assumed stance, raising his spear up defensively.

’He’s waiting for me to rush him,’ he thought, his breath steadying as he forced himself to remain calm. ’I won’t give him the satisfaction.’

Seconds ticked by and the crowd’s murmurs grew restless.

Fabian’s smirk faltered slightly, a flicker of impatience crossing his face as he knew his mana was wasting.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the fireball, chanting, "Dirige flamma!"

The spell hurtled across the square, a blazing comet aimed at the spearman’s chest.

The spearman reacted instantly, diving to the side and rolling across the grass, the fireball sizzling past him and scorching the ground where he’d stood.

’I dodged it!’ he thought, scrambling to his feet with confidence. But Fabian was already chanting again:

"Ignis orior, flamma crescas!"

Another fireball formed, and the spearman, barely upright, had no time to react as Fabian unleashed it with a sneer,

"Dirige flamma!"

The fireball slammed into the spearman’s shoulder, knocking him backward with a ~CRASH~.

Flames licked at his sleeve, and he cried out, dropping his spear as he flailed to extinguish them.

Mrs. Georgina intervened swiftly: "Ventus tempera!"

A gust of air swept across the square, snuffing the flames and leaving only wisps of smoke.

The spearman collapsed with a red shoulder but not gravely injured.

Master Von strode forward, his expression unreadable as he helped the boy off the stage, his silence heavier than any reprimand.

"Mage Number 1 wins again," Mrs. Georgina echoed. "Knight Number 3, you’re next."

The Mages erupted in laughter and beers afterwards.

"This is too easy!" one Mage shouted, earning chuckles from the benches.

The spearman limped away in embarrassment.

The Knights’ side was a sea of silence, their earlier confidence shattered by Fabian’s second dominance.

But they had no other choice but to continue, and so the third fighter, another spear man stepped forward.

***

What followed was a brutal display of Fabian’s prowess, a bullying spectacle that left the Knights reeling.

One by one, they all fell to his fireballs, in similar styles and they had no chance in any of the fights, all against one man.

Silence reigned among the Knights as Master Von dragged yet another fighter off the field, this one a swords user who had learned how to channel mana already, but still crumbled under Fabian’s fireballs.

"Mage Number 1 continues his streak. Knight Number 17, you’re next."

The number was humiliating to the Knights. He had defeated 16 of them single-handedly.

The Mages on the benches yawned theatrically and their murmurs grew bolder.

"These Knights are pathetic," one sneered.

"I bet any of us could wipe the floor with them." Another added, "I thought they’d be tougher. This is getting boring."

Master Von’s gaze swept over his remaining fighters, landing on Lyra. He patted her shoulder in a low voice.

"You’re next."

Lyra stepped forward in determination despite the tense atmosphere.

Adrian watched closely with interest. ’I haven’t seen Lyra fight,’ he thought.

He had not been present in her private technique training sessions with Instructor Sam but he still held respect for her skill.

’Maybe she’ll break his streak,’ Adrian mused.

Lyra didn’t charge like the others. She stood at the square’s edge with her bow in hand and a calm stance, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Mrs. Georgina signaled the start, and Fabian, smirking, began his chant: "Ignis orior, flamma crescas!"

A fireball familiar to all, began to form on his hand, but before Fabian could finish, Lyra had already acted.

In a fluid motion, she fired an arrow, the projectile whistling through the air, aimed at Fabian’s chest.

The crowd gasped, but Fabian’s chant concluded just in time: "Dirige flamma!"

His fireball shot forward, intercepting the arrow mid-flight, incinerating it in a burst of sparks.

Fabian’s smirk faltered for the first time, but Lyra didn’t give him a chance.

Her bow had been strung with two arrows, but she had fired only one.

In the blink of an eye, her fingers readjusted the second arrow to the center of the string, firing it with lethal precision.

Fabian, catching the motion, reacted instinctively, casting a spell he hadn’t used since the match began, one that made him the strongest in the Mage class:

"Celeritas surgit!"

Lightning crackled at his feet, a dazzling web of electric arcs that propelled him sideways in a blur, causing the arrow to miss him by inches.

As the lightning fizzled, Fabian’s smirk returned and he began chanting again, certain that Lyra couldn’t nock another arrow before he was done.

"Ignis orior—"

But Lyra had other plans.

The arrow, which should have fallen harmlessly after being avoided, glowed white and its trajectory shifted mid-air; stabbing into Fabian’s back before he realized and drawing blood on his robe as he fell to the ground.

In a stunning turn of events, Fabian had been defeated.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦