'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

Then, as if on cue.

The battle began.

No need for the ceremony nor any warm-up.

It was just direct confrontation.

A blink, that was all it took for the scene to shift. On the battlefield, mercy was a luxury long forgotten.

Mercy must not be given freely when it involved life and death.

Or else your loved ones would be the collateral under one's mistakes.

Boom!

The Dark Knight took a step forward like a thunderbolt.

The ground beneath him cracked into a crater from the sudden pressure, and Mize instinctively leaned forward, eyes narrowing by the sudden movement.

So fast!

She blinked, barely able to trace his form.

‘I might have underestimated them,’ she murmured internally, lips parting slightly in surprise.

She remembered the battle back then at the Forbidden realm against the troll. Their performance had seemed… lacking.

Perhaps it was due to their numbers.

But this? This was something else entirely.

This wasn’t staged, it was survival, stripped to the bone, raw and the most broken down form of how a battle should be.

One wrong move and they will die.

Then the Battle Mage moved, reacting.

No chants. No theatrics.

Just a shift of the hand, a subtle flick of the wrist, and the halberd lit up, tip flaring with crimson-black fire.

Again, Mize caught it.

That tiny diagram at his fingertip, the same strange glyph Liam used, barely visible, nearly invisible if you didn’t know where to look.

Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.

Three fireballs launched like hungry beasts, arcing across the air in rapid succession.

Each one pulsed with burning heat, the temperature alone caused the air to be tinted in a deep darkish hue.

The temperature spiked, ten of thousands of degrees in an instant. Even from her seat, Mize felt it prickling her skin, the heat was astonishing.

Her skin tingled, eyes widened upon this scene.

“The fire that never dies,” she muttered, unable to look away.

The fireballs screamed forward, aimed directly at the charging knight. The wind whipped aside like a hurricane, visible waves for human to see, and the noise, it shrieked like a groaning metal, scrapped with nails.

Boom!

But he didn’t stop.

The knight's movements were fluid like water.

He twisted, spun, feet gliding just inches from each impact zone.

The flames exploded behind him, painting the backdrop in swirls of red and smoke. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Then came Liam’s voice, as if watching a play unfold rather than a real battle, and he commented casually on Mize's side.

“Quick spell casting. Chantless casting. Disruption techniques.”

"For most awakeners, especially those who relied on spells, these are the basics"

"But of course, these only applied to normal proffesions, common proffesions, and some other unique proffesions"

"However, for Awakeners like us, we use different means of spell casting, each unique to our own path of proffesion"

He leaned back into his seat, one arm draped lazily across the armrest while the other hovered near his chin, index finger resting just below his lower lip.

“These,” he continued, “are the standard courtesies of a fight.”

"May it be a knight, a warrior, a druid, or even any common proffesion, skills required diagrams to execute them"

Mize’s attention split between the voice beside her and the brutal elegance on the field ahead.

"But of course, this doesn't apply to you. There are those proffesion paths that took different approach to skills execution"

Liam’s tone shifted subtly, slightly more intent now, as if imparting something valuable. “When strength is matched, it’s not power but experience that decides the victor"

"Unless the abilities are all encompassing, then tactics would be the key to decide"

He raised his hand, fingers forming a precise shape in the air.

His gaze didn’t shift from the battlefield.

“But,” he added, eyes gleaming slightly, “experience only matters if you can use your strength properly. Otherwise...”

He smiled faintly. “You’re just a beggar holding a bar of gold.”

Mize’s eyes flicked forward again, her mind turning.

The knight was still in motion, dodging fireball after fireball with impossibly sharp movements, minimal, calculated, graceful in a way that bordered on unnatural.

No sword drawn, Just movement and control.

Extreme body and movement control.

Boom!

The last fireball detonated inches from his side. His boot fell, nearly touching the ground.

And time… slowed.

Liam’s voice cut in again, smooth and clear, his words threading into the tension like a blade through silk.

“This,” he said, “is the perfect example.”

"Both of them are scheming"

The knight’s foot began to descend, almost dreamlike.

“The example of how experienced Awakeners fight. Not because they shine with dazzle…”

The frame tightened. The camera of Mize’s mind zoomed in on the descending boot, the faint glow beneath it.

“…but because they know how to survive traps before they even spring.”

Shing.

Boom!

The diagram beneath the knight’s heel exploded to life, glimmering for just a breath before launching a fireball straight upward, aimed for his face.

Mize’s breath caught in her throat.

Her thoughts immediately assuming death sentence for the knight.

And yet, the knight didn’t panic.

Just a tiny shift. His foot pivoted centimeters to the side, and in that sliver of space, the knight’s sword finally unsheathed.

A clean, sharp movement. Almost lazy.

Slash!

The fireball was cleaved in two mid-air, its energy scattering in chaotic swirls of flame.

At the same time, shooom!, a wave of energy burst forward from the blade’s arc.

A half-crescent slash, pure force wrapped in killing intent, howled across the field toward the Battle Mage.

Boom!

The cleaved fireball detonated behind the knight’s face, close enough to singe, but not close enough to wound.

Mize watched, captivated.

And through the dancing embers and scattered smoke, Liam’s voice returned.

“Most people… the moment they fall into a trap, they panic. They die, not because they’re weak, but because they lose clarity.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“But a prepared Awakener... always has a backhand. A contingency. He fights not with strength alone, but with layered plans stacked beneath each strike.”

Ahead, the energy wave streaked toward the Battle Mage.

Dust kicked up from its pressure. Smoke blurred the edges of the scene.

Mize sat frozen, eyes wide, heart hammering against her ribs, 'Tactics? Schemes?'

'It seems relying on abilities and skills alone wouldn't suffice if I want to become stronger'

'I need experience too to supplement it'

This… this was mastery.

Seeing it unfold, the battle mage didn’t freeze up, he moved.

He wouldn’t just stand there and wait to die.

His halberd shifted subtly in his grip, fingers adjusting along its dark length as the tip flared with a deep crimson glow.

A tiny diagram bloomed into life at the edge of the staff, spinning faintly before erupting in a sudden surge of energy.

In the blink of an eye, a translucent dark shield shimmered into place in front of him, like a pane of stained glass made from smoke and force.

Boom!

The knight’s sword energy crashed into it, the impact sending shockwaves rippling outwards.

The mage held his ground, both hands gripping the halberd in front of him, posture steady, but not strained.

He withstood the hit without faltering.

But then.

From within the swirling dust, something shifted.

Boom!

Mize’s eyes widened.

Movement. The battle mage noticed it too, instincts kicking in, body twisting toward the threat.

But it was already too late.

From behind the curtain of dust, a blade pierced forward.

Silent carving arcs through the air as it came from nowhere.

The tip of the sword slipped through the cloud like a ghost, then.

A blur of silver.

And just like that, the battle mage’s head was severed.

No scream. No last spell.

Just.

Thump.

The body slumped, neck cleanly sliced, and the head rolled forward before toppling onto the floor.

The drop was almost poetic, the fall of a piece after the game was over.

And from the haze, the knight emerged again.

The very same one Mize had presumed dead.

His stride was calm.

His armor, lightly dusted from the earlier impact, bore faint scorch marks.

He walked out as if nothing had happened, the blood sliding off his blade as he flicked it casually to the side.

"And it seems the knight is more prepared than the mage" Liam chuckled.

Mize flinched the moment the head flew, his breath hitching, and then again when the knight stepped out.

The dust cleared around the knight, revealing the scene beneath.

Small craters littered the ground, battle marks, singed earth, and in the center, a lifeless, headless body.

And the one who stood over it.

“So...” came Liam’s voice, breaking through the silence.

His fingers reached out without warning, and gave Mize’s nose a sudden, rough twist.

“Ack!” Mize squealed, recoiling with a sharp pout, hand snapping up defensively.

Liam only chuckled, clearly amused.

But Mize didn’t linger on the irritation for long. Her attention snapped back, mind still replaying the entire fight.

The shock, the flow, the precise timing, it all sat fresh in his mind.

It was simply amazing!

Especially the way how both sides trying to calculate each other movements.

“How was it?” Liam asked, leaning back with a gentle smile.

“The battle?” Mize looked up, blinking. “What else?” Liam said, amused.

Mize’s fingers twirled absentmindedly in front of her chest, expression thoughtful as her brows pulled together.

“It was… calculative,” she said slowly. “Everything felt like it was moving according to something. Every step, every move… both sides were calculating from the start.”

“They were setting up plays. Anticipating each other.”

“And the knight won,” Mize continued, voice quiet but sure, “because he was one step ahead?"

She paused, eyes still staring toward the battlefield as the dust finally settled.

Liam’s grin grew wider. “Very good,” he said.

Then another twist on the nose.

“Hey!” Mize shrieked again, swatting at him with a louder pout, face scrunching in exaggerated frustration.

But this time, Liam didn’t get away clean, Mize bit his hand with a small chomp, teeth barely digging in.

Liam shook his hand with a laugh and began again, his tone casual.

“Exactly. The core of any one-on-one fight, or small skirmish, really, isn’t just strength.”

“It’s tactics. Tricks. Calculation. You win before you swing.”

Mize caught it instantly.

Her eyes narrowed, head tilting as she echoed, “Small scale only?”

Liam raised a brow, then gave a dry laugh.

“Well, yes. That’s the sad truth, dear Mimi,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the air. “In large-scale wars… raw power crushes everything.”

“Tactics help, sure. They might shift momentum here or there. But when a thousand elites charge your line, and you’ve got six hundred farmers with sticks, no trick’s gonna save you.”

"And in my case, I can easily flood the enemy with hundred of thousand of soldiers. What tactics are there to confront me?"

Mize exhaled through his nose, nodding slowly, her fingers brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked a little disappointed, but thoughtful.

Still, she swatted away Liam’s hand again when it made another suspicious move toward her face.

“Then what’s the point?” Mize asked, eyes narrowing again.

“We have hundreds of thousands of soldiers under our banner. If sheer numbers and strength decide the outcome, why should I learn to fight at all?”

“We can just win through numbers, right?”

It was a fair question.

A cold logic.

But Liam didn’t answer right away, his gaze lingered on Mize, something flickering in his expression.

Not quite a smirk. Not quite a warning.

Just enough to say, You’ll see.