Right now, I was seated in class, the dull murmur of students chatting filling the room. Laughter, idle gossip, and the occasional shuffle of papers blended together into background noise. As always, I kept to myself, quietly observing.
The so-called "main cast" were in their usual spot, gathered together and talking as if the whole academy revolved around them. I let my gaze drift past them, my mind already wandering elsewhere.
Yesterday's event lingered at the forefront of my thoughts. The skill I had acquired—Divine Judgement. Even the name carried weight, and the reality of it was far more terrifying. A single strike capable of calling down catastrophic destruction… it wasn't something to be used lightly.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the creak of the classroom door. Instructor Elizabeth stepped inside with her usual quiet authority. Her long violet hair spilled over her shoulder, and her red eyes, sharp as blades, swept across the room.
"Good morning, class. Let's begin with attendance."
Her voice was calm, clipped, and efficient—just as always. One by one, names were called, each student responding promptly and clearly. The room was silent save for her voice and the steady replies.
When my name came up, I caught the familiar ripple of amusement. A few mocking smiles. Low chuckles. It was the same routine, predictable and dull. Their opinions meant little to me, so I let it wash over me like rain on stone.
But there was one gaze that lingered.
I lifted my eyes and found her—Amelia Crimsonheart. Unlike the others, she wasn't smirking. Her amber eyes burned, not with ridicule, but with something sharper—anger. For a moment, our gazes locked, and the hostility there was unmistakable. Then, just as quickly, she turned forward, her crimson hair shifting with the motion, as though the connection had never happened.
"Alright, students. Let's begin today's lesson," Professor Elizabeth said, her tone carrying the same composed authority as always. With that simple declaration, the quiet air of attendance shifted into the sharper rhythm of study, and the day's class officially began.
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Just like that, the day's lectures drew to a close.
"As we conclude today's lesson," Professor Elizabeth's voice cut through the silence, steady and commanding, "I have an important announcement." Her crimson gaze swept across the room, holding each student with quiet intensity. "Beginning tomorrow, we will commence a series of practical combat sessions."
A ripple of reaction moved through the class—hushed murmurs, quickened breaths, exchanged glances. Practical combat was no small matter. It wasn't about theory or sparring dummies; it was the foundation of a hunter's survival.It encompassed hand-to-hand techniques, weapon mastery, and the integration of magic into direct combat—skills designed for facing rival hunters or enemies lurking beyond the gates.
"All of you will be pairing up for these lessons, and I expect you to treat them with the utmost seriousness," Elizabeth declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Your combat abilities will be evaluated, so take this opportunity to refine your techniques."
With that, she pivoted gracefully and strode out of the classroom, her footsteps echoing until the door shut behind her.
I leaned back in my seat, eyes following her retreating figure.
'Practical lessons, huh…'
I'd spent countless hours honing my swordsmanship, and with the aid of my skill [Sword Mastery], the difference was undeniable. Each swing felt sharper, cleaner—my movements faster, more precise. The skill amplified not only my technique but my instincts, molding raw practice into refined execution.
This would be the perfect chance to measure just how far I'd come.
With that thought, I rose from my seat.
But before I could reach the door, a voice rang out from behind me.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?"
The words dripped with scorn, sharp and mocking enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby students. I paused mid-step, my gaze shifting back to the source.
A blond-haired student stood there, arms folded across his chest, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he'd just cornered easy prey. Martin Richter.
I knew the name. His rank hovered somewhere between the 700 and 800—not exceptional, but high enough to grant him confidence. His family had ties to the Federation. Not one of the major houses, but still respectable enough to make someone like him arrogant.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Where do you think you're going, you last-ranked bastard?"
A hush fell over the classroom, the weight of countless eyes shifting toward us.
I exhaled softly through my nose, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. The last thing I needed was a pointless scuffle here. If I wanted, I could put Martin in his place without much effort, but fighting in the middle of class would only stir up unnecessary trouble. I was already on thin ice with both the students and the instructors—no point in adding fuel to the fire.
'Strange… I don't remember him speaking to Arthur before. So Why now?'
My gaze flicked to him, then followed the subtle glances he kept sneaking toward the front row. When I turned, I immediately saw who he was looking at.
'Ah… so that's it.'
Martin's chest puffed with pride as his eyes lingered on Amelia Crimsonheart. But the irony was almost comical—she wasn't even sparing him a glance.
'So he's trying to put on a show for her.'
Amelia never asked for this, of that I was certain. She was arrogant, yes—prideful, sharp, and inflexible—but never the type to rely on lackeys. If she had an issue with me, she'd handle it herself, directly and without hesitation. Which meant Martin was doing this entirely of his own accord.
Still, how did he know Amelia disliked me? Was it from that look she gave earlier in class? If so, he must be quite observant then.
'He's probably doing this to get on her good side.'
My thoughts were cut short as Martin's voice snapped out again, louder this time.
"Hey, bastard—are you ignoring me?"
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Without a word, Arthur turned and walked toward the door.
But Martin wasn't about to let it go. His face twisted with rage at the blatant disregard.
How dare this bastard ignore me? His fury simmered, threatening to boil over.
Impulsively, he clenched his fists and lunged forward, aiming a punch straight for Arthur's back.
Just as his attack was about to land—
Arthur moved.
A single, effortless step to the side, and Martin's fist met nothing but empty air, throwing him completely off balance.
Arthur didn't hesitate. With precise control, he lifted his leg and swept Martin's supporting leg from under him.
Martin lurched forward, helpless against gravity.
With a heavy thud, he crashed onto the floor.
A groan escaped him, more from humiliation than pain. Martin Richter—high-ranked, respected, confident—had been knocked down by a nobody, a last-ranked weakling. The sting of reality burned far deeper than the impact.
Through gritted teeth, he lifted his gaze, only to meet Arthur's eyes.
Immediately, regret and unease flooded him.
From his position on the floor, he had to look up, and the way Arthur regarded him—with calm, controlled, unwavering focus—sent a fresh wave of fury laced with fear through him.
It was condescending. Dismissive. Like he wasn't even worth Arthur's attention.
"You basta—!"
The words caught in his throat.
A chill ran down his spine, unfamiliar and heavy. His breath hitched, and an oppressive weight seemed to settle around him, suffocating and real. For the first time in his life, Martin felt small.
And then—just as suddenly as it had come—it vanished.
Arthur had already turned and was walking out of the classroom, each step slow and deliberate.
Martin remained frozen, his mind a whirl of confusion.
' What… what was that? '
His fingers clenched into fists as he forced himself to rise. Around him, the other students had moved on, oblivious. No one had reacted. No one had noticed anything unusual.
' So it was just me…'
He swallowed hard. The fear he had felt—intense and undeniable—lingered like a shadow in his chest.
Ridiculous.
There was no way Arthur Dravenlock—the lowest-ranked student—could inspire such terror.
Martin tried to rationalize it. ' I just let my guard down. That's all. There's no way I'd ever be afraid of someone like him. '
He repeated it to himself, trying to steady trembling hands and an unsettled heart.
Meanwhile, the rest of the class dismissed the incident entirely, assuming Martin had simply lost focus. After all, it was impossible for someone like Arthur to be strong.
Students could grow. High-rankers could fall, and low-rankers could rise—but for the last-ranked student to suddenly overpower a high-ranker after only a month? Unthinkable.
At least, that's what everyone believed.
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Evening had settled, and the day's classes were finally over. After the confrontation in the first class, Martin hadn't bothered me again.
I was now in my room, sitting in front of my laptop, scrolling through the market data.
Let's see… Silverfang Guild.
A month ago, I had bought their shares at a bargain. Back then, both their stock price and reputation were in the trash. But things had changed drastically since.
"Hmm… look at this. Their value has skyrocketed."
It seemed they had discovered that dungeon brimming with high-grade mana crystals.
A small grin tugged at my lips. "Hehe… well, time to make some money."
I quickly began selling off all the shares I had purchased. Within minutes, the transactions were complete, and I checked my account balance.
"Whoa… 800 thousand silar. That's massive."
For the first time in a while, I could breathe easy. Money was no longer a concern—for now, at least. Finally, one major issue was taken care of.