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The courtyard stretched wide before me, the morning light casting long shadows across the cracked stone floor. Vera stood off to the side, arms folded, armor gleaming as if polished by the sun itself. Her expression was unreadable, but I could feel her gaze on me like a weight. Watching. Measuring.
And in front of me—five knights.
"Rookies, like you," Vera had said. But as they stood there, their armor heavy, their weapons sharp, I found it hard to believe. Their stances weren't clumsy. Their grips weren't loose. These weren't boys playing soldier. They looked like predators, each one with the eyes of someone who had already seen blood.
The first knight stepped forward. No hesitation. His sword was already out, glinting in the light, his boots striking hard against the stone as he closed the distance.
I raised my own blade, my heart thundering in my chest.
The clash came fast. His sword swung down, and I barely managed to bring my own weapon up in time to parry. The sound cracked like thunder, the force rattling up my arms. He didn't pause, didn't relent—another strike, and another, each one harder than the last. I stumbled back, teeth clenched, the muscles in my arms screaming.
Too fast. Too strong.
He pressed the advantage, his blade cutting down in a brutal arc. I twisted, the edge barely missing my side. The sting of air cut across my ribs, sharp as a warning. I countered with a desperate thrust, but he knocked it aside with ease.
The other knights around us laughed low, mocking. Heat burned in my chest—not just exhaustion, but fury. I forced myself forward, my strikes wild at first, then sharper, tighter. His sword came for me again, and this time I didn't meet it head-on. I slipped to the side, my blade scraping against his gauntlet, sparks flying.
He growled, turning to follow, but I didn't give him the chance. I dropped low and drove my shoulder into his gut. The impact sent us both sprawling, and I came up faster, blade raised. His helmeted head tilted up—just enough for me to slam my pommel against the side of it.
The clang echoed. He went still.
Silence.
Then the first knight fell flat on his back, unmoving.
I staggered up, chest heaving, sweat already pouring down my neck. My arms trembled around the sword's weight.
"One down," Vera called from the side, her voice smooth, smug. "Four to go."
The second knight was already stepping forward.
He was taller, leaner, his blade long and thin like a fang. The way he carried it told me everything—I wasn't going to outmuscle him. This was speed against speed.
He didn't give me time to breathe. His sword flashed, slicing through the air with a whistle. I barely twisted away, the edge grazing across my tunic. The fabric tore; my skin burned. Another strike came, and I leapt back, the blade slicing the space where my throat had been.
My pulse hammered. My legs felt light, faster, almost instinctively moving. The system's gift—the speed I'd acquired—came alive under my skin.
I moved.
His sword came down, but I was already gone, sidestepping, pivoting around him, my own blade lashing out from the left. He blocked. His counter came quick, but I ducked under it, spinning to his back. My sword slashed low, cutting at his calf, but he twisted at the last second, sparks flying as steel kissed steel.
The courtyard rang with our rhythm—strike, dodge, slash, retreat. Every movement was sharp, deadly, too fast for the eye to follow. He swung, but I was gone. I lunged, but he twisted away. The other knights leaned in, murmuring, drawn into the dance of blades.
He snarled, frustration breaking through his calm. His blade blurred, cutting in rapid succession—left, right, high, low. Each strike was a storm.
But my body answered with speed. My legs carried me clear. My arms moved before thought. I wasn't fighting with strength anymore—I was flowing, slipping between his strikes like water through cracks.
Then, an opening.
I slid past his guard, my blade striking across his chest. The edge rang against armor, not deep enough to wound, but enough to stagger him. He gasped, stumbling back.
I pressed forward, faster, sharper, my blade raining down. He caught the first, the second, but the third slipped through, crashing against his shoulder. He dropped to one knee, his sword clattering against the stone.
I stood over him, chest heaving, blade at his throat. His breath came ragged, but he didn't rise.
Two down.
The third knight didn't wait for me to recover.
The sound of boots scraped against stone, and when I lifted my eyes, I saw them—the remaining three, moving as one.
No hesitation. No words. Just steel.
One swung high, a brutal downward strike. The second lunged low, his blade aiming for my gut. The third circled wide, waiting for the opening the others would carve.
I raised my sword, barely catching the first strike. The weight nearly drove me to my knees. Sparks exploded. At the same time, the second's thrust came for my ribs, and I twisted, the blade slicing across my side shallow but sharp. Pain flared white hot, ripping a hiss from my throat.
The third knight moved then, blade slicing for my neck. Instinct screamed—I ducked, the wind of his strike grazing my hair.
Three against one.
Their blades sang, crashing down from every angle. My arms shook, my body burned, but I forced my legs to move. Step back, pivot, strike, retreat. The courtyard became a blur of steel and blood.
Every second was survival. Every breath was stolen.
But even through the pain, even with the odds stacked against me, a wild heat surged in my chest. The thrill of it. The danger. The fight.
I bared my teeth, gripping my sword tighter.
"Come on then!" I roared, blood dripping down my side, my vision sharp as a hawk's.
The three knights answered with steel.
And the arena exploded into chaos.
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