Misfit At Magic Academy: They Wanted a Godly Summon, Got Me Instead Chapter 12: Sleepy Bastard vs. Mr. Perfect — Round Three

"Frost Touch."

The mont his icy fingers brushed against Amon’s neck, his skin began to freeze — like a spreading virus. Fast. Sharp. Relentless.

Amon couldn’t react in ti. He slipped sideways, barely dodging a full grip of that frigid hand.

"What’s wrong, pal? Now you’re the one running?" Salazar’s eyes followed him with a predator’s calm.

Amon could feel the frost crawling deeper into his neck. Pale trails of ice branched out like veins, and every movent punished him with burning pain.

"You bastard..." he croaked.

I understood then — Salazar’s goal was clear. Turn his opponent into a solid block of ice. Instant victory. Smart move, you cocky little brat.

Without wasting a breath, Amon snapped his fingers again — summoning another barrage of mini-runes, each one birthing explosive orbs that streaked toward Salazar.

Amid the chaos of flashing lights and thunderous impacts, the teachers observed from the balcony above. From behind, the student council president — tall, handso, insufferably confident — approached.

"Enjoying the match?" he smirked. "A little more exciting than usual, right? Top-5 matches like this always fill seats."

"Impressive work," said Dean Hellmaine, nodding. "This ti, your preparations were... exceptional."

"Well, duh. Even a blind man could tell that newbie was hiding power. Just a matter of ti before it showed. That’s why you ca here, wasn’t it?"

Dean said nothing, returning his gaze to the arena. He stood now, having offered his seat to a woman.

"Beautiful duel, isn’t it, mphis?" he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She was the wizard-hat woman — mphis, instructor of the fourth-years. Her long hair the color of the starfield, always changed in different light.

"Don’t give that gentle look," she muttered, annoyed. "I know fourth-year Amon is a Master of Runes. But Salazar — he’s just a first-year. Yet his file says... Master of Frost Magic."

"Mastery of Supre Magic," Dean said thoughtfully. "Even within magic, forms differ. Change the image — and you change the magic. Crystal form. Energy form. And his... is the frost."

The chemistry teacher snorted, his bald head shining:

"Looks like we’ve got more freaks this year than usual."

He was a solid, middle-aged man with sun-kissed skin and arms like barrels.

If I’d been there with them, I probably wouldn’t have understood a damn word. All I know is that the form of your Supre Magic reflects the core of your spirit. And sothing tells ...

Salazar isn’t just a princess.

He’s the Ice Queen himself.

anwhile, Salazar dodged spheres one by one, slowly closing the distance. His breathing was steady. His eyes locked on target.

Then, just two steps from his next strike, Amon fired his third crystal.

Crafty bastard.

For a heartbeat, it looked unblockable. Too fast. Too close.

But Salazar shattered that expectation. He ducked, slid under Amon’s arm and—

—grabbed him by the neck.

Amon dangled above the ground — Salazar’s strength enough to lift a full-grown man with one hand.

The crowd exploded in awe. Even so of the top-5 students watching seed impressed now.

That freezing hand locked tight around the mage’s throat. Amon couldn’t retreat. Could barely breathe. He could feel the ice crawling through him, licking his lungs.

"I won’t... lose!" he gasped.

"Frost Glass," Salazar muttered, just as—

BOOM!

The audience barely understood what happened. But I saw it. Two crystal projectiles shot straight for Salazar, and sohow—

—he blocked them.

How? Only the sharpest eyes noticed: his other hand had already ford the seal.

Frost Glass appeared in ti, blocking both crystals just centiters from his face.

Incredible reflexes. No — premonition. Salazar predicted the counterattack.

Amon panicked. He ford his fingers into a triangle.

"Energy Beam!"

A triangular rune flashed to life, producing a glowing sphere. From it, a devastating laser shot forward, faster than lightning.

Salazar didn’t dodge in ti — it struck him dead-on, searing his face and torso. But he jumped back before the full force connected. The purple beam sliced through the ground like a blade of plasma.

If not for the ring’s containnt barrier, that blast could’ve wiped out the front row of spectators.

Salazar suffered minimal burns. Only the top of his kimono got scorched. Pity — he looked damn cool in it.

The beam ended. And in the silence that followed, Salazar yawned.

That was the rudest gesture he could’ve made in combat.

"You arrogant little shit!" Amon snapped, clenching his hands into a circle.

A giant rune unfolded before him. Salazar stood at the ready. The crowd held its breath.

A rune that size could only an one thing.

"Supre Magicka: Death Ray!!"

His voice thundered as a monstrous beam erupted from the rune, tearing through the air with a scream that shattered the sound barrier.

It cracked open the earth beneath them, and anything caught in its path would be turned to dust.

"Don’t you EVER disrespect my na!!"

He’s insane! Soone arrest this man — he’s trying to commit murder out here!

But Salazar was ready. The beam hadn’t hit him... not yet.

The key? The delay between chanting the spell and completing the seal. That small gap was all the warning Salazar needed.

He sprinted sideways. The ray followed. Amon was controlling its direction mid-cast.

Shit. Less and less room to maneuver.

Salazar hugged the edge of the arena, running along the ropes. At one point, the beam ca so close, he had to flatten himself against the barrier.

If this keeps up—

"Ice Barrier!"

Just before the beam touched him, a sleek wall of ice ford in front of Salazar. It shattered instantly under the beam’s pressure — but he recast it again.

And again. And again.

Each barrier bought him a split-second more.

This fight was no longer about power — it was a test of endurance. Whose mana would run out first?

Salazar had to shield his face with his arms — snowflakes whipped at him violently.

Snow? Yes — because his barriers weren’t even fully forming before they evaporated. (Don’t you dare say I didn’t pay attention in chemistry class!)

Millisecond by millisecond, he rebuilt the wall. Each second, he took a single step forward.

Each step carved his way to a slow, but inevitable, victory.

Amon was losing control. In the corner of his eye, he saw Salazar getting closer.

Mana draining like water from a cracked flask.

Gulping, Amon made his next desperate move.

The beam vanished.

Before Salazar could react, Amon leapt into the air and shouted:

"Duo Familiar Summon!"

A flash of violet light shot from his hand. The energy scattered, and two creatures took form on the ground.

"Pimmo and Spark!"

Pimmo — a cute, ice-blue puppy with a bell on its collar.

Spark — a long-eared platypus with glowing green claws.

Familiar Summoning. Each familiar is unique — and summoning one ans earning its trust.

Pimmo’s body shimred with violet energy, which channeled into Amon, restoring his mana.

Amon smirked nervously.

"No more tricks up your sleeve! You’re a Master of Frost — I’ve seen all your cards. You’re out of ti, boy!"

If I were you, greenhead, I wouldn’t be so cocky.

And then Salazar showed a different face.

His lips curled into a twisted, ominous smirk that made even my skin crawl.

He cracked his finger.

"Supre Destruction..."

One of the Supre-level spells in the Destruction Elent...

The last thing anyone here expected!

"...Hell’s Embrace."