The clang of steel against steel was not what Ash expected when the gates of the Academy opened before him. He had imagined incense-filled halls, polished marble corridors, and classrooms where mana shone brighter than torches. All of that was there—but on this day, the wide dueling square in the center of the Academy grounds was far more alive than the lecture halls.
Students in robes of azure, crimson, and gold crowded the raised stone benches surrounding the ring. Their laughter was sharp, their voices like hawks circling prey. Nobles, most of them, born to comfort, magic, and arrogance. To them, this wasn't merely a duel—it was sport. Entertainment. And today's chosen prey was him: Ash, the slum-born boy with no family name, who had somehow taken first place in the entrance exam.
"Look at him—does he even own proper boots?" one boy sneered, his sleeves trimmed with silver embroidery.
"He must have cheated in the test. A rat in a robe doesn't become a mage overnight," another jeered.
Their words clung to the air, but Ash's face remained still. His chest was heavy, though—not with fear, but with the weight of the Codex.
Still yourself. Do not let words pierce where blades should fail. Every jeer is a weapon misused. Let them waste their blades before the clash.
The voice curled through his mind, cool and sharp as steel dipped in ice. Ash adjusted his stance, staring at the duel circle's opposite side.
There, his opponent waited. Tall, proud, and broad-shouldered, clad in a dueling coat lined with golden thread: Caius Serpentis, heir of House Serpentis. The coiled-serpent crest stitched in gold on his sleeve gleamed in the light; he carried himself like a man whose privileges had sharpened into entitlement.
Caius smirked, twirling his practice staff—though every student knew the spells they would wield were far from harmless. "So, this is the gutter rat who thinks himself cleverer than noble blood. Don't worry, boy. I'll make this quick."
Gasps and chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Ash didn't answer. He felt the Codex stir like a beast uncoiling.
He expects fear. Give him silence. Fear grows in the absence of sound.
The Academy's principal, Thalos Greyveil, lifted a hand. His silver hair gleamed beneath the sun, his aged face unreadable. "This duel is sanctioned. First blood or incapacitation ends the match. Begin."
The air trembled.
Caius moved first. His staff snapped down, runes etched across it glowing bright. A surge of wind magic burst forth, blades of compressed air screaming toward Ash.
For the crowd, it was a dazzling start. For Ash, it was something else entirely.
The Codex burned in his mind, and suddenly—
—he wasn't on the dueling grounds anymore. He stood upon a battlefield. Vast plains choked with smoke and fire. Rows upon rows of soldiers clashed with spears and shields, arrows blotting out the sun. He saw a commander atop a black warhorse, pointing, commanding, calculating the flow of men and death alike.
The blades of wind rushing toward him became cavalry, charging across the plains.
How would you break a cavalry charge, Ash?
Ash's body moved before thought. He dove sideways, rolling across the stone, just as the wind blades sheared past where he had stood, carving deep scars into the arena floor. He scrambled upright, breath steady.
The crowd jeered. "Pathetic! He's crawling!"
Caius's smirk widened. "Run, rat! Run!"
Not yet, the Codex whispered. Let him think you prey. All predators grow careless when the kill seems near.
Caius raised his staff again, conjuring flame this time. A swirling fireball roared into being, light washing over the arena. He hurled it.
Again, the battlefield vision overtook Ash. The fireball was not fire—it was a boulder hurled by a siege catapult. Soldiers screamed as it arced through the air, promising ruin.
How do you answer the siege stone?
Ash's eyes narrowed. Mana pooled in his palms. He'd practiced this simple spell only yesterday under the Codex's urging. With a snap, he conjured a shield of compressed air—not large, not powerful, but angled.
The fireball struck the shield and split, veering harmlessly to either side. Flames licked the benches but fizzled against protective wards.
The crowd gasped.
Caius's eyes narrowed. "So you can do more than dodge."
Ash exhaled, lowering his hand. His heart thundered, but a flicker of confidence glowed within.
Good. Shields are not only for defense—they are for redirection. You did not block. You turned his power against the empty air. Remember: war is won by angles.
Caius advanced, frustration hardening his face. He struck his staff to the ground, sending a pulse of mana through the arena floor. Stone trembled—and then jagged spikes erupted, racing toward Ash.
Battlefield vision struck again. This time, he saw not spikes, but a forest of spears bristling, soldiers thrusting them forward in a wall of death.
Ash's chest tightened. He had no powerful spells—only the Codex's whispers.
Spears kill those who meet them head-on. But what of their flanks?
Ash inhaled. His mana twisted. With a desperate burst, he conjured a minor gust—not enough to blow away stone, but enough to propel his body. He sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the spike wall, and with a snap of his wrist, cast a spark spell, igniting a fragment of loose rubble Caius's spikes had churned. The shard shot forward, a pebble turned into a bullet.
It cracked against Caius's shoulder, forcing him back a step. His smirk faltered.
The crowd roared.
"Did he just—?" "He hit Caius Serpentis!" "Impossible, that was… that was calculated!"
Caius's face darkened. "You dare?" His mana surged violently, power radiating like a storm. He began weaving a complex set of sigils—too advanced for most first-years. Flames and wind intertwined into a spiraling lance of destruction.
Ash's gut twisted. He couldn't match that. Not in power.
But the Codex's whisper cut through his fear.
He commits too much. See how he pours everything into one strike. The battlefield favors the patient. One blade, perfectly placed, is worth a hundred wasted swings.
The vision swept over Ash again. The duel faded, and he stood on the plains once more. Caius was no longer a noble boy but a warlord charging with a gleaming lance, his entire cavalry behind him. Ash stood alone, a single soldier at the edge of annihilation.
But in the vision, he saw it: a gap. A misstep.
Aim not at the rider, but at the horse. Unseat him, and the cavalry dies with him.
Ash's eyes snapped open. He raised his hand, mana trembling within him. At the last moment, just as Caius unleashed his spiraling lance, Ash sent a single spark—directed not at Caius's spell, but at the ground beneath Caius's foot.
The stone, weakened by Caius's own earlier spikes, cracked. Caius's stance faltered. His lance veered off-course, roaring into the sky and dissipating harmlessly.
Gasps tore through the crowd.
Before Caius could recover, Ash thrust his palm forward. Mana surged, weak but precise, and a jet of compressed air burst from his hand, slamming Caius back.
Caius's staff flew from his grasp. He hit the ground, sliding across the arena.
Silence. Then—uproar.
"He beat Caius Serpentis!" "A commoner?!" "Impossible!" "Brilliant! Did you see how he—?"
Ash stood panting, sweat rolling down his brow, his hands trembling. The Codex's voice was silk in his mind.
Victory. Not through strength. Through precision. Through patience. Remember this, Ash: wars are not won by the strongest, but by the one who knows where to strike.
Caius groaned, pushing himself upright. His face twisted with rage and humiliation. But before he could speak, Principal Greyveil's voice rang out.
"Enough. Winner: Ash."
The murmurs of disbelief rippled again.
And then—laughter. Not cruel, but loud and genuine. A stocky boy with a round face and unkempt brown hair pushed his way through the crowd. His laugh echoed above the others as he clapped his hands together.
"Hah! By the gods, that was beautiful!" he bellowed. He stepped into the arena, ignoring the glares of nobles. "Caius Serpentis, toppled by a slum rat with a pebble and a puff of air! I'll be telling this story until the day I die!"
Ash blinked, caught off-guard.
The boy grinned wide at him, slapping his shoulder. "Name's Garrick. And you, my friend, fight like a demon dressed in rags. That was the most fun I've had since I snuck into the kitchens and ate a whole roast chicken."
The crowd erupted into laughter, some with mockery, others with reluctant admiration. The tension broke, if only slightly.
Ash allowed himself the smallest of smiles. For the first time since stepping into the Academy, someone wasn't jeering at him. Someone was… admiring.
But the Codex whispered one last time, quieter now.
Remember, Ash. Today you have won the duel. But in victory, envy is born. Watch their eyes. Every smile hides a blade.
Ash lifted his gaze. Across the benches, dozens of noble-born students glared at him with venomous hatred, their pride wounded. Caius's fury burned hottest of all.
The battle had been won. But the war of the Academy had only just begun.