The morning sun bathed the Royal Knight Training Ground in a golden blaze. The clanging of metal rang through the air as trainees sparred, sweated, and struggled beneath the watchful eyes of grizzled instructors. Among them, Alaric stood out — not for polished technique, but for the raw, unshaped power in his movements. He moved like someone who had fought to survive, not to win medals.
Today was his third week.
And today, he was going to meet Val.
"Clear the ring!" roared Murakan, voice like thunder. "You lot are about to witness what it takes to stand at the top."
Val stepped into the circle with calm precision. His armor was polished but not flashy, his movements raw —like a beast.He was tenacious,fighting like a street bum.But indeed he is the strongest among the trainees
Val's skill was simply undeniable.
And now, he stood across from Alaric, the orphan boy dragged in from the outskirts by a prince.
The crowd quieted as the two faced each other.
Despite being born in different worlds — one from nobility, the other from gutters soaked in blood — Alaric and Val moved the same.
No wasted energy. No flair. Every strike, every block, every feint — efficient, brutal, precise.
They weren't fighting to impress.
They were fighting to win.
Donkey rolls. Elbow jabs. Headbutts. Anything that gave you the edge. There is no shame in surviving.
They were beasts.
Not the kind that roared.
The kind that devoured.
The other trainees watched in tense silence, already realizing — these two weren't like the rest of us.
Val finished adjusting his gauntlets. His voice was calm, steady.
"Show me your strength."
Alaric said nothing.
He didn't need to.
Murakan raised his hand, then brought it down like a judge's hammer.
The duel began.
Val moved first — no hesitation, no testing blows. A sharp step in, a thrust aimed straight for Alaric's chest. Alaric sidestepped, grabbed Val's arm mid-movement, and tried to throw him off balance — but Val used the momentum, twisted mid-air, and landed like a cat.
Efficient.Fast.Unrelenting.
The moment his boots touched the ground, Val spun low and kicked Alaric's leg. Alaric staggered, but didn't fall. He grabbed Val's collar and answered with a headbutt.
Blood. Just a little. Enough to earn a twitch of Val's brow — not of pain, but acknowledgment.
The fight blurred.
One punch turned into a grapple. One dodge into a counter. Every motion is calculated.
They weren't just fighting.
They were learning from each other.
Neither had spoken a full sentence. Yet in their silence, fists, and bruises — a language formed.
Respect.
Not given.
But Earned.
The fight raged on — blow after blow, knuckles cracking against flesh. Alaric staggered, then dropped to one knee. He looked finished… but he didn't yield. He couldn't.
Despite Val being a 2-star aura master, Alaric had lasted far longer than anyone expected. That alone spoke volumes.
Murakan finally stepped in, calling it off. Any more hits and Alaric might not get up again.
Both fighters were battered and bloodied, chests heaving with exhaustion.
Then, in the heavy silence, Val looked down at Alaric.
And nodded.
No words. Just a simple, silent acknowledgment.
That was all Alaric needed.
A spark lit between them — not of hatred, but something fiercer.
Respect. Rivalry. A bond carved in blood and fire.
If I fall… it won't be to anyone but you