Proper martial arts had never truly existed in Britannia.
What people had instead was rough hand-to-hand combat. Simple fist fights. Thing's peasants did in back alleys or open fields when words failed. To nobles and Alchemists, it was pointless. Why use fists when Alchemy could strike from far away? Why risk your body when power could be formed at a distance?
That was how everyone thought.
That mindset changed in the 1000s, during the era when Britannia was invading and expanding into other regions. Their fleets crossed seas and borders until they reached the Eastern Continent. That was where everything broke apart.
A fleet of Alchemists and soldiers advanced into the territory of the Zenith Empire. Every one of them was at least an Adept. Some were Generals. Leading them was an eight-star Alchemist Scholar. They believed the battle would be easy.
They were wrong.
Five men stood in their way.
Just five.
They called themselves Martial Artists of Zenith.
The fight didn't last long.
The fleet was wiped out. Not pushed back. Not stalled. Destroyed. The eight-star Alchemist died during the fight, unable to finish even a single proper Alchemy. There was no time to form signs. No space to prepare. Every attempt was cut short.
Later, the survivors of Britannia described it as one of the most humiliating defeats in their history. The reason was simple. Alchemy required time. The Martial Artists gave them none.
Even so, that loss revealed something important.
Cognis was not only for creating or destroying. It could nourish the body. Strengthen muscles. Sharpen movement and reaction.
From that moment on, Britannia changed.
They began to train the body alongside Alchemy. Martial arts were no longer ignored. They were mixed with Cognis, refined, and shaped into a new path.
And that was how Britannia started to grow stronger.
***
Priscilla hit the ground hard.
The impact echoed across the arena, sharp enough to make several people flinch. Vera stood still, looking down at her. Priscilla's body didn't move at first, lying there as if all strength had been pulled out of it.
"Wow…" Bobby muttered. His mouth hung open as murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire.
"Is that it?"
"Did you see what Lady Vera did?"
"It was too fast."
"She was just playing with her."
"Damn," Ezra said quietly, turning to Veda.
"You saw it too," Veda replied, his eyes still fixed on the arena.
"She used her left hand to lift Priscilla's rising elbow," Ezra said, his voice low, "then followed it with a clean uppercut."
Bobby snapped his head toward Ezra, eyes wide. "You saw all that… Ezra?"
Ezra looked away, his neck feeling stiff under Bobby's stare.
"Calm down, Bobby," Veda said, pulling him back by the shoulder. "Her control of Cognis is frightening."
"I noticed that too," Ezra replied. His gaze shifted back to Priscilla. "But I don't think that's enough to put her down."
"Huh?" Linda cut in sharply. "You think Lady Priscilla can still stand after that? That hit should've put her to sleep."
"No," Veda said.
Linda stiffened. "Why?"
"I've known Priscilla since we were younger," Veda replied. "She's one of those."
Linda frowned, then Ezra spoke.
"She's a hard worker."
Linda's expression shifted as understanding dawned. Her eyes moved back to the arena.
Priscilla's fingers twitched.
Slowly, she pushed herself up, one knee scraping against the stone. Her arms shook, but she didn't stop. The crowd roared as she forced herself upright. Her group shouted her name, louder than before, some of them visibly shaken by her refusal to fall.
"I can't believe you're still awake after that," Vera said, staring at her own fist. "I thought I used enough reinforced Cognis to knock you out."
"I told you," Priscilla replied, standing straight despite her shaking legs. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, breathed in slowly, then let it out. Her eyes stayed sharp. "I'm not the same as before, Vera."
Vera didn't turn to look at her.
"So," she said, her tone flat, "what are you going to do?"
"Huh?" Priscilla panted, staring at her.
"Just give up," Vera continued, tilting her head slightly as she scanned the crowd. "You're wasting my time."
Priscilla's eyes darkened.
Her hands clenched until her fingers hurt.
Again. And again. And again.
I can't land a single hit on her.
It was always like this.
I challenge her… and I lose.
She lifted her head and glared at Vera, refusing to look away.
"Do you think I don't know I'm not on your level?" Priscilla said.
Her voice trembled at first, then grew louder as she spoke. She took a step forward, her foot scraping against the arena floor.
"Time and time again—again and again—I'm reminded by my siblings, by my own friends, about how amazing Vera is. How cool Vera is." Her chest rose and fell fast. "They always compare me to you because we're the same age."
She clenched her fists.
"But unlike you, I was born without talent."
Her eyes burned as she stared at Vera.
"And you—of all people—were born with too much of it. Even when Diana Bergwyn humbled you, I thought you would fall. I thought you would change. I thought you would finally become like me."
She shook her head, strands of hair sticking to her face.
"But no matter how many times I watched you, you never changed. You kept that attitude. You never cared what people thought. You only did what you wanted."
She straightened her back, forcing her shaking legs to hold.
"And I respect that."
Her hands relaxed, then tightened again.
"That's why I didn't stop training. No matter what happens, one day I'll make you look at me." Her lips trembled. She bit down hard, drawing blood. "I want you to see me as someone you can't ignore."
Her eyes locked onto Vera.
"I want to be your rival."
The crowd stood stunned, the noise draining away as her words hung in the air.
Vera's expression didn't change.
"You can't be my rival," Vera said, letting out a short, amused laugh.
Ezra's fingers curled at his side.
At least give her some credit…
"VERA!" Priscilla shouted.
She reached down and pulled a scroll from inside her sock.
The crowd gasped.
"Wait—is that allowed?" Gena asked, glancing at Nina while still helping with the betting booth.
"Nina?" she whispered.
Nina turned to Zack, worry clear on her face.
Zack adjusted his glasses and looked toward the guard. "I guess it is," he said slowly. "He never said weapons were forbidden."
"You brought a scroll?" Vera asked, sounding amused rather than surprised.
"I didn't want to use this," Priscilla said, lifting her chin. "But I can't beat you in physical combat. So, I'll outsmart you."
Vera raised both hands and shook her head lightly. "Honestly, I forgot you might try something like this. My mistake." Her smile sharpened. "Go on, Priscilla Ashenlocke. Show me what you can do."
Cognis surged through Priscilla's body.
Her nose began to bleed as she forced more power out. She slammed the scroll down in front of her with her right hand. An alchemy circle carved into it glowed as she struck it with her left palm, Cognis wrapping around her arm.
Light burst out.
Sparks flashed.
A fully formed revolver appeared in her left hand.
She grabbed it with her right and fired at once.
Vera moved.
The first shot missed as Vera shifted to the side. She channeled Cognis into her legs and eyes, her movements sharp and clean. Three more shots rang out, each one missing by a small margin.
Priscilla's aim wavered. She couldn't follow Vera's movement anymore.
Vera's figure kept slipping out of her sight, appearing and vanishing between breaths. Because of that, her aim broke apart. Her thoughts grew messy, dragged down by the backlash of Cognis overuse. She had already burned too much—forcing her body earlier, throwing herself into reckless attacks, and even healing her chin after Vera's first strike.
Her breathing turned rough.
She fired again.
And again.
Before she could properly see where Vera was, she squeezed the trigger two more times. The last bullet scraped past Vera's cheek, tearing skin. A thin line of blood ran down from the cut.
Priscilla froze.
Vera was suddenly right in front of her.
A hand clamped onto Priscilla's head and forced it to the side. At the same time, Vera grabbed the top of the revolver Priscilla was still holding. Light crackled where Vera's fingers touched the metal. Sparks jumped between the gun and her hand.
The barrel twisted.
The aim shifted.
The muzzle now pointed back at Priscilla.
The crowd fell silent once more.
Vera leaned in.
"Let me tell you something, Priscilla," she said softly.
Her voice was calm, close enough that Priscilla could feel her breath.
"Working hard just to rival me doesn't mean you'll ever reach me." Vera's grip tightened slightly. "Plenty of people work harder than you. In Metallica. In Britannia. In the world."
She paused.
"They work just to feed their children. Just to survive. Just to grow stronger."
Vera pulled her closer, her lips brushing near Priscilla's ear.
"How many of them do you think actually stand beside the goal they chase?"
She answered her own question.
"Not many."
Her tone stayed flat. "Only the chosen. And only those who understand the difference between working toward a goal and chasing a dream."
She released her grip just enough to look at Priscilla's face.
"You're a dream chaser," Vera said. "Someone who spends her time chasing fiction. You a smart person Priscilla so, I'm sure you will grasp what I mean by this."
A knee slammed into Priscilla's stomach.
The air left her lungs at once. Her body went limp.
Vera grabbed her by the collar and threw her toward the edge of the arena. Nate caught her in a panic, his face pale as Vera's gaze flicked toward him.
"Next time you want to test me," Vera said as she turned away, "challenge me yourself."
She walked down from the stage while her group erupted in cheers, her name rolling through the arena.