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As Toma walked away from the sparring ring, he could hear his partner getting pestered by a variety of critiques and backhanded remarks. Easy to judge and critique from outside the ring, especially given the several bruises he could feel forming under his formal attire, significantly dustier now than before his sparring match. Had the match continued on, he had every suspicion that Ashraf could have simply outlasted him, closing whenever he brought magic to bear and opening the distance whenever he brought his mace into the fray. Though, again, it was easy to critique and consider what ifs after the fact. Toma did not consider it a victory, not in a militant sense, though the number of eyes and follow up chatter to such an event certainly implied it had done what he had hoped and gotten attention on him. Ashraf as well, though that was far from a concern of his when it came to earning his place in the hopefuls.

Upon arriving at the archery targets, the commotion and noise Toma had caught before having to focus fully on a skilled opponent was explained. A lightning wielding archer, likely from the same nation as Ashraf though a completely different cloth entirely, metaphorically speaking of course. The wrecked remains of the target said it all, as far as the noble was concerned, though it seemed the archer was intent on chattering at some lowborn woman with a crossbow. Most of the estate guards carried crossbows when on patrol, they were relatively easier to use and just as effective in the right hands, if not more so, than a proper war bow. The addition of lightning magic did tilt the scales, but that was not due to the effectiveness of the base used to deliver said magic. Would be like crediting a frozen spear head to the fact that a flanged mace held more value than a studded truncheon. Different tools and use, but same end result, a caved in skull for whoever was on the receiving end.

The ambient temperature dropped again, though not as intensely as in the arena, as Toma willed several shards of ice into existence. Unlike the bolts or arrows of the other two, these had the weight and potency of daggers, balanced to be thrown, or magically launched, rather than used in a melee. Ignoring the numbness settling into his arm again, he would begin practicing once more, launching the frozen shards into the target he had elected to use, several down from the lowborn and electric foreigner. Each strike lacked the overt, flashy nature of the lightning arrows, but there was something to be said for a subtle, well placed strike. Should the lowborn wish to make a point, he would have suspected the best way to do so was to place her first bolt where it would have left a real target dead. Several lightning strikes were flashy and made a spectacle, but if the end result was the same, who was the wiser. The showboat, or the professional?

Given where Toma chose to practice his magical attacks at range, however, it gave him an ideal spot to listen in without being overt about the matter, not waiting for anyone to comment or interrupt before he could get to his magical drills. It was also a demonstration that, sometimes, one must simply carry out what they intend to do and not wait to be granted permission by someone who insists on chattering after making a grand display. Poor form to make a strong opening statement and then try to grant someone no chance to make their own reply, however meek it may turn out to be, though he made no overt comment on the matter. Not with how little he knew about either, or their overall intent on how to demonstrate their worth as future Wardens. Still he kept an ear out in case something worth learning came up in the conversation, Toma had no intention of surrendering a chance at gathering information about his peers, and possible rivals, while he had the chance.