Heeding the instructor's call, I stepped onto the raised platform at the center of the grounds. It was shaped like an arena, its wide stone floor echoing faintly with each step.
Edward von Zenithara soon followed, taking his position opposite me. His short blonde hair fell neatly across his forehead, and his calm blue eyes barely focused on me, as though he didn't consider this battle difficult at all.
"You may use footwork and swordsmanship as you wish," the instructor announced, his sharp gaze flicking between us. "However, aura and sword force are forbidden."
The restriction hardly mattered to me—I couldn't wield sword force yet. It was meant for Edward, who had already reached Second Severance. A fair measure, though it still left me with a faint unease.
"If you've brought your own blades, use them. If not, take one from there." He pointed toward a rack where plain swords gleamed under the sunlight.
I needed no replacement. At his signal, I called forth Enkris with a thought, the blade materializing in my grasp in a swift shimmer from my subspace ring. Edward, too, unsheathed his sword in one smooth, unhurried motion.
"Introduce yourselves," the instructor ordered.
"I'm Edward von Zenithara." His voice carried quiet confidence.
"I'm Vern Kael." I answered firmly.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched across the arena. Then the instructor's voice cut through it, loud and decisive.
"Begin."
With the instructor's command, Edward burst forward like a dashing comet, his speed and momentum threatening to crush me into bits. His blade descended in a fierce downward arc.
Moonveil Footwork, First Form — Crescent Drift.
I stepped lightly, my body sliding aside in a sweeping curve like a crescent moon veiled in shadow. His slash cut through empty air, and in the same motion my blade whipped out horizontally.
Clang!
The clash rang sharply across the arena. Edward staggered a step back, surprise flashing in his blue eyes—he had expected to finish the match in a single strike.
"Then it's my turn…" I muttered, shifting my stance.
Moonveil Footwork, Second Form — Shadow Veil Step.
Mana surged into my legs as I charged, my body leaving behind drifting afterimages that blurred and overlapped in the arena light.
Edward's lips moved at the same moment.
Flamesteps, Third Form — Flame Boost!
His footwork ignited with fiery sparks, propelling him forward in a burst of speed no less than mine.
"Flame Sword, Second Form — Crimson Slash!"
His blade came crashing down, wreathed in crimson light, the strike like a tidal wave intent on consuming everything in its path.
But I had already focused my abyss.
Abyss Grace Sword Art, Third Form — Silent Reaping.
I drew my sword upward in a single, silent motion. The slash made no sound, no warning—an invisible reaper's scythe rising to cut through the crashing tide itself.
Clang!
Steel clashed, and the shock of impact rippled through the arena. A harsh clanking echoed as smoke and dust burst into the air, shrouding us in a gray haze. My vision was swallowed whole—I couldn't see Edward, only the faint glimmer of my own blade as I steadied myself.
The force of his strike had driven me back a few steps, the stone beneath my boots scraping under the pressure. Yet from the vibrations thrumming through my sword, I could tell—my opponent had taken the worse of it.
As the haze began to clear, Edward's figure slowly emerged. He was on the ground, one knee pressed into the stone floor. His blue eyes were wide open, not with shock or fear, but something far more dangerous—excitement. Despite his disheveled state, a faint smile tugged at his lips, the kind of smile that belonged to a predator who had finally found a worthy hunt.
"Haa…" He let out a long breath, pushing himself back to his feet with measured calm. For a moment, he brushed the dust off his sleeve, then lifted his gaze to meet mine.
"I'm sorry," Edward said at last, his voice low but steady. "I underestimated you… but now, things will be different."
I didn't answer. I simply nodded once, my silence carrying the weight of acknowledgment. My hands tightened around Enkris, its hilt warm and familiar against my grip. The blade seemed to hum faintly, as though it too hungered for the clash to continue.
The air between us grew heavier, charged with intent. Neither of us moved, but the audience could sense it—this was no longer a test. It was the beginning of a true duel.
*******
"A… are they re—really the same age as us?"
"How can their skills be this good?"
"I mean, Edward is called the next Sword Saint, but that other guy… how is he holding his ground against that monster?"
"Look! He's even pushing Edward back!"
Gasps of astonishment rippled through the training grounds, the crowd of students holding their breath as the clash between Vern and Edward shook the air.
Clang! Sparks scattered as Vern's blade intercepted Edward's downward strike. In the same motion, Vern twisted his wrist and kicked Edward square in the stomach, sending him stumbling several steps back.
Edward gritted his teeth, steadying himself by driving his sword into the stone floor for balance. His calm blue eyes, which had been composed before, now burned with fighting spirit. With a sharp breath, he pushed forward once more, sword gleaming as he charged at Vern with renewed ferocity.
The ground quivered under their footwork, steel ringing again and again in a storm of strikes too quick for the untrained eye to follow. Some students squinted, unable to even catch the movements, while others stood frozen, awed by the brilliance of the duel.
"Hehe… this year should be entertaining," Vikel Robert muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His sharp gaze never left the platform.
Though he knew the truth—if not for the restrictions placed on Edward, the fight would have ended swiftly—he couldn't deny the fact glaring before him. In pure swordsmanship alone, Vern was holding Edward on equal footing. Each exchange between the two was a clash of talent that could not be dismissed as luck or coincidence.
Vikel's hand instinctively brushed against the scar on his jaw as he thought, To think a first-year could force Edward this far… perhaps, this generation truly will surpass the last.
On the platform, neither boy yielded an inch. Vern's strikes were sharp, precise, and fluid, like flowing water that refused to be stopped. Edward's blade, meanwhile, was firm, disciplined, carrying the weight of overwhelming talent and lineage. Every clash between them was like thunder meeting lightning.
The students who had once thought of the duel as a simple exhibition were now silent, captivated by the sight of two prodigies pushing each other beyond their limits.
"Vern Kael, huh?" Vikel whispered to himself, his eyes narrowing as he watched the boy's movements. Each strike, each step carried a depth of technique that spoke of countless hours of relentless training. I didn't think the Kael house had someone like this… His talent may not be exceptional, but his swordsmanship—it's extraordinary.
Clang! Their blades collided again, the shockwave forcing both Vern and Edward to stagger back several paces. Sweat trickled down their foreheads, their breathing ragged.
"Huff… haff…" The sound of their labored breaths echoed across the grounds.
The duel had already stretched for an hour, neither willing to yield, neither able to overpower the other. They had thrown everything at one another—skill, instinct, precision—yet still the battle remained undecided. Not once did they hold back.
It's coming to an end now… Vikel leaned forward in his seat, his gaze sharp as steel. Both of them are exhausted. The only thing left is to unleash their ultimate techniques. This will decide it.
Beside him, his assistant tugged lightly at his sleeve. "Instructor, should we consider placing them in Class A?"
"Yes. Yes, right away!" Vikel answered without hesitation, his voice brimming with excitement, though his eyes never left the clashing figures on the stage. "I don't think there's anyone more deserving. These two… they are in a league of their own."
The female assistant gave a small nod, quickly jotting something down on her parchment before stepping back into the shadows, her presence unnoticed by the rest of the spectators, who were utterly captivated by the duel.
On the platform, sparks danced once again as swords met, and the air grew heavier, as though the arena itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the finale.
"Vern Kael… I'm exhausted," Edward admitted, his voice rough yet tinged with excitement. Blood trickled down his forehead, sliding across his cheek, but his grip on the sword remained firm. "There's only one move left I can use against you. Nothing else will work."
His blue eyes gleamed as he tightened his stance. "So… let's finish this."
"Fine with me," Vern replied, his tone steady but heavy with fatigue. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. His left arm throbbed with pain, his body on the verge of collapse, yet his stance remained unshaken.
Both boys stood across from one another, their blades trembling slightly in their hands—not with fear, but with exhaustion and resolve.
The arena fell into complete silence. Not a whisper, not a breath disturbed the heavy air. Every spectator leaned forward, their hearts pounding, knowing the next exchange would decide everything.
Edward raised his sword slowly, the air around him distorting with heat, a raw intensity radiating from his poised figure. His presence alone seemed to sear the ground beneath his boots.
Vern steadied his blade, his breathing slowing, the world around him narrowing to a single point. The weight of silence gathered at his side, shadows stretching faintly as though the arena itself bent toward him.
The stone floor trembled under their feet, and the charged tension made it feel as if time itself had stopped.
Two prodigies. Two final strikes.
The decisive clash was only moments away.