The courtyard was silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Eryndor stood with his shoulders relaxed, yet every muscle coiled like a spring. Across from him, Malrik's dark eyes gleamed, a dangerous smile tugging at his lips.
"You talk too much," Malrik said, circling. "Let's see if you can back it up."
Eryndor inclined his head slightly, a small smirk on his face. "I was hoping you'd ask."
Malrik lunged first, fast and precise, his body moving with the fluid grace of someone who had trained his entire life. Eryndor met him without hesitation, stepping aside, letting Malrik's fist cut through empty air. Every movement was instinct, every footstep balanced.
So, he's fast… but predictable.
Eryndor countered with a series of quick strikes, each aimed not to harm, but to test and measure Malrik's reflexes. He felt the subtle pull of energy—residual magic in the courtyard, reacting to his presence. Not much, but enough. He could work with it.
Malrik gritted his teeth, shifting to a defensive stance. "Hah… clever. But don't think I won't try harder."
They moved in a blur—footwork, dodges, strikes. Eryndor's martial arts training on Earth guided him, but this body had something extra: strength, balance, and an almost innate connection to the magic that hummed faintly beneath his skin. He let it flow subtly, just enough to enhance speed and power, making each strike land with weight without revealing the full potential.
Lyanna watched from the side, her eyes wide but calm. She had seen skilled fighters before, but something about Eryndor… his control, his awareness, set him apart.
Malrik's attacks became more aggressive, less calculated, almost desperate. Eryndor saw it and grinned slightly. A student who hasn't learned patience is a student who will falter.
He shifted his stance, drawing a subtle line in the air with his fingers. A faint shimmer of energy ran along his movements, almost invisible but perceptible to someone attuned to magic. He didn't release it fully—this wasn't a fight to kill, yet—but enough to add weight to his strikes.
Malrik stumbled slightly, more from surprise than force. "What… what is that?" he muttered, frustration edging his tone.
"Just a small trick," Eryndor said lightly. "You'll have to try harder if you want to keep up."
The duel continued, each moment a dance of skill, strength, and strategy. Eryndor didn't just fight—he observed, learned, adapted. Every twitch of Malrik's shoulder, every shift in stance was noted and filed. By the time the sun had moved halfway across the sky, Malrik was breathing heavily, his attacks less precise.
Finally, Eryndor stepped forward, one motion fluid and perfect. His hand pressed lightly against Malrik's chest, just enough to unbalance him. Malrik stumbled, landing on one knee, chest heaving.
Eryndor withdrew instantly, letting him recover. "Enough for now," he said calmly. "This isn't about humiliation. You still have potential… but patience and control come first."
Malrik glared, chest rising and falling. "You… you cheated," he spat, though there was awe buried beneath the frustration.
Eryndor smiled faintly, almost warmly. "No. I simply learned faster than you did. That's all."
Lyanna stepped forward, clapping softly. "Well… that was impressive." Her eyes met Eryndor's briefly, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Approval, curiosity… maybe even intrigue.
Malrik stood slowly, brushing dust from his tunic. "This isn't over," he said, his voice low but determined. "Next time, I won't hold back."
Eryndor watched him go, expression calm. Good. I want him to grow stronger. Every challenge makes me stronger too.
As the courtyard emptied, the wind carrying the fading tension away, Eryndor realized something crucial: this world would test him constantly—not just in duels, but in politics, alliances, and secrets yet to be revealed.
And he was ready.
No one underestimates me. No one ever will again.