The moment their fists collided, Rayne's hand splayed open—his broad palm like five steel rods, ready to seize the smaller fist before him.

At the same time, a massive left fist tore through the air, aiming straight for his abdomen.

The shift in attack came in an instant.

But Rayne was no longer the reckless fighter he had been at the start. After countless battles, he had learned more than just brute force.

Faced with this relentless assault, he didn't dodge. Instead, he chose to strike back.

His left foot stepped forward as his right fist shifted into an open palm.

With a twist of his wrist, he forced Makarov's grip to loosen slightly, then clamped down on the man's sturdy forearm.

The angle of his arm blocked Makarov's fingers from fully closing around his wrist—they could touch, but not fully grasp.

Thanks to his young body's flexibility, Rayne used the leverage from gripping the guild master's arm to twist his torso into a near C-shape, narrowly avoiding the crushing punch.

Had Makarov been serious, this move alone would have been enough to overpower him. But this was just a test—Makarov wasn't using his full strength.

And so, in this near-even contest, Makarov couldn't simply fling Rayne away.

All he could do was watch as Rayne closed the distance in this death-defying manner.

"Boom—!"

Rayne's foot slammed into the ground with enough force to make the earth tremble slightly.

Then, like a bear slamming into a tree, he drove his body toward Makarov's towering frame.

But halfway through the charge, something hard pressed against his waist, halting his momentum.

A glance downward revealed Makarov's raised knee.

At the same time, the guild master's left fist—previously missing its mark—swung back like a battle-axe in a sweeping strike.

Rayne's body moved faster than his mind could process.

His left hand braced against Makarov's knee while his right tightened on the man's wrist. Then, like a monkey swinging from a branch, he twisted his body sideways, flipping upside-down as the massive arm swept harmlessly beneath him.

The rush of wind was so strong Rayne could feel his hair being tugged by the force.

The thrill of it all made an excited grin spread across his face.

His heart burned like wildfire.

"This kid..."

Makarov couldn't help but stare as Rayne used his own arm as a pivot point.

That fearless, exhilarated expression told him everything.

No wonder his magic is so dangerous.

He's not just some reckless brat—he's a battle demon waking up.

As the thought crossed his mind, Makarov saw Rayne coil his body mid-air, his right leg lashing out in a vicious kick.

"He really doesn't waste a single opening."

Even Makarov had to admit—for a first fight, Rayne's instincts were terrifying. His fighting style was ferocious, never retreating even when dancing on the edge of a blade.

Combined with that unshakable nerve, it was enough to make even the guild master break a sweat.

But if Rayne was going all out, Makarov wasn't about to disappoint him.

"Heh—"

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat as a dangerous glint flashed in his eyes.

With a powerful twist, he wrenched Rayne's supporting arm downward, disrupting the kick mid-motion.

Then his left fist shot forward—aimed straight for Rayne's right eye.

"How about a matching black eye before you graduate?"

"Tch."

Rayne clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't panic.

Instead, he released his grip on Makarov's wrist, sending himself plummeting like a snapped puppet string.

Makarov's foot cracked the ground as he lunged after him, his massive body moving with surprising speed.

His target? Rayne, still mid-fall.

But Rayne had already predicted this.

His palm slapped against the dirt, the sting only fueling his adrenaline further.

With a sharp bend of his arm, he flipped backward, using the momentum to launch himself away.

After half a month of training here, he knew the terrain well.

His backward arc landed him against the trunk of a thick tree, his legs absorbing the impact as he crouched against the bark—now standing sideways on the tree like some kind of wild animal.

Then—

"Thud—!"

The tree shuddered from the force.

"Rustle—"

Leaves rained down as Rayne pushed off, his body twisting mid-air before his right leg lashed out like a whip, meeting Makarov's charging fist head-on.

The scattered leaves swirled in the wake of his movement, caught in the turbulent air.

"Rayne's having a lot of fun."

Carla tilted her head, watching the two clash with a hint of envy.

Her sky-blue eyes gleamed, her tail twitching slightly—golden sparks flickering at the tip.

"Carla, have some of this."

Porlyusica, noticing the growing energy around the little dragon, quickly pulled out a piece of dried fruit from her pocket.

"Om nom—!"

Instantly distracted, Carla stuffed the treat into her mouth, her cheeks puffing up adorably.

The sparks at her tail vanished as quickly as they appeared.

"Phew..."

Porlyusica exhaled in relief.

Thankfully, she'd gotten into the habit of carrying snacks ever since Rayne started training in the forest.

The dried fruit was made from wild berries he'd gathered, which she had sliced and preserved—perfect for pacifying a certain excitable dragon.

Her gaze returned to the fight, but this time, she didn't interrupt.

Over the past weeks, she'd seen just how hard Rayne pushed himself.

Dawn runs through the trees, hauling boulders, sparring with wild beasts—he'd come back battered and bruised every night, needing her salves to recover.

Though she disliked violence, even she couldn't deny the determination in his eyes.

Her initial annoyance had faded, replaced by silent support—even brewing stamina potions to help him train longer.

In a way, his progress was partly her doing too.

And now, watching him hold his own against Makarov, she wasn't about to ruin the moment.

The two moved at blinding speeds, though slightly slower than at the start.

"Almost time."

Rayne could feel his magic and stamina draining.

He knew Makarov could keep this up forever, but he couldn't. If he didn't act now, the fight would only get harder.

So he let his movements grow just a fraction slower—letting fatigue show.

But beneath the surface, a plan was already forming.