The Vice Class Rep Noa, standing rigid and composed, surveyed the field carefully. Every movement, every pulse of energy from both Soren and Kevin, had been cataloged in her mind. As vice class rep, she had a responsibility—not just to maintain fairness, but to protect the integrity of the lesson. The students had gathered their attention not out of curiosity alone; the stakes were personal, even academic, in the subtle way such duels carried weight.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Kevin had broken his own rule—his declaration that he would not use his left hand. That, by the standard she set herself as jury, was sufficient grounds for disqualification.
"Kevin Hart," Noa's voice rang across the arena, carrying a clear authority that silenced the remaining murmurs instantly. "You lose. Disqualified for violating the conditions you set for yourself." Her tone left no room for argument, yet she added with deliberate finality, "Unless you have an objection about this decision?"
Kevin's gaze flicked briefly toward her, searching for hesitation or leniency. There was none. Noa's stance, her shoulders squared and voice steady, offered nothing but certainty. Discouraged, he lowered his head once more.
"No… I have no objection," he muttered, his voice quiet, tinged with shame. "I… I lose."
A ripple of chatter erupted through the spectators. The students leaned toward one another, whispering in rapid bursts.
"Kevin lost?"
"Seems like Instructor Soren truly lives up to his reputation."
"Is it just me, or is that crimson energy… that current arcing along his arm… comparable to Lady Limitbreaker's amplification?"
"You jest. You can't be serious!"
Even amidst the disbelief, Kevin remained cast down, unable to meet anyone's eyes. His shoulders slumped, shame weighing heavier than the heat of the duel.
Soren's voice cut through the tension, calm but pointed, carrying across the arena like a measured gust. "Are you that ashamed to lose to me? Is it because I'm… disabled? Blind? Missing an arm?"
The words hung in the air. Kevin's head shot up immediately, guilt and surprise flashing across his features. "N-No, Teacher!" he stammered, cheeks coloring. "It's… not that…"
"It's okay," Soren said firmly, stepping closer, the faint glow of crimson energy retreating as he spoke. "You lost to a grown man. It's acceptable. I am your instructor. This is how it is supposed to be." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Do not feel ashamed for this. You can only feel ashamed later—if, after a defeat, you fail to rise and improve. That is the path of a student!"
From side, a soft, appreciative chuckle rang out. Noa had been observing quietly, but the sincerity in Soren's speech drew a small smile from her.
"Well spoken, Teacher," she said lightly, teasing just enough to soften the tension. "My respect for you just grew listening to that."
A ripple of approval spread through the students below. Murmurs became voices, voices became cheers.
"It's okay, Kevin! You fought brilliantly!"
"Kevin, we can train again together! Next time, we'll ask rematch and beat Teacher ass—emm, but only if he allows it!"
The applause swelled into a roar of encouragement. Kevin, cheeks flushed but heart lighter, looked around at the faces of his classmates and couldn't help but grin. The camaraderie of the class—the bond forged in respect and mutual challenge—suddenly felt tangible.
"You guys… don't make me flustered, dammit!" he muttered, shaking his head in mock embarrassment. But the smile lingered, genuine.
Soren allowed himself a rare moment of observation. These students, all of them young, brimming with potential and energy, were forming connections beyond the formal lessons. Bonds like these—the sort that encouraged growth, competition, and loyalty—were rare and precious. And this class, despite its occasional arrogance and squabbles, seemed to be on the cusp of something remarkable.
Sofia remained perched on the upper terrace, still processing everything. Her eyes lingered on the field, on the students cheering, on Kevin now relaxed after the intense sparring. And yet, her attention inevitably returned to Soren.
The blackish smoke—the aura of dread—that clung to him, visible only to her unique sight, swirled faintly with the ebb of residual energy. It reminded her that, beneath the calm exterior, there was immense power. Yet, paradoxically, that same instructor who radiated threat was also a figure of respect, guidance, and even warmth.
Sofia's thoughts lingered there, suspended in quiet contemplation. Perhaps she had judged him solely by appearance, by the intimidating and unnatural aura that others could not see. But witnessing the duel, the fairness, the restraint, and the encouragement he offered even to a defeated student, she could not deny a growing admiration. Soren Noctis was not only dangerous—he was undeniably a capable, principled, and impressive instructor.
The students below were gradually quieting, satisfied that the duel had reached its conclusion. Kevin, still flushed from exertion, walked back toward his classmates, a few supportive pats on the shoulder exchanged with peers. Even though he had lost, there was no shame—only a renewed resolve to improve.
Yet, what Soren did not realize, what none of the students perceived, was that a presence lingered above, distant yet intimately aware of every motion, every pulse of energy. At the far end of the upper terraces, almost entirely alone, a figure sat poised—silent, deliberate, and impossibly still.
Her crystal-sharp eyes tracked Soren with precision. Every flick of his movement, the subtle pulse of the residual crimson energy, the faint vibrations of his mana sonar—all cataloged in perfect clarity. Oddly, despite the movement below, the murmuring of students, and the occasional glance cast upward, not a single person seemed to notice her. To them, that section of seats appeared empty, a void in the crowd, an oversight that no one questioned.
Her face, delicate and composed, held a tinge of curiosity. If Soren had glanced upward, he would have recognized her instantly—from the trial that had sentenced him not long ago. She was no ordinary spectator. She was Lady Ysmera Luneval, one of the Academy's Seven Core Council!
"Fascinating," she murmured under her breath, her tone soft yet laced with intrigue. "Not only Trynos's mark of dragon… he can intertwine his enchantment with some kind of ancient power." Her gaze sharpened. "But it's… not dragonic. Obscure, almost—resistant to standard probing. Is he using an artifact? Something to camouflage, or suppress, certain auras?"
Her eyes flitted briefly to a subtle red glint around Soren's neck—the necklace that had once belonged to the Crimson Apostle. The one artifact capable of partially suppressing demonic resonance.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved her lips. Her fascination was genuine, tinged with a growing sense of intrigue. "I wonder what that savage Trynos took a liking from you," she whispered, and with that final sentence, she was nowhere to be seen. The space she had occupied seemed to flicker, like a shadow melting into the air. Not a trace remained—no whisper, no lingering motion, nothing. It was as though she had been a phantom all along.
The class concluded without incident. Soren guided the final exercises to a close, and they return to class. Observing the students tidy their desks and gather their belongings, the murmurs and shifting chairs created a gentle rhythm in the otherwise quiet classroom.
Just as he reached the door, preparing to leave, a voice called out.
"Teacher, when will Miss Elara return?"
A few heads turned, some of the students snickering at the question.
"Hey, that's rude! Don't you like being taught by Instructor Soren?" another student interjected, a teasing grin on his face.
"It's not that, we just… prefer the pretty Miss Elara," came another reply, playful, lighthearted.
Soren paused for a moment, taking in their chatter. There was no trace of annoyance on his face. His lips pressed into a thin line, a quiet acknowledgment of the sentiment before he stepped forward with measured calm.
"I don't know for certain—how long she'll be away—but we will see her again," he said simply, voice steady, calm, carrying the weight of both promise and reassurance.
As he walked from the classroom, his steps measured and deliberate, he added silently to himself, And I will make sure of it.
Without hesitation, he made his way directly toward the library. The moment was fleeting, yet urgent. There were questions that demanded answers, threads of information only accessible within the tomes and scrolls of Astralis Academy's vast collection. Knowledge that might illuminate not just the path ahead, but what method to bring Elara back.
Far from Astralis Academy, across a land scorched by time and war, a menacing pair of eyes opened. Immense, ancient, and calculating, they pierced the darkness with a predatory light. The landscape before them was a ruin, a fortress shattered by fire and devastation. Smoke curled into the sky in angry tendrils, and scattered flames licked the jagged stone, marking the aftermath of a violent passage.
"I can feel it," a deep, rumbling voice echoed in the emptiness, resonating with power. "My kin… not far from my mark. That presence… Ysmera."