I had no plan B left. Dirk was a steamroller of brute force, his spells direct, without the slightest hint of finesse. He didn’t bother with complex strategies; he struck, and if he missed, he struck even harder, with relentless determination.

  And me? I was there, with his every step, every breath, mentally recalculating his position, the fluctuating magical pressure around him, the infinitesimal latency of his incantatory circles. That was my magic. Not a demonstration of elemental power, not a flamboyant spectacle. Just… a constant adjustment, a keen reading of the dynamics at play. And sometimes, that subtle adjustment was enough.

  Dirk’s frustration was palpable, visible in the clenching of his jaw, the angry glint in his eyes. He was no longer amused by this strange resistance.

  "You're hiding behind parlor tricks, Eisenwald!" he roared, his voice booming across the arena.

  He unleashed an area-of-effect spell I knew well: a Blazing Wave, a massive bell of fire that swept the ground in an incandescent crescent. Inevitable, in theory… if one ignored the subtle direction of its propagation.

  But I didn’t ignore it. Dirk’s circles, like those of most conventional mages, followed a predictable rhythm, an identifiable energy flow. I had observed this pulsation, this magical signature. And I had placed a decoy: a micro-signal of mana, discreet but intense enough to deceive the spell’s perception, six meters to his right.

  The result was as expected. The bell of fire deviated slightly from its initial trajectory, just enough to spare me immolation.

  Dirk’s fury became tangible, an aura of intense heat emanating from his body. His arms literally ignited. He charged, his massive figure hurtling towards me.

  "ARE YOU GOING TO STOP CHEATING, YOU WORTHLESS VERMIN?!"

  "I'm not cheating. I'm thinking. It's an important distinction," I retorted, my voice surprisingly calm amidst the surrounding tension.

  He lunged at me, his fist wreathed in flames. I remained still. Because I didn’t need to move.

  His foot landed precisely inside a discreet circle I had drawn at the very beginning of the fight. It had remained there, faintly luminous, a simple modified rune, placed silently. Its effect: a temporary and localized inversion of gravitational repulsion. In simple terms: he took off.

  Not high, a meter at most. But enough to unbalance his momentum. His fist lost its trajectory, his blow missed its target, and he fell heavily, his body twisted by surprise.

  And me, still on the ground, had already prepared my most audacious spell. Not powerful, but potentially devastating.

  [Doubt — version 2]

  It didn’t target his body, but the fragile structure of his mental magic circle. Because even brutes like Dirk needed a clear intention, an unwavering conviction, to channel their spells. And if that conviction wavered, if doubt crept in, even for an instant…

  His spell would fail.

  Dirk’s eyes widened. His fire spell, charged for a decisive impact, abruptly extinguished with a dry crackle, as if someone had snapped their fingers in his mind. And he collapsed onto the dusty ground.

  Silence. Literal silence. Not a sound in the stands. Not a breath. The referee blinked, visibly bewildered, then raised a hesitant hand.

  "Victory for Klaus Eisenwald."

  I remained frozen, not out of surprise, but because I had never heard those words. Not for me. Not in this context. I had beaten Dirk Arvens. Level 21. With an unknown affinity. And a spell based on… doubt. I had disarmed his magic as one corrects a poorly constructed sentence.

  Leaving the arena, the gazes I met were nothing like those of the day before. Some were tinged with fear, others with fascination. But all were… attentive. Indifference had vanished. And I didn’t yet know if this change was a blessing or a curse.

  Ilya was waiting for me at the exit, sitting nonchalantly on a low wall, crunching on an apple with disconcerting placidity, as if she had attended a particularly successful theatrical performance.

  "You've just triggered a logical alert in the academy's magic system," she remarked, an amused smile playing on her lips.

  "Thrilled to hear it," I replied, a bit sarcastic.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "They'll be watching you more closely now."

  "They despised me before. Is this an improvement?"

  "Not necessarily. Anomalies that gain value are scrutinized even more carefully than those that are ignored."

  She jumped off the wall with surprising agility, landing softly beside me.

  "You have a… interesting style. Twisted. Unstable. But in a way, precise."

  "Compliments now?"

  "I file them in a separate category. Don't get used to it."

  Later that day, as I tried to focus on a manual of elemental catalysis in a quiet corner of the library, a discreet message appeared in my field of vision.

  [Status Update:]

  New skill acquired: Paradoxical Manipulation.

  Effect: Allows writing magic formulas based on logical contradictions.

  Level 2 unlocked.

  Special reward: 1 Anomaly point.

  Anomaly?

  I had never encountered this concept in the academic manuals.

  Just below, a final message appeared, chilling me:

  [Caprathor is watching you. It is smiling.]

  I slammed the book shut. It was smiling, huh? I didn’t know what that implied, but an unpleasant premonition crept into me.

  In the evening, I returned to the secret alcove in the library. I had hidden the book on Caprathor between two thick treatises on alchemy. No one seemed to have touched it. I retrieved it and reread a passage I had initially ignored:

  "Caprathor does not destroy. It removes. It erases what does not belong in the fundamental order. That is why the universe trembles at its awakening. For it is the one who corrects imbalances."

  I swallowed, a sudden understanding illuminating my mind. It wasn’t just observing me. It was testing me. Not like a master evaluates a student, but like a program analyzes a bug. And if I continued to evolve, to disrupt the established order, to reverse the rules… then perhaps one day, it would no longer need to remain dormant.

  I stood up, the book clutched in my hands, my heart beating faster than I would have liked. And for the first time since my arrival at Luxnheim, a thought imposed itself with unsettling clarity:

  Maybe I really am dangerous.

  Not powerful in the conventional sense, not invincible. But unstable, unpredictable. And for this world governed by rigid logic, that perhaps represented a far greater threat.

  I could have smiled. I had just defeated a high-ranking noble in an official duel with a style of magic the academy didn't even recognize as valid. It was supposed to be impossible. But instead of feeling pride, only one sensation persisted in my gut: that of having been seen. Not applauded, not congratulated. Just… spotted. And at Luxnheim Academy, that rarely boded well.

  Professor Reiz summoned me at the end of the afternoon. His office smelled of old paper and magic ink. He didn't even look up from his documents when I entered the room.

  "You are alive, so I deduce the duel proceeded… in one way or another."

  "Victory by logical disqualification," I specified.

  He let out a weary snort.

  "Obviously. Raw fire against logic… I'm starting to grasp the picture."

  He finally looked up, his gaze suddenly more serious.

  "Listen carefully, Klaus. What you're doing isn't explicitly forbidden. But it's not supposed to work. And you've just proven that it works a little too well, for my liking."

  "I didn't break any rules."

  "I know. But here, the rules are primarily there to protect the framework. You are dangerously shaking the edges of the canvas."

  He pulled out a thick file and placed it in front of me. My name was written on it in black letters.

  "The other professors are starting to ask questions. Unpleasant questions."

  "Like what?"

  "‘Why are we tolerating the presence of such an unstable element in such a structured environment?’… That kind of concern."

  I remained still, absorbing his words.

  He sighed, running a tired hand over his forehead.

  "You're clever, Klaus. Too clever for your own good. And that's precisely the kind of quality that makes people nervous around here."

  He considered me in silence for a moment, then continued in a graver tone:

  "I will protect you as much as I can. But you would do well not to shine too brightly."

  I nodded slowly.

  "I never intended to shine."

  "Then try not to explode, either."

  On the way to the dormitory, a discreet message appeared in my field of vision.

  [Status: You are now considered "Unclassifiable" by the academic system.]

  [Advantage: Increased experimental freedom.]

  [Disadvantage: Enhanced surveillance.]

  Once again, I didn’t know if it was an unexpected promotion… or a thinly veiled warning.

  And somewhere, in the shadow of my mind, the familiar voice returned, soft, deep, distant:

  "You are moving away from their language. Continue. Write your own."

  Caprathor never shouted. It whispered. And it is always the whispers that linger the longest.