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After the third round of fights, the tournament was suspended until the next day, and everyone returned home. Sitting at the desk in Valon’s room, Noah was busy replicating the headband he got from Saimallah. He had already used alchemy to create an exact replica, including the engraved runes, and was now applying a suitable ink. As he worked, he scrutinized the formula repeatedly, making sure it did what it was supposed to. For all he knew, putting it on could brand him with a curse. In his long years across the multiverse, he had learned to always look a gift horse in the mouth. Reading the formula was like reading a contract, and he had to be wary of fine print.

He then charged towards Thera with mana radiating from the tip of his horn and flowing over him like fire around a meteor. Every footfall shook the ground as though he was made of solid steel, yet his speed was remarkable. Thera reformed one of her whips and swung it to the side, grabbing the ground and then using it to pull her out of Cain’s way. He continued his charge towards the edge of the ring. A magical barrier protected the audience from spells, but the spectators in his path still scrambled to move. They were right to flee, as Cain hit the stands like a runaway semi, smashing through the wall around the ring and bringing down several levels of seats. By some miracle, no one was killed, but that wasn’t to say there were no casualties. Not all of the spectators had managed to escape the destruction.

“Like mother like daughter, I said,” he chuckled. “She needed to know. And as you can see, teasing aside, she hardly disapproves.”