Bari expected his following fights to test him. After clashing with Cormac — that storm of muscle and speed — he braced for rivals of equal calibre. Instead, disappointment greeted him, dressed in steel.
His second opponent was a girl, taller by a foot but frail, her sword more burden than weapon, weighed more than she could carry. Her stance wavered, eyes wide with nerves. Bari's gaze caught it all — the tremor in her calves, the shallow breath before a lunge that never came. He didn't even think. A flicker of black and silver blurred, earrings dangling, catching the light, as his short blade rested at her throat. The teacher called the match before she realized it was over.
Another stepped in, then another, and another.
They all came differently — bigger, smaller, faster, or slower — yet they all left the same. Hopeful expressions shattered into despair.
By the fifth fight, Bari's breath came heavier, though his movements remained razor-sharp. A boy nearly twice his size barrelled forward, veins bulging with effort. Bari did not counter — he simply shifted, let the strike pass, then brushed the flat of his blade against the boy's chest. Another gasp from the crowd. Another fallen sleeper.
By the tenth, Bari's body moved on instinct. His mind drifted elsewhere, conserving energy. His feet slid at the last possible instant, his sword rising only when it must. He was no longer duelling. He was dismantling his opponents, while doing his best to conserve his energy.
The crowd began to murmur, voices cutting through the clash of steel.
"So that's the power of a legacy…" someone whispered.
"No… there are other legacies. He's just different," another answered, tone shaken.
By the fifteenth fight, his arms ached. Sweat darkened his collar. His lungs dragged for air. And yet, his eyes — those cursed, blessed eyes — betrayed no weakness. They pierced every feint, unravelled every twitch of muscle before it bloomed into action. His body faltered, but his perception did not.
By the twentieth, his legs trembled. His grip slipped with sweat. Each opponent pressed harder, thinking him worn down, only to fall the same. To them it seemed arrogance when his eyes slid closed mid-duel. In truth, he was simply too tired to hold them open. But still — he saw. Whether he wanted to or not.
The twenty-fifth fight ended with another sleeper choking on disbelief as Bari's blade struck their wrists and they sounded off their ass kissing the ground rang wide. The crowd had fallen quiet now, awe replacing chatter. What they saw was no longer effort, but inevitability.
By the thirtieth, Bari swayed where he stood, body wrecked, chest heaving. Fingers trembled on his hilt. Yet with his eyes shut, the world was sharper than ever — every strike slowed, every path laid bare before him. His opponents rushed in reckless fury, or calculated patience, but it made no difference. His blade moved once. Precisely. Inevitably.
The last sleeper stumbled back, stunned, steel halted at his neck, his blade on the ground instead of his hands.
Silence filled the hall.
Bari stood drenched in sweat, his body on the brink of collapse. And yet… within the exhaustion came clarity. His eyes had not only shown him movements — they had revealed possibilities. Patterns. Truths.
It wasn't just victory he was seeking, it was the limits of his abilities.
The better you know yourself, the stronger you will be.
Bari stepped off the ring exhausted, all the sleeper who fell before his sword were unable to look at him straight, their egos shattered. His steps echoed through the room as he walked out.
***
Bari sat on a bench overlooking the indoor garden. Artificial lights bathed the room in a pale glow, and a small tree swayed gently under the breeze of the air conditioners. Normally, he found such things revolting — plastic air, manufactured beauty in a dying world. Yet, in this moment, he felt a strange peace in it. A shard of calm in a collapsing reality.
It had been days since he dominated the assessment test. He rarely left his room during that week. There was little point in training his body further; a few days were too short to forge any meaningful gains before the winter solstice. Instead, he reserved his strength, leaving only for meals or to find some quiet corner of the Awakened Academy to bury himself in texts about the Dream Realm — its history, its evolving dangers, its endless depths. If his body could not grow, his knowledge would.
"Will-Born. I've finally found you."
The voice broke through the hush of the garden. Cormac strode in, towering and sure of himself, his presence heavy with confidence. His eyes sought Bari's own — though Bari had not opened them once since his victory, his closed lids had become his shield. To others, it was arrogance. To him, it was a relief. A lie to ease the strain of seeing too much. Ignorance is bliss, he thought, and for once, he agreed with the statement.
Bari sighed and set his communicator aside. Of all the disruptions in recent days, Cormac was the most persistent.
If he had known that gaining a rival meant inheriting such relentless trouble, he would have declined immediately. Since the day of his loss, Cormac had hounded him for rematches, his pride unwilling to let the defeat rest.
At first, Bari entertained him out of courtesy — once, twice, and perhaps three times. But then the matches grew from a single match per day to two and four in a single day. Cormac refused to stop until he secured a victory, and when that came, it was only because Bari's body had been pushed to the brink of collapse.
He could fight fifty sleepers in succession — but Cormac was no ordinary sleeper. His saturated core and attribute enhanced him to the level of an awakened and maybe even some masters, every clash rattled Bari's arms, every parry scraped against the limits of his endurance. Blocking once was tolerable. Blocking ten times left his bones singing with pain. Still, he endured. Because each duel with Cormac wasn't just punishment — it was practice. A chance to refine himself against someone faster, stronger, more overwhelming than the rest.
Over thirty times they fought. Bari had won the first six with ease. But when exhaustion set in, Cormac stole matches through sheer stamina, grinding Bari down until victory tilted his way. Their tally now stood at twenty-four to seven.
"Another duel?" Bari asked, smiling faintly, eyes still closed, body resting against the bench.
Cormac shook his head, a rare grin tugging at his lips. "Not today. The solstice is only a few days away, so I came to inquire whether you'll stand as my ally — should we cross paths in the Dream Realm."
Bari's smile did not falter. "That depends…. Will you be there to fight beside me… or to kill me?"
Neither expression shifted, yet the weight in the room changed. The air thickened, sharp as a drawn blade.
For a long moment, silence pressed between them. Then Cormac spoke. "How long?" His voice was quiet, but it carried.
"Since the moment you laid eyes on me," Bari replied without hesitation. His tone was calm, but his meaning was absolute. He had no fear — not here, surrounded by government property, cameras fixed in every corner. If Cormac struck, the consequences would be a catastrophic diplomatic issue. Yet that wasn't his true assurance. The truth was simpler. He was stronger, their spars had proven such many times over. If it came to blades, only one of them would leave this room and they both knew it wouldn't be Cormac.
"I'll offer truce," Bari continued, his voice colder now, each word pressed like steel against Cormac's pride.
"But if you ever raise your sword against me — or against anyone under my protection — then abandon all hope of mercy."
The cold words fell like a wave crashing over stone. Cormac's expression tightened, then softened as he exhaled. He gave a single nod. "Agreed."
With that, he turned and walked away, his broad frame cutting through the garden's pale light.
Some would call it foolishness — keeping an enemy so close. But Bari knew otherwise. Dax, his teacher, had taught him that true danger was usually never the nightmare creatures, but those he strived to protect, humanity.
Bari knew that sometimes the only way to survive was not to push enemies away… but to keep them close enough to observe their every move.