Chapter 30
Wind roared through the training grounds, howling like a beast trapped in a cage.
Countless blades and spears of light screamed through the air, converging on a single figure.
That figure was Lucas.
Moving at speeds only a knight's body could normally endure, he weaved through the barrage with fluid grace.
Each strike of light seemed destined to pierce him, yet his movements carried the uncanny precision of someone who already knew where the spears would emerge before they were even cast.
His silver sword blurred as it intercepted attacks at impossible angles.
Ting! Ting! Ting!Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sound of steel clashing against radiant energy reverberated through the grounds, followed by bursts of impact that rippled through the dirt and stone.
Lucas's silver hair whipped wildly in the wind, strands catching the glint of light as if woven with starlight.
His blue eyes gleamed brighter with every exchange, sharpened by exhilaration.
On the other side, Ava's face twisted with growing frustration.
Every step, every swing, every carefully timed spell—it all felt meaningless.
Professor Lucas wasn't even trying.
She could tell.
He wasn't unleashing spells of his own, wasn't drawing on enchantments, wasn't even using the layered seals stitched into his clothes.
He was simply holding a sword.
A mage wielding a blade against her—mocking her—yet somehow still untouchable.
The realization stung.
The sidelines were filled with students, their eyes wide, breaths caught in their throats.
Their awe deepened with every clash.
They had always respected their professor, but seeing him this way—calmly outmaneuvering powerful spells as if he were sparring with a child—raised that respect to something else entirely.
Fear.
Admiration.
Reverence.
Lucas, meanwhile, fought not with tension but with joy.
His lips curved faintly as he shifted, letting the dance of combat wash over him.
For him, this was ordinary.
He hadn't drawn on the deeper power stored within his runic seals, nor on the destructive reservoir of spells etched into his mind.
If he did, even a Tier 4 knight or mage would struggle to withstand him.
That thought alone amused him.
Across from him, Ava's breathing quickened.
Sweat ran down her temple as she bit down on her lip, drawing blood.
She still had mana to burn—about sixty percent remained.
And with desperation clawing at her heart, she couldn't afford to hold back.
She raised her hand and chanted with ferocious speed, voice trembling but resolute.
[Light Spell: Light Whip!]
Brilliant strands of condensed light coiled into the shape of a rope-like whip, forming in her grasp.
She swung it with all her strength, arcs of radiance tearing the air.
Lucas grinned, his eyes narrowing as he dashed forward.
The whip cracked toward him like a thunderbolt.
Lucas leapt, twisting mid-air, his sword meeting the glowing lash.
The impact rang out—Ting!
The whip curved unnaturally, snapping back to strike again.
Lucas shifted his weight mid-fall, deflecting its path and altering his landing.
His boots hit the ground in a low stance, sword raised in a blur as the whip lashed out once more.
The two collided in rapid succession.
Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!
Each strike came faster than the last, the whip carving through the air with blinding light, but Lucas's sword never faltered.
His movements were sharp, decisive, an endless storm of steel that pushed back against Ava's desperate offense.
He inhaled deeply.
His muscles tensed as he tightened his grip on the hilt.
With one fluid motion, he swung his blade in a wide arc.
The force of the strike tore through the air, unleashing a shockwave that rippled outward like the crash of thunder.
The wave smashed against the whip, scattering its radiant body into fragments of fading light.
For the first time, Ava's control faltered, her weapon breaking formation under the weight of his raw strength.
Lucas surged forward in that fleeting moment, his feet pounding the ground, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.
Only a few meters separated them now.
Panic flared in Ava's chest.
She bit down on her fear, her thoughts racing faster than ever before.
She had one final chance.
Her whip dissolved into fading motes as she began chanting again—her voice frantic, her mana pouring forth.
The words tore from her lips faster than she had ever managed in her life.
She forced forty percent of her mana into the spell, her body trembling as the strain nearly buckled her knees.
[Light Spell: Brilliant Spear!]
A radiant spear, impossibly bright, began to take form in her grasp.
The air itself seemed to bend around it as it condensed, light roaring in protest at being forced into such a pure, lethal shape.
Within seconds, the weapon solidified—larger and far more potent than the ones she had hurled before.
Lucas's eyes widened slightly in approval.
This was no ordinary spell. Despite being a mere Tier 1 Adept Mage, Ava had not only learned but mastered a Tier 2 spell.
The spear shimmered like a newborn star, its energy humming with destructive promise.
Her mana reserves plummeted dangerously low, yet Ava stood firm, her chest heaving.
The weapon she now held could change everything.
And for the first time, Lucas felt a flicker of true intrigue.
Lucas had seen Ava use this spell once before, during her bout with Eleanor.
At that time, he hadn't paid it much mind—too focused on maintaining order among the students to properly appreciate the raw potential before him.
But now, seeing her unleash it in earnest, his lips stretched into a wider smile.
His body stilled. His feet planted firmly into the earth.
Then, slowly, he shifted into a stance—one he hadn't drawn upon in a long time.
His wife, Olivia, had been the one to drill it into him through countless sparring sessions.
It was not a mage's stance, but that of a knight, sharp and grounded, filled with lethal intent.
Lucas inhaled deeply.
His chest expanded as every muscle in his frame tightened, veins bulging slightly beneath his skin.
His presence sharpened like a blade being drawn from its sheath.
[Breathing Art: Overlord]
The world around him dimmed.
To Lucas, it was as though unnecessary noise and distraction had been stripped away, leaving only him and the spear of blinding radiance.
His heart beat steady.
His breath was a rhythm of power.
Ava's Brilliant Spear launched forward at breakneck speed, the sheer force of it warping the air.
The brilliance of its light forced many students to shield their eyes.
Lucas moved the instant it was released.
His sword lifted, coated with a thin veil of mana—not for offense, but simply to keep the blade from shattering against the condensed spell.
Everything else, however, was no longer magic.
It was pure technique.
Pure will.
The breathing arts of a knight, mastered by a man born a mage.
In the blink of an eye, spear and sword converged at the very center of the training ground.
BBBOOOOMMM!!!
The clash erupted into a deafening shockwave, a wall of sound and pressure slamming into the sidelines.
Dust exploded upward, swallowing both combatants in a swirling storm of grit and light.
The students gasped, hands rising to cover their faces as the world trembled from the force of the impact.
For several heartbeats, nothing could be seen.
The air was thick, choking with suspended dirt and smoke.
Whispers ran through the crowd as tension wound tighter and tighter.
Then, the dust began to settle.
When the haze finally cleared, every pair of eyes widened.
There, standing firm, was Lucas—his sword gleaming faintly, its edge hovering a hair's breadth from Ava's slender neck.
Ava's spear of light had vanished completely, scattered into fragments that dissolved in the air.
"I win."
The words left his lips with quiet finality.
He lowered his weapon, letting the tension in the air dissipate, and then straightened to address his class.
"Students," Lucas began, his voice steady and firm, carrying easily over the silent courtyard.
"Knights will always try to close the distance. They know that, if they get close enough, most of your ranged spells won't kill them. That is where their specialization lies—close combat. Which means you must remember this: no long-range spell will hold against a knight unless you are a higher tier than them. Keep this in mind. Train yourselves to find counters against their close-range dominance, the same way knights train to counter our ranged advantage."
The students listened intently, each word sinking deep into their minds.
They nodded, memorizing the lesson, their respect for him soaring to greater heights. Yet among them, only one stood apart.
Ava.
She stared at him, her chest heaving, her heart pounding with disbelief.
No matter how much she trained, no matter how hard she fought—she could not defeat this man.
This man who had ripped away her father.
Her only father.
Rage and grief churned inside her, boiling together into a storm she could barely contain.
Her lips trembled, her fists clenched, but no words came.
Then, she felt it. A hand, warm and steady, resting gently on her head.
"That was a good battle, Ava," Lucas said softly. "You still have much to improve, but…" his eyes softened, the faintest glimmer of sincerity breaking through his usual calm demeanor, "I can say without hesitation that you are the most talented student in your class."
Ava froze.
She could not respond.
Words failed her, caught between her tangled emotions.
Instead, she brushed his hand away and turned sharply, walking back toward the group of classmates who had been watching.
Not a single word escaped her lips.