The dark elf girl lunged forward, her dagger striking straight toward Mork's chest. But Mork raised his sword just in time, blocking the blow with a loud metallic clash.
She didn't stop.
Spinning on her heel, she swung both daggers at arm's length, creating a deadly whirlwind. Mork met the spinning assault again with his blade, his arms shaking from the force.
Then she dropped low.
From the ground, she unleashed a sweeping kick aimed at his legs. Mork lifted his left leg to dodge—but that's exactly what she wanted.
With lightning precision, she plunged her dagger into his shin. A shallow cut sliced across his skin—sharp, but not deep enough to reach the bone.
Mork staggered back. She came after him, relentless. Her daggers danced at his legs, slicing the air. He kept stepping back, narrowly dodging each strike.
Out of her reach now, Mork saw his opening.
His grip tightened around his sword. He roared, swinging with full force. But the girl had lured him in again.
Planting her hands on the ground, she lifted her entire body and delivered a double-legged kick—straight into Mork's face.
Pain shot through him. He stumbled, startled—but the duel wasn't over.
His vision blurry, Mork adjusted his stance. He clenched the hilt of his sword and swung again—hard.
She wasn't ready this time.
She ducked just in time to avoid the blade, but not without cost—the sword sliced clean through her purple ponytail. The tip of his blade hit the ground, and beside it... lay her hair.
Silence.
The dark elf girl reached behind her head, touched the now bare spot, and looked down at the severed ponytail.
Her expression darkened. Her voice dropped.
"You're dead."
Mork's eyes widened. His body froze. He knew he had messed up this time.
She stood and gave him a death stare.
She launched a kick right into his face. It knocked the air from his lungs. Mork gasped, stumbling back. He couldn't breathe.
Then she hurled her daggers—both—straight at his face.
Mork's reflexes kicked in. He blocked them with his sword, barely. One dagger scraped across his cheek, cutting from the edge of his mouth to his left ear.
Blood dripped.
But she was now unarmed.
And Mork knew this was his chance.
He charged. Sword raised. Shouting. So did she.
When they met, Mork stopped and swung with all his strength—but before the blade could reach her, she jumped high into the air.
And the last thing he saw—
Was her in mid-air.
Her body spun like a cyclone. A tornado kick aimed right at his face.
"Didn't I tell you? You're dead," she said.
Mork didn't resist. He closed his eyes and braced himself.
At least, he thought, I'll take it like a man.
Or at least, that's what he told himself to soften the embarrassment.
The kick landed with a crack, and everything went black.
---
He woke up... not in the arena.
But inside the royal carriage.
The wheels stopped. Outside, he heard cheering.
The door swung open. Mork stepped out—and blinked.
He was standing before the castle gates. Guards and servants clapped and cheered. He looked around and saw familiar faces.
His mother, Queen Agony, knelt to meet him. She cupped his cheeks gently.
"Welcome back, my son. You completed your training—the Grace. Now, you don't have to stay away from us anymore."
His father, Draganov, placed a heavy hand on his head and smiled.
"Well done, my son. I'm proud of you."
Mork felt warmth in his chest.
"You came back," said a voice behind him.
He turned.
Acasia stood there.
"Yes, I did," Mork replied.
"I'm so happy," she said. "Now we'll be together till the end. I have so much to tell you... but first, close your eyes and lower your face. I have a welcome gift for you."
Mork blushed. He obeyed, leaning down.
Splash!
Cold water hit his face.
He opened his eyes—and the dream shattered.
Standing above him was the instructor, the dark elf girl... and a guard holding an empty bucket.
"Hope we didn't disturb your sleep," the instructor said dryly, motioning for the guard to leave.
Mork slowly stood up.
The instructor cleared his throat.
"The duel is over. The winner is decided."
"Lady Mave is victorious and has earned a B-rank in this combat trial. As for Lord Mork..." He paused. "They got absolutely dominated."
Mork muttered under his breath, "Did he really have to say it like that?"
The instructor continued.
"Lord Mork is assigned an E-rank. Now, we move to the second trial."
A heavy door creaked open on the opposite side of the arena.