The air in the training ground was cold, biting into the lungs with every breath. Two hundred students stood in a wide, hushed circle, their whispers curling like smoke in the frosty air.
Kael ignored them all. His world had shrunk to one thing—the boy across from him, wooden blade wreathed in fire.
Lucian didn't wait for a signal. The instant his last word left his lips, he moved.
It wasn't a lunge—it was a blur. The flaming sword cut forward in a perfect, humming thrust aimed straight for Kael's heart.
Gasps! The class reacted as one.
"As expected from Lucian... he's not holding back," Ryven laughed nervously. "I've never seen him angry before."
"I'd say he's suspicious of Kael... because of that strange power."
"What are you talking about?"
Lyssandra smiled faintly, shaking her head. "Nothing. Maybe I'm mistaken." Still, her eyes lingered on Kael. Her mind whispered the same question again: Does he... does he carry the legendary Ash Crow?
Clack! Clack! Clack!
"Ugh—!" Kael's body reacted before his mind did. Years of fighting beasts with nothing but sticks had sharpened him into pure instinct. He didn't block the burning strike—he slipped past it. The heat seared his cheek as the blade slashed by, inches away.
He twisted, using Lucian's own momentum. The pommel of his practice sword slammed down on Lucian's wrist.
"Incredible," Instructor Selviane murmured, smiling faintly as she moved closer to Emilio and Serina, who were pale with worry.
Crack!
"Tsk—!" The sharp sound echoed. Lucian's grip faltered for an instant, eyes flashing in shock.
"Did he just—?"
"No way..."
Murmurs rippled through the circle. No one had expected Kael to strike first, and strike so hard.
"I refuse to believe this! A pest like you—!" Lucian spat, his aura flaring brighter, hotter, the sword blazing like a brand. "That was luck. Nothing more. Now dodge this!"
"Come then!"
Lucian unleashed a flawless combination: a downward slash for Kael's head, flowing seamlessly into a sweeping cut at his legs. Textbook, ruthless, precise.
Kael didn't fight by the book. He dropped low, the first slash singing over his head. The sweep came—and instead of leaping, Kael kicked the frozen ground.
Crunch! Fwoosh!
A spray of hard-packed snow and dirt exploded into Lucian's face.
Daranth frowned from afar, lips curling.
"Tricks again..."
Lucian flinched, breaking form for a heartbeat. Kael surged forward. He drove his shoulder into Lucian's chest—
Thud!
"Ugh!" Lucian's breath blasted out in a ragged wheeze. Kael clamped his free hand around Lucian's sword arm, wrenching it down.
"No way—! Lucian's losing to him?!" Ryven clenched his fists. "Impossible!"
Lyssandra's eyes widened. "Was... was the score wrong that day?"
Emilio's grin split wide. "I knew it. Kael had the upper hand! Come on, Kael—show that western brat what real strength is!"
For a heartbeat—an unshakable, glorious heartbeat—Kael was winning. He was stronger, fiercer. He saw the shock in Lucian's eyes, the silence crushing the crowd. Emilio's desperate hope. Serina's trembling hands covering her mouth. Even Daranth's smirk faltered.
Triumph roared through him, fierce and arrogant.
'See? See what a Veyrion can do?'
Kael drove his knee toward Lucian's gut.
It never connected.
"What—?"
"You think that trick will work on me again?" Lucian's voice was ice.
His brilliance wasn't just in his mind—it was in his body. He'd felt the attack, measured the momentum, and adapted instantly. As Kael committed to the strike, Lucian twisted, letting the force carry Kael forward.
Thwip! His leg snapped out. A deft sweep caught Kael's ankle.
Thud! Kael stumbled, his balance shattered. The perfect opening.
The real fight began.
Lucian's aura didn't just burn; it cut, each movement honed to precision. He didn't strike to kill—he struck to punish.
Smack! A fiery tap to Kael's kidney made him grunt, pain stealing his breath.
"Ugh—damn it!"
Crack! A flick of Lucian's wrist sent searing fire across Kael's back, scorching through his tunic. The acrid scent of charred fabric filled the air.
Kael roared and swung wildly, brute strength crashing down in reckless arcs. But every blow met the same end—
Clack! Clack!
He Deflected all the attack.
Each failed strike brought another sting: a scorch on his arm, a bruise on his ribs, a burning welt across his side.
"What's wrong, Kael Veyrion?" Lucian sneered, stepping in close with flawless control. "Out of tricks already?"
Kael's rage boiled over. He stopped thinking, stopped fighting smart. All he could hear were the phantom voices laughing at his name, all he could feel was the shame of failure clawing at his chest.
He became a storm—wild, furious, unrelenting.
But Lucian was a dam. Cold. Unbreakable. Unmoving.
Clang! Another overhead strike was swatted aside like nothing. Lucian's voice cut sharper than his blade.
"Is this all? This is the North's strength? Reckless anger? You're not a warrior. You're a tantrum."
"STOP TALKING!" Kael bellowed, voice breaking into fury.