The air inside the academy's grand combat hall was electric with anticipation. Hundreds of students lined the stands, their whispers a dull hum against the sounds of clashing weapons and rapid footwork. On the elevated sparring platform, two figures stood at the center of it all—Roy and Denwen.
The former held his signature wooden swords, their edges worn from continuous use, yet still firm in his hands. The latter stood with bandaged fists, his knuckles already stained with fresh blood from the relentless exchange.
They were battered. Bruised. Gasping for air. Yet, the fire in their eyes refused to fade.
On the observation deck, Principal Dvalin and Instructor Vorden stood side by side, arms crossed, watching the fight unfold like proud sculptors admiring their finest work.
"You've really outdone yourself, Vorden," Dvalin admitted, his gruff voice tinged with admiration as he stroked his long dwarven beard.
Vorden chuckled, shaking his head. "I think you're giving me too much credit, Principal. Besides, you're the one training the A-grade prodigy. The rest of us are just babysitting the scraps compared to that." He waved a dismissive hand, but the smugness in his tone was impossible to miss.
Dvalin, however, didn't share the sentiment. His sharp gaze flickered toward Denwen, who had just sidestepped an overhead strike, weaving through Roy's guard with unnerving precision. With a well-timed twist, he parried the sword away with a brutal forearm block, then delivered a devastating counterpunch to Roy's chest.
The impact sent Roy skidding backward, his boots dragging lines into the platform. He coughed, momentarily winded.
Denwen smirked, rolling his wrists. "Come on, bro. Is this all an A-grade talent is worth?"
Laughter echoed through the hall as Roy wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked more excited.
"Hah! That's more like it!" he bellowed. "Bring it on, then!"
Discarding his now-splintered sword, he grabbed a fresh one from the weapons rack at the edge of the platform and lunged back in, his movements sharper, faster.
Back on the observation deck, Vorden's lips curled into an unmistakable grin of pride.
"Look at that," he said, voice rich with satisfaction. "That kid picked up Brawler Arts like it was nothing. Not just the stance, but the flow, the movement—the instinct. He's barely had a month with it, yet he's already using it to challenge your golden boy."
Dvalin narrowed his eyes, genuinely surprised now. "Wait, you're telling me he learned Brawler Arts that fast?"
Vorden shrugged, arms folded. "Not only learned it. Mastered the basics. The last time I saw someone grasp it this quickly… well, let's just say they weren't a D-grade."
Dvalin exhaled, shaking his head. "Sigh… If that kid had awakened a better talent, he'd be even more of a monster than he is now."
Vorden chuckled. "Funny thing is, the world doesn't care about 'ifs.' He's stuck as a D-grade forever."
Dvalin didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Denwen, watching him weave through Roy's relentless strikes with frightening efficiency.
"…Then why," he muttered, "has a D-grade become the second strongest in his entire year? And why does it feel like—" Before he could finish, Denwen drove a knee into Roy's gut, forcing the A-grade genius to double over for a split second.
That split second was all Denwen needed.
BAM!
A crushing elbow strike slammed against Roy's ribs, sending him stumbling.
Vorden smirked. "Like I said. The world doesn't care about 'ifs.'"
Dvalin sighed, glancing at his colleague. "You said Agrona was the one who introduced you to this kid?"
Vorden's expression darkened slightly. "…Yeah. She just brought him to me one day. No real backstory. No real explanations."
Dvalin stroked his beard. "I've run multiple background checks on him. Everything about his history seems… too clean."
"You think something's off?"
Dvalin didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted downward, watching the fight unfold.
"…Something doesn't add up," he muttered.
Vorden sighed. "There's that, yeah… but at the end of the day, I was skeptical at first too. But the kid's a gem. I stopped caring where he came from. Besides, with his talent, the most he'll ever reach is Mid Rank 3. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Dvalin wasn't so sure. "That's a fair assumption. But we still need to be careful, especially now that Emberfall is becoming more active."
Vorden's expression shifted. His arms uncrossed, his fingers clenching into a fist. A faint shockwave pulsed from his hand.
"I heard about the attack on Flendon. The people they slaughtered. The lives lost…" His voice hardened. "I dare them to try something here. I'll crush them with my own hands."
Meanwhile, in the stands…
Angus sat stiffly, his fists clenched. His knuckles had turned white from how hard he was squeezing.
He watched as Denwen—a mere D-grade—stood toe-to-toe with Roy. Each exchange, each clash, burned him with frustration.
"…I don't get it," he muttered under his breath.
"Such a shame, isn't it?"
He tensed. Melissa.
She approached him slowly, her arms crossed, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"A mere D-grade catching up to us B-grades in cultivation… even surpassing us in some areas. It's almost like fate mocked us by giving us a head start we didn't even need."
"Melissa, not now," Angus grumbled.
"Oh, don't be so grumpy," she teased. Then, in a more serious tone, she nodded toward Roy. "You know, the only reason Roy is dominating the fight now is because he broke into Peak Rank 1 a week ago. The fastest in academy history."
"…Do you think he'll do it?"
"Do what?"
"Break the record. Become the first Rank 2."
Melissa thought for a moment, then sighed. "Given that the semester evaluation is in a week, I doubt it. But this is Roy. He keeps throwing surprises in our faces."
Angus stood abruptly.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to prepare my own surprise."
Melissa raised an eyebrow but didn't stop him. She simply sighed, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the fight.
—--
Back on the platform…
Denwen and Roy stood on opposite ends, panting heavily.
"…Time to finish this with a bang, don't you think?" Roy smirked, his emerald-green aura darkening slightly as he channeled his true Peak Rank 1 essence into his wooden sword. The sword trembled, cracks forming under the sheer pressure.
Denwen felt the power. It made him sweat.
But he didn't buckle. His own emerald-green aura flared, wrapping around his body. His stance shifted—Brawler Arts.
Roy's grip tightened. Denwen exhaled.
Both combatants cleared their minds.
Then—they moved.
A final clash. A loud bang.
They stood frozen for a moment, backs facing each other.
Roy glanced at his fractured wrist. "…Good hit, bro."
Denwen said nothing.
He collapsed. Blood trickled from a deep gash down his chest to his abdomen.
The medics rushed in.
From a hidden corner of the hall, Agrona watched.
She smiled. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.