Siel sighed.
He had made a mistake—but so far, no one had called him out for it. It was standard protocol in Elador that mana was prohibited during friendly spars.
Yet no one complained. The crowd seemed far too interested in the girl.
"Siel, quit acting like a brute and get serious already!" one of the cadets yelled.
One by one, others joined in, cheering him on.
He sighed again, then finally took a proper stance.
Up until now, he hadn't used any sword style.
That was just his way—brutal, instinctual. He didn't care for formalities.
Zin and Pom often scolded him for it, but their words never stuck.
He had grown up fighting in bloody arenas, until Penre and Ephini found him during a mission and rescued him.
He was a slave—an elven-bred one, no less.
High-value property.
Born in a dark cell, he never saw his mother's face—only remembered her voice, gentle and distant.
The struggles of that past had left deep scars. They shaped his harsh attitude, his quick temper.
But those who truly knew him would say he wasn't a bad person.
The cadets respected him—he always stood out, and he helped those in real need.
Siel glanced over at Ephini, his wife. She smiled.
He sighed once more, now fully braced, waiting for Gilly's next move.
This time, it was different.
---
Gilly launched forward, using the dust as cover.
Her sword clashed with Siel's, and this time—it felt different.
Solid. Like a mountain.
Siel kicked from the side. Gilly was thrown sideways but recovered quickly, regaining her footing.
Movement flickered behind her.
She ducked.
A blade swiped over her head—barely missing.
She rolled away, breath sharp, heart racing.
Time stretched. Every moment felt like eternity.
The thrill, the danger—it was intoxicating.
Even as she was tossed around like a rag doll, she pressed on.
She refused to be called weak ever again.
Every blow sharpened her. Every fall pushed her forward.
She kept fighting.
---
Then Zin saw it again.
And not just Zin—Valmor, Asrck, Ephini, and a few others noticed too.
Gilly's eyes were glowing.
Faint, intricate lines had formed along her skin—barely visible, but unmistakable.
---
After several intense exchanges, Gilly dropped to one knee.
Drenched in sweat. Breathing hard. Exhausted.
Siel stood before her, sword pointed at her neck.
The spar had ended.
But he smiled.
He had learned something valuable from her.
He'd always hated the structured swordsmanship Zin tried to drill into him.
But now—now he understood its worth.
Zin had only taught three people in total. Out of hundreds of cadets.
And Siel realized... that made him one of the lucky ones.
He rested the sword on his shoulder and stretched out a hand to Gilly.
"I changed my mind," he said.
"You're not weak. You just need training. You'll be fine."
He helped her to her feet, then walked over to Ephini, who dabbed the sweat from his brow with a towel.
Zin gave him a few pointers. Pom praised him relentlessly.
Though officially still a Hunter-class, Siel had shown the strength of a Knight.
In the training grounds, he was the center of attention.
Cadets surrounded him, cheering and singing his praise.
---
Meanwhile, Zenora approached Gilly, tugging lightly on her shirt.
She offered a towel with a small grin.
"You looked really cool just now."
Gilly blinked, surprised.
She had lost. There was no doubt.
Maybe this was her way of cheering her up.
"You don't have to feel bad," Zenora added.
"I'm surprised you lasted that long against someone who's already a full-fledged adventurer."
Gilly turned—Valmor and Asrck were nearby.
"My, my," Valmor said, stroking his beard.
"Her instincts are far above average. Reminds me a little of Mizin… in her early days."
Gilly froze.
The name stirred something deep within her.
She didn't know who Mizin was—but hearing that name made her skin crawl.
---
"Old man, aren't you exaggerating?" Pom said, approaching the group.
Penre entered the grounds just then.
The energy in the air was electric.
His eyes found Gilly.
He was seasoned. He knew what greatness felt like.
He could feel the residual aura—like mist rising off her clothes.
Like steam rising from someone who had just fought a monster.
Something about her unsettled him.
After asking around, he got the summary:
Gilly had sparred with Siel for fifteen whole minutes before she collapsed from exhaustion.
Considering the high-ranking figures paying attention to her, it seemed… likely.
He caught up with Siel. The two exchanged words while the crowd slowly returned to their routines.
---
Gilly remained under the shed at the edge of the training grounds.
She sat alone, reflecting.
She tried to replay every battle she'd fought—looking for patterns.
And then she noticed something:
The only time she had ever fought with true, lethal intent… was during the wolf attack that night.
Every other time—she'd been passive.
She'd always had people to rely on.
She thought of her friends. A dull ache pressed on her chest.
Shaking the thought, she stood, grabbed a wooden sword, and returned to training.
She wasn't done yet.
---