The crowd was clamoring, his family shocked yet somehow unsurprised. The count and countess embrace each other in relief, his sisters grip each other in celebration.
The arena was loud, everyone within was turning to the people beside them asking if this was reality.
On the other hand, Ashton was Invoking the earth beneath him. Creating a casket and manipulating the wind, he places his defeated foe inside to rest.
The respect wasn't showmanship. It was true, as much as it was calculation, having caught a glimpse of the Aether System.
As he pushes the casket into the gateway that released it, he whispers. "Quiet." It was soft, nobody within the colosseum could have heard it over the celebrating.
Yet his words, like a command travel along the wind guided by mana, and into the ears of every spectator.
The command within the air strikes everyone, the jubilance of the crowd dies off in unexpected but welcomed anticipation.
"The Air Striding Lion was a great opponent. He was growing. Juvenile. I felt him progressing and evolving, and it saddens me I stepped beyond before truly meeting him. It saddens me, that I can never clash with his pinnacle of potential. The joy I can feel within the air, I hope that it's not for this fading power within me, but your privilege to witness the poetry in his death."
Ashton's words were still quiet, solemnly traveling and circulating along the air. Tears form among some of the spectators, others fell into thought, and a few try to digest the weight of his confession.
His words invoked thought from his witnessers, greater than his thought had with mana.
Leaving his guests to a moment of reflection, weaponizing the attention of the arena, he continues...
"What I take away more than anything from this fight, is the dangers of stagnation. The tragicness of falling from arrogance or laze... I rebuke such a life."
Planting his sword into the ground and kneeling like a warrior to its master, "A fool once said stubbornness is easily straightened out, however, I believe it is not. It must be hammered out and uprooted at the first sign, so please guide me. Tower Master Mitchell. Please. Guide me so I may never grow arrogant."
The spying and slight towards him didn't bother the duke. Along with Ashton's family and every other spectator, he finds the moment beautiful just as much as it is shocking.
There were less than six people aware of his attendance, the tower master was hiding, enjoying the trial more than anyone.
He liked Ashton since the moment they locked eyes in the garden.
He respected the raw, humble sentiment in his request.
The crowd, whose eyes were glued on Ashton's kneel, were now frantically scanning the audience. Everyone wanted to lay eyes on the grand mage.
Their search did not last long, as an old man seated in rafters of the bleachers began to hover down into the arena. His disguise washing off as he floats into the pit.
"Young man, taking more than you are able is how the great are ruined."
Looking up the grand mage, his image stirring his fighting spirit "I greet thee, grand mage of The Pheonix." Taking his hard from his sword and bowing deeper. "Protector and guardian of the empire."
Ashton's continued humility heightened his image, a young man who is powerful and grounded. Kind but dangerous if pushed.
This was what he had wanted. While he was truly humbling asking for guidance, he was manufacturing his mask. The light that would shade his darkness.
"I understand the necessity of restraint, but I am afraid this state is collapsing even as I speak."
"Invocation... yes no one can tell how long you can maintain this state." Pretending to think over the request, as if he already isn't decided, the grand mage senses something within Ashton.
It wasn't evil, it was ambition visible to his spirit. [He really does need straightening out] Tower Master Mitchell thought
"Very well, this may well be the only time I see an Invoker."
His acceptance shattered the humility and ceremony of Ashton's performance. It wasn't malice that drove him to swing his sword at the grand mages throat without warning, it was urgency.
The time limit of his Invocation was upon him.
Catching the sword, not with a spell but mana itself. Like chains the mana from within the grand mage grabbed hold of the sword, technical application beyond that of a first-class knight.
It was mastery from proficiency in magic theory.
As Ashton drops his weapon, he switches to magic, snapping his fingers the air around Tower Master Mitchell combusts.
"The storm meets a mountain..." Isebell says, fascinated and slightly jealous of Ashton's battle with one of the symbols of the empire.
His image gone, obstructed in smoke and dirt, but Ashton knew it didn't connect. Calling the wind, his sword flies back into his hand as he dashes forward.
Through the smoke, Ashtons sword empowered with an icy incantation this time, strikes at the heart of the tower master.
Blocked again. But this time, a feint.
His sword caught in the same manner as before, exactly has he had foreseen. What was followed by his blade, was the shadow his body casted on the ground, rising with precision and lethality.
It was a killshot. Again, not from malice, and this time time not from urgency.
Ashton realized he had to fight at this level, to even make the grand mage try.
The manipulation of his shadow momentarily caught the crowd's confusion, forgetting he is currently an Invoker. Capable of casting magic beyond his level.
The Tower Master was unimpressed however, meeting the shadow with precise warding spells. Their size was small, only matching the point of the shadows tip.
Another display of superiority.
Ashton was casting magic with only a thought, no need for calculations or intense focus, the mana in the air listened to what he commanded.
And he was still unable to leave a mark on his opponent.
The difference left Ashton in awe, it inspired him.
Unlike their first encounter, Ashton was growing more than he realizes.
If Invokers could use magic freely, create combinations with a mere thought then, [Why, give him the time to think?] Ashton thought in epiphany