Tyran woke to the sound of snoring. Deep, guttural, unapologetic snoring.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the soreness from his neck. The light pouring in from the narrow window said it was already morning—well past first bell. His eyes flicked to the top bunk. Garrick lay sprawled out, arms and legs dangling over the edge, mouth open in a war with sleep itself.
Looking at Garrick in the light revealed the immensity of his size spilling over the normal-sized bed. This boy was enormous for a fifteen-year-old.
I wonder what his affinity is
"Garrick," Tyran said.
No response.
He coiled himself and gave the metal bedframe a sharp kick, slightly lifting the monster's mattress.
"Garrick!"
The boy snorted, bolted upright, and immediately hit his head on the ceiling.
"What the hell are you doing, you crazy bastard?" He wrenched himself over the edge of the bed to look at Tyran.
"Wakey-wakey, oaf. We're late."
"You say that like it's the end of the world."
Tyran was already pulling his uniform on. A simple grey tunic with a leather belt, black trousers, and his bronze class pin clipped over his heart. Garrick rolled out of bed with an embarrassing display and stumbled to his own locked chest.
Minutes later, the two were running down the hallway, boots thudding against the floorboards as they weaved through still-yawning students.
As they reached the door to exit the dormitory, a precise throw of rock-hard bread slammed into the back of their heads, knocking them off their feet.
"You little brats, late on your first day? You're bringing shame to my house!" barked the matron.
"Sorry, ma'am! It won't happen again!" they shouted, scrambling to their feet and sprinting off.
The training hall was on the western side of campus, and by the time they arrived, a crowd of students had already gathered. The classroom was a large open space with stone floors, reinforced walls, and training dummies lined along the back. It smelled of chalk, sweat, and something faintly herbal.
Most of Class C stood in a loose circle, chattering among themselves. Tyran recognized a few faces from the exam queue. Others he didn't. There was a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
At the front stood a woman in half-plate armor with a long red scarf wrapped around her neck and a sheathed greatsword resting against her shoulder. Her hair was shaved on one side, the rest pulled into a tight braid that hung over her shoulder like a whip.
She looked like someone who'd fought too many monsters and didn't believe in coffee breaks.
"Alright, listen up," she said, voice booming. The room fell silent. "Name's Rinya Alcot. Ex-adventurer, B-rank. If you're expecting a standard mana curriculum with essays and elemental theory, you've walked into the wrong hall."
Garrick leaned over and whispered, "I think I'm in love."
Tyran didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on her.
"Here's the deal," Rinya continued. "I've fought mana beasts in the frosty mountains of Uttgar, survived dungeon dives no one else came back from, and seen more spell-slingers die from poor footwork than bad affinities. You want to survive? You fight smart. You fight dirty. You learn how to use what you've got, even if all you've got is guts and a stick."
She paused.
"You're Class C. That means you're not at the bottom, but you're not impressing anyone either. That can change. Or you can stagnate here and get replaced. I don't care. My job's to turn whoever survives into someone worth sending into the field."
A boy in the back raised his hand.
"What field?"
She grinned. "Glad you asked. This academy tried to follow the standard practices of the other big named schools, but the students sent here were not born with books in their hands and had the attention span of a Flickerbug."
"As some of you probably already know, a lot of the staff here got replaced this year, and many new off-curriculum classes got introduced. This is one such class, and I'm one of the new teachers. This class is dedicated to drilling into you the importance of practicality of mind, mana, and the physical side of being a mage. Here you will not only learn how to fight each other but also explore the world through expeditions, how to survive on your own and in a team, how to deal with mana beasts and some lucky few of you might have a chance to make a contract. Whether you want to be a military guard, adventurer, or bounty hunter—what you learn in this class will serve you well."
"Anyway, enough prattle. Today," Rinya said, tossing a bundle of wooden practice weapons to the ground, "we start with the basics. A simple duel between peers. First, we see who can take a hit and who needs to go back to the library. Pair up. Now."
There was a shuffle of motion. Tyran didn't move. He didn't need to. Garrick was already stepping beside him, stretching his arms.
"Guess we're doing this?"
"Guess so."
Rinya eyed them. "My My, aren't you a tall one. You two—you're up first. Let's see if you're worth my time."
They stepped into the ring. A few students backed away to give them space.
Garrick twirled a wooden short sword. "I'll go easy on you."
Tyran stepped in barehanded, shaking out his shoulders, his feet already shifting lightly.
"Don't need a weapon," he said.
"Your funeral. Begin!"
Tyran vanished forward in a blur.
His fists were a flurry of motion—quick jabs, feints, low kicks to Garrick's calves. He never stood still, his momentum always carrying him just past each reaction. Left strike, dash to the right, spinning elbow, pivot around the back. He attacked from all angles, driving relentless pressure. Before quickly retreating to re-evaluate his strategy.
Garrick, to his credit, barely flinched.
He threw his wooden short sword to the side and cracked his knuckles.
"Here I thought we were just going to have a relaxing spar Tryan."
Tryan responded with a gritted smile.
Garrick's skin thickened visibly, patches of stone creeping over his limbs and torso, reinforcing joints and vulnerable points. His knuckles had thick, blunt stoney growths complementing his already massive fists.
Damn, he's solid... but not invincible. I either have to strike faster before he can reinforce the area or hit so hard the stone shatters.
Tyran increased his tempo, now dashing in close and rebounding out like a spring. His strikes became vicious—hard knees to the sides, hooks to the body, and a clean uppercut that would have floored most mages.
Garrick grunted and stomped a foot. The stone floor beneath him cracked, throwing Tryan into the air and feeding more material into his body.
Tyran's eyes narrowed.
He's not just armored—he's connected to the floor.
Momentum built in his mana-veins. Tyran dashed low, underneath the strike from Garrick. Expertly he grasped the attacking arm and using his inertia to wrench the arm back causing his opponent to let out a painful gasp.
This momentary lapse of concentration cracked the stones connecting the giant to the floor, leading to an opening.
Tyran seized the opportunity and swept Garrick's legs , launched off his palm into the air and dove down with a powerful vertical spinning kick only to be met mid air by Garrick's rock-hardened forearm.
They clashed. Tyran was sent flying across the arena barely managing to recover his tumbling fall and rolling back onto his feet, prepared to continue. Garrick slammed into the floor but quickly returned to standing.
The students were silent now.
Again.
Tyran fired forward—pivot, right strike, duck, dash behind. Garrick turned too slow, took a flurry to the ribs. But he swung back, and the sheer mass behind his rock-imbued punch forced Tyran to roll away, scraping his knuckles.
I have to keep moving. Keep the Kinetic chain building momentum I'm almost at full capacity. It feels like my body is ripping itself apart from the stored energy.
Garrick, panting, braced his legs wider and drew more stone through his mana. His entire arm now resembled a jagged club.
Tyran narrowed his stance and prepared for the finale.
Both of them launched forward, one a bastion of stone, the other a coiled spring ready to burst.
Their blows collided, shockwaves pulsed through the air pushing the weaker students back.
"ENOUGH!"
A massive gust of wind slammed into both of them, sending Tyran flying back and Garrick stumbling to a knee.
Rinya stood between them, palms out negating the the majority of the attacks that they thought collided with one another.
"That's enough. Stalemate. Both of you would have seriously injured each other if I hadn't stepped in. This is training—not a fight to the death."
Both boys panted heavily.
Tyran cracked his neck and wiped blood from his mouth. Garrick chuckled and offered a thumbs-up.
"You really don't let up man," he said.
"You really don't break," Tyran replied.
Rinya crossed her arms, half-smiling. "You two are strong. Good. Keep pushing each other. But learn restraint, or I'll teach it to you personally."
The other students stayed quiet.
The duels continued.
Tyran and Garrick leaned against the far wall, tending their wounds on orders of the Rinya. Tyran's knuckles still throbbed, but he couldn't take his eyes off the other duels.
A wiry girl with silver tattoos covering her arms took the ring next. She raised no weapon, but when her opponent struck, her body split into mist for a heartbeat before reappearing behind him. She landed three precise strikes before melting away again.
"Wow, Phase-type magic," Garrick said with wonder in his voice. "That's crazy rare, what is she doing in Class C."
"Never mind, class C what is she doing in the outcasts school?"
"It doesn't look like she's a noble, the top schools probably didn't even look at her application".
Then came a quiet girl with braided hair and padded gloves. Her affinity? Paper. Literal sheets of enchanted parchment danced around her in a cyclone, sharp as razors and reinforced with sealing runes. Her opponent surrendered within moments.
Garrick let out a low whistle. "Paper? Really?"
"I bet that drains her mana to control that many sheets, especially while pouring mana into those runes."
As duel after duel passed, a few figures began to stand out. A scarred boy with a spear and control over wind pressure. A twin-braided girl with a connection to animals—birds perched near her even inside. A broad-shouldered axe-wielder who held a great-axe in each hand, although slow his movements, the power they unleashed was devastating.
Tryan folded his arms.
"Man, if this is class C, then what kind of monsters are in class A."
"I know right, seeing all these fights has got me all fired up, I need to let off some steam."
Garrick turned to Rinya. "Hey teach, let me fight again I'm dying to find out who's the strongest in this class."
Rinya stopped for a moment before bursting out laughing, "I'd suggest you save your strength boy. This is just a warm up, this is your only class for today, you thought these duels were the whole thing?"
Lifting her greatsword into the air, the mana gathered like a moth to a flame, the very air vibrated with intense pressure.
"Here's where the real fun starts, it's time to knock you snot nosed brats down a peg. Your next opponent is me!"
Rinya smashed her Greatsword into the floor scattering the children like ants to the corners of the room by force. Dust consumed the room leaving no visual to the teacher.
Only one terrifyingly ferocious sentence could be heard.
"Try not to die welps!"