"Today's lesson will be about weapon training," Miss Natasha's voice rang out across the classroom, calm yet commanding.
The sound seemed to fill the very corners of the room, forcing every distracted noble to turn their attention toward her.
Then, with a faint smile, she added, "…and what could be more effective than a little match between students?"
The room fell into a brief silence, as if everyone was processing her words. For a few heartbeats, the only sounds were the soft scrape of chairs and the faint murmur of anticipation. It was a familiar silence, the kind that preceded any grand event in this place.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" she clapped her hands lightly, her tone turning brisk. "Form a line—we'll head to the training grounds." She sounded almost too enthusiastic about it, like this was going to be fun—for her, at least.
Chairs scraped back as we rose and began filing out, the air buzzing with a mix of nerves and anticipation. I fell into step with Ryan, my gait as casual as always.
He, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Man, looks like it's going to be a battle," he muttered beside me, cracking a grin.
I shook my head. "Not a battle. Probably just a few little duels here and there." I had already run the probabilities. One-on-one combat was a low-risk, high-reward activity. A chance for nobles to show off without a real chance of injury. A perfect, controlled spectacle.
"Well anyway, man, don't you think you should feel excited or something?" Ryan asked, his grin so wide it seemed to take over his face. This was his element.
I tilted my head at him. "Hmm… why should I? It's not like it's a surprise or anything. Just A mandatory combat class that's all."
He waved me off with an exaggerated sigh. "Hash man, forget it. It's just—I've never seen you actively involved in anything. So tell me, Evan, what exactly makes you feel excited?" His tone was more serious now, a genuine question breaking through his usual playful demeanor.
I tapped my cheek as we walked through the hallway, pretending to think harder than I needed to. "If you're asking what makes me feel alive… probably something unexpected. Something that goes against my thought process."
Ryan blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"You know, when I think I've got something all figured out, and then reality flips the script. That kind of thing." I was talking about the thrill of chaos, the unexpected variable that could throw a wrench into the narrative. It was the one thing that felt truly new to me.
His face lit up with a sudden, ridiculous understanding. "Oh! Like when you see a long-haired beauty, but then you go up to talk to her and—bam—it's a guy?"
I gave him a flat look. "You and your weird fantasies, man."
He laughed, a loud, genuine sound. "Then what kind of 'unexpected' do you want?"
I didn't bother answering, and our silly chatter carried us out into the open air.
We passed by the other classrooms, joining a growing current of students all heading to the same destination. The noise and energy of the academy felt different now—alive, electric.
The training ground was massive—a sprawling field of hard-packed earth, big enough to host hundreds, with space for spectators to crowd around the edges.
But that wasn't what caught my attention. It was the sheer number of people already there, organized into distinct groups by the colors of their uniforms.
"Well, Evan, looks like we're not the only class here," Ryan said, scanning the crowd.
"Mm. Quite the observer you are, I couldn't have guessed." I replied dryly, my eyes already sweeping over the groups gathering. My gaze, almost of its own volition, fell on the Dragon Roost class, the one filled with the most promising—and arrogant—nobles.
"Asshole—" he muttered, but I ignored him. My attention was elsewhere.
There were far too many students here for it to just be our class. At least three others had gathered, maybe more. I mentally tallied them: Dragon Roost, Griffith Aerie, and Anzu's Sky. A perfect arrangement. The main characters, the side characters, and the villains, all brought together on one stage. The script was already playing out, just as I had predicted.
"Well, I see everyone's finally arrived," a clear voice rang out, snapping my attention back to the center.
A man with a bald head and a rough stance walked to the center beside Miss Natasha, immediately drawing everyone's attention. His uniform, a simple, unadorned black, screamed of a history spent on battlefields, not in classrooms. He was pure, raw power, unburdened by the niceties of noble etiquette.
"As you can all see, today's class will be a little different," he said, his voice firm, a solid foundation beneath the buzzing chatter. "You'll be joining not just your own classmates, but three classes together."
A ripple of whispers passed through the crowd, a sound like a thousand worried bees.
"But don't misunderstand," he continued, his eyes narrowed. "This isn't about competing with other classes for rank. Today is a simple duel lesson."
He let the words hang for a moment before adding, "Yes, you heard right. Today's class will be a one-on-one duel. You may choose your opponent—whether from your own class or another.
Though, I suggest you challenge students outside your class. That way, you'll see the potential of your fellow first-years." With that, he stepped back, and Miss Natasha took the stand, her smile sharp and theatrical.
"So, as Instructor Harrison just explained…" she began. She paused deliberately, letting her gaze sweep across the students, a predator sizing up its prey. "Duel among your fellow classmates. Pick your weapon. Choose your partner. Get to the dueling grounds… and fight."
Her clap echoed across the training field, a sound like a starting gun. "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's go."
After Miss Natasha's command, the carefully organized chaos of the last few minutes dissolved into pure, unadulterated energy. We split off toward the weapon racks. The clang of steel and the murmur of voices filled the air as everyone rushed to claim their choice.
Swords, axes, bows, and even maces were being snatched up, their polished surfaces glinting in the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful, savage display.
I made my way to the section where the spears stood. My fingers brushed along the shafts, testing the weight of one, giving another a few practice swings, before settling on one that felt balanced enough in my grip. It was a simple weapon, but in the right hands, it was deadly. Just like me.
With that decided, I left the weapon stand, my steps slowing as my eyes drifted across the gathered students.
Some faces were familiar, others less so—but I wasn't really paying attention to them. I was observing the whole field, taking in the grand stage and all its players.
No. My gaze was searching, pulled almost unconsciously until it finally found what it had been looking for all along.
There she was.
Emilia Nightshade.
Tucked quietly against the side wall, yet still surrounded by a circle of girls. Her presence was as effortless as ever, a soft command of attention. She wasn't an elven princess, but her beauty was equally captivating, though in a more subtle, human way. My fiancée. The one person my eyes always seemed to seek, whether I admitted it or not.
My gaze lingered on her longer than it should have. Emilia. She was the one part of this script I didn't fully understand.
The one person I felt a genuine, confusing curiosity for. Was she really as fated for the hero as the narrative dictated?
It didn't take long before one of her friends noticed. "Hey, look over there," the girl whispered, loud enough for the others to hear.
Emilia's eyes followed, meeting mine. For a moment she looked surprised—caught off guard—before a small, sweet smile curved her lips.
I returned it, just a simple acknowledgement, nothing more. My heart, against my will, gave a small, traitorous flutter.
That was enough to make the other girls giggle. They nudged her playfully, teasing, until at last they pushed her forward. Emilia, ever the shy one in moments like this, hesitated but began making her way toward me.
For a second, I considered stepping in, cutting through their teasing and saving her from it. I took a few steps forward—
—and then a shadow cut across my path.
I stopped, my eyes lifting to see who dared to interrupt the delicate moment.
"Evan Ravenshade," the boy said firmly, his tone leaving no room for refusal. "I challenge you to a duel."
I exhaled slowly, annoyance flickering across my face as I recognized him.
Lucas Stout.
The ever-persistent cockblock.
-----
---
"Evan Ravenshade! I challenge you to a duel!"
Lucas's voice rang out across the training hall, echoing loud enough to turn every head in the room. His face was a mask of determination, his fists clenched at his sides.
I sighed. Of course he'd make a spectacle of it. The idiot always did. This was no surprise. This was… expected.
"Good to know," I muttered, brushing past him without slowing, my eyes still fixed on Emilia. I could feel her presence, so close, and I was not about to let this small-minded upstart ruin my
opportunity.
But Lucas wasn't the type to let himself be ignored. He stepped in front of me again, puffing out his chest like some peacock desperate for attention. "Didn't you hear me? I said I challenge you to a duel!"
I stopped, annoyance tightening my jaw. I let out a long, deliberate sigh, a show of my utter and complete boredom. Slowly, I turned my head toward him, letting the silence stretch before speaking.
"I heard you loud and clear," I said evenly. "But let me correct you—it's not you it's Lord Evan. Not my full name. Not some cheap abbreviation anyone can spit out." My words came out low, sharp, and cold enough to cut.
The hall went quiet for a beat. Then the murmurs started.
"How dare he? Who does he think he is?"
"Yes, exactly—probably his mother never even taught him manners."
"Interrupting the reunion between Lord Evan and Lady Emilia… what a shameless block!"
The voices, of course, came from my ever-loyal trio of lackeys. Aron, William, and Wilson, yapping like trained dogs, always quick to echo the obvious.
"You want a duel? Fine. I'll grant you that—if my mood allows." My voice was low, dismissive, the kind of tone you'd use on a servant who had gotten above himself. "Just wait at the side. I'll come when I feel like it."
"That's not it," Lucas snapped, his pride clearly wounded.
I tilted my head, feigning impatience. "Then what is it? Out of patience already?"
"I'm not challenging you for a simple duel." His voice rose, echoing through the training hall like a declaration. "I challenge you to a duel of honor!"
The hall went dead silent. Dozens of eyes widened, whispers caught in throats.
A duel of honor was no small thing—everyone knew that. It was a relic of a bygone era, a grand, serious affair that could only be invoked by nobles of a certain standing. For a few seconds, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
And then—
"...Pfft—hahahahaha!"
A laughter broke the silence like glass shattering, echoing sharp and merciless. Heads turned. Some flinched. Others stared in disbelief.
Of course, the one laughing was me.
"Hash, Lucas… Lucas, my dear friend," I said between fading chuckles, my voice dripping with mockery. "Do you even know what you're saying?"
"Yes, I do," he shot back confidently.
I smirked, shaking my head slowly.
"Huhu… no, it seems you don't. But I suppose I can't blame you." I took a step forward, my tone suddenly heavier, cutting through the hall. "As you should know, a duel of honor isn't just some playground match. It is a ritual—a pact forged by noble tradition, carried out by our predecessors. A matter of blood, pride, and legacy. Not something tossed around like a child demanding candy."
I let the words hang, scanning the silent hall before turning my gaze back to him. "And yet here you are… challenging me. Without understanding what it even means. Tell me, Lucas—what position do you hold? What right do you have?" I leaned in slightly, my smile sharpening. "Because from where I stand, this looks like either a joke… or the foolish arrogance of someone who doesn't know his place."
The air in the hall grew heavy, a spark of tension flickering in every corner.
"Well, student Lucas," the instructor finally stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, "as much as I dislike interfering in students' disputes, I cannot allow this one to escalate unchecked."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the hall where every student held their breath in anticipation. "Student Evan is correct. A duel of honor is not a mere spar. It is a ritual—an ancient tradition among nobles used to resolve disputes, sometimes even matters of life and death. But here, within academy grounds, such a challenge holds no weight. You do not have the authority to invoke it. At most, what can take place here is a standard duel between students."
The hall remained silent.
I chuckled lightly, tilting my head toward Lucas. "Fufu… you heard him, didn't you? Or are you still clinging to your foolish belief?"
"I—I understand, Professor," Lucas muttered, his voice laced with shame.
A ripple of snickers followed, some sharper than others—no doubt from Aron, William, and Wilson.
Yet, even as the instructor sought to close the matter, I found myself smiling.
My curiosity was piqued. This was a classic narrative moment, and I, for once, had the opportunity to play with it.
"Instructor, I had changed my mind," I said suddenly, breaking the silence.
The professor frowned. "What do you mean, student Evan?"
"Oh, nothing much," I said casually, though my words carried an edge. "It's just… perhaps our dear Lucas wanted to taste a fragment of noble etiquette, even if he knew little of it. Isn't that why he asked for a duel of honor?"
My eyes fell on Lucas, whose gaze burned with hatred, though he gritted his teeth and endured. He was trapped now, caught between his foolish pride and my casual cruelty. How amusing.
I grinned wider, spreading my arms as though presenting a grand stage. "So how about I make him come true? As a noble myself—and a good fellow classmate—let me fulfill this dear commoner's little fantasy."
The instructor frowned. "I cannot allow that, student Lucas."
"Haha, not like that, teacher," I waved dismissively, my voice laced with mocking charm. "Think of it more like a game. You know, the sort of game where children mimic adults—one plays the father at work, the other pretends to cook in the kitchen."
The classroom chuckled nervously. I continued, leaning into the performance. "Our duel won't be to the death, of course. Just a simple match, with simple rules… but with a little catch."
"And what might that catch be?" the instructor asked, curiosity threading into his voice.
"Well," I said smoothly, "as tradition goes, the end of every duel of honor demands something from the loser. A prize, a condition, a concession. So let's keep that part alive—it makes the game far more entertaining."
My steps echoed as I closed the distance between us, eyes never leaving Lucas. "And I know you, Lucas. You didn't challenge me simply out of pride. No one is that foolish or delusional. You want something. Something more than just a bruised ego."
I tilted my head, smirking. "So tell me—what will be your demand, if by some miracle you win? Candy? A sweet? A lollipop, perhaps?"
My mocking words lingered, and the silence in the room deepened. Lucas's fists clenched. His face was pale, but his voice rang out steady—burning with hatred.
"I demand…" he said, every word dragging the room into stillness, "…that if you lose, you will break your engagement with Emilia."
The room went silent again.