Elara recognized her instantly.

Ronan’s sister. Irene Ashbourne.

The resemblance wasn’t obvious at first glance – Irene’s silver hair and sharper demeanor contrasted with Ronan’s over darker, lazier appearance – but the family name alone carried weight. But more than that, Elara could feel the difference in their strength immediately.

Irene was leagues beyond Ronan.

And she was ready to fight all four of them alone.

Before Elara could speak, Irene vanished.

Not stepped. Not dashed.

Vanished.

A blur of silver crossed the space between them, and the only thing that allowed Elara to dodge was her instincts.

She ducked.

The scythe’s blade whispered over her neck, close enough that she felt displaced air bite her skin violently. Elara channeled mana into her throat just in case, more instinct than anything, thickening the defensive layer beneath her flesh as she rolled aside to dodge.

But Irene didn’t follow the swing with another.

She took the opening instead, switching targets.

Flames lashed out from Irene’s free hand, twisting into a whip that snapped outward in one singular arc.

The attack struck all three remaining students at once – Mira and the other two barely had time to react.

The others couldn’t get their mana up.

They flew backward, bodies tumbling across broken stone and dirt, groaning as they struggled to rise.

Mira managed a partial barrier at the last second, but even she was thrown hard, landing near the statue’s edge with scorched sleeves and gritted teeth.

That was no normal attack. Irene had meant to take them out completely with that one.

"Mira!" Elara’s voice cracked as she turned, but Irene was already back on her.

Irene’s scythe came down again without warning, faster this time, and Elara twisted aside, narrowly dodging.

The blade struck stone where she’d been standing, carving a molten scar into the ground.

Then Elara saw it.

The scythe was glowing now.

Not an unnatural glow. But bright, iridescent flames coated the weapon’s edge, flickering with controlled heat that was ready to be used at any moment.

The Ashbourne House specialty.

Elara cursed under her breath.

The Ashbourne family specialized in flame magic, their bloodline granting natural proficiency beyond what most mages could achieve through training alone. Even Ronan, with all his flaws, had only ever used flame spells.

Irene swung again.

Elara ducked, but flames whipped out from the scythe’s edge anyway, lashing her from a distance.

Pain seared across her shoulder and side, and she smelled burnt fabric and skin.

"Damn it–"

She staggered back, raising a hasty barrier of mana, but Irene didn’t let her rest.

The scythe was a blur as far as Elara was concerned.

Flames erupted with every swing, forcing Elara to retreat step by step, losing more and more of her footing. She couldn’t find an opening. Every movement Irene made was efficient, brutal, and unrelenting.

Elara tried to counterattack twice. Both times, Irene deflected the spell effortlessly and followed with another strike that nearly cut through Elara’s hastily formed shields.

Elara had faced other rank 2 students. They were strong, but they could be defeated.

But Irene was different. She was too good.

The attacks were too powerful.

Too fast.

Maybe if she had help, but Irene had been efficient, and had used her most powerful attack to take out Elara’s support before the battle even started.

Elara’s breathing turned ragged, and her body ached as she continued to dodge. Her mana reserves, usually abundant, began draining faster than she could manage. Each barrier she raised took more effort, and Irene showed no signs of slowing.

Finally, Elara staggered.

Her foot caught uneven stone, and for half a second, her guard dropped.

Irene was like a hawk.

The scythe came down in a devastating arc, flames lashing along the blade’s edge.

This was the final blow.

But the attack stopped.

Bindings of water wrapped around Irene’s wrists, freezing the scythe mid-swing. The flames hissed and steamed against the liquid restraints, but held.

Irene’s expression shifted – surprise flickering across her face for the first time.

She turned.

Mira stood near the statue’s edge, one hand raised, breathing hard. Blood dripped from her temple, but her focus remained sharp, holding Irene’s wrist in place.

"You’re still standing," Irene said quietly. "Impressive. I thought my initial Flame Whip took you out."

Mira didn’t respond.

She tightened the bindings instead, pouring more mana into the water constructs. The restraints thickened, pressing harder against Irene’s wrists.

Elara realized this was her chance.

She gathered compressed mana into her palm, preparing a direct strike while Irene was restrained.

But before she could release it, flames burst out violently from Irene’s body.

The fire didn’t come from the scythe this time. It erupted from Irene herself, an explosion of heat and pressure that evaporated Mira’s bindings instantly.

Steam filled the air.

Irene slipped free effortlessly, the scythe spinning once in her grip as she stepped forward again.

"Not bad," Irene muttered, lowering her scythe slightly as she studied the two girls.

Elara’s breath came harsh and uneven, while Mira remained to her side, sweat dripping down her temple. The battlefield around them roared with distant combat, but here, near the final statue, everything felt strangely suspended.

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Then Irene spoke again, her tone almost conversational.

"What do you think about Ronan?"

The question was so sudden that Elara didn’t know what to say.

Ronan? Now?

She narrowed her eyes and flicked her gaze toward Mira, and a decision was made without words.

They ignored the question entirely.

Both girls attacked at once, Elara from the front, Mira circling wide with water constructs forming in her palms.

Irene didn’t flinch.

She blocked Elara’s compressed mana burst with the scythe’s shaft, then twisted aside to avoid Mira’s binding threads without losing any rhythm.

"He’s been giving you advice, hasn’t he?" Irene continued, voice calm despite the chaos. "When Grace told me I was rather surprised. He isn’t the type to take those roundabout methods."

Elara snarled as she ducked beneath a flame-wreathed counter swing.

"Can you really talk this much when Class S is about to lose completely?"

Irene dodged backward, scythe spinning lazily in her grip.

"I just have to stall long enough for Iris to finish capturing the statue." She glanced briefly toward the node synchronization. "Which is almost halfway done."

Elara gritted her teeth.

Halfway.

That meant Class B still had time – but not much.

She pressed harder, pouring more mana into her attacks. Flames clashed against barriers, steam hissed where water met fire, and the ground beneath them cracked from repeated impacts.

Then Irene slipped.

It happened fast – too fast for Elara to consciously register why.

Maybe Irene underestimated Mira’s reach.

Maybe she miscalculated the terrain.

Maybe it was her inexperience.

Either way, she stepped too close. Not a real mistake, but a misstep.

Mira struck immediately.

Water bindings erupted from the ground, wrapping around Irene’s wrists and torso in a fraction of a second.

Irene’s eyes widened, her scythe jerking mid-swing as the restraints pulled taut.

Elara saw the opening.

She gathered nearly ten percent of her total mana reserves into her palm, compressing the raw energy until it felt dense enough to tear through stone.

The sphere glowed violently, crackling with unstable pressure.

It was massive.

Too big to dodge, even if Irene weren’t bound.

Elara didn’t think it would fully defeat her.

Irene was too strong for it to be that simple.

But it should be enough to damage her badly. Enough to finish the fight after.

Irene’s expression shifted.

Panic flashed across her face as she realized their strategy too late.

Elara lunged forward.

And drove the compressed spell directly into Irene’s gut.