"Huaaa-HGHGH…!"
As Justin was mid-shout, his voice got distorted with the air being forced out of his lungs as he not only let go of his weapon, but also ended up tripping and tumbling back an embarrassing distance.
"Peasant."
"...!"
As the future hero was scrambling back up, Rotsard picked up the wooden sword he dropped and called out, causing the boy to flinch.
"Stop disrespecting me. Use your spells."
"!!!"
"...?"
Rotsard let out a sigh, barely holding back anger, and tossed the wooden sword back to the flabbergasted Justin… while also causing a murmur of confusion to spread amongst the audience.
Justin… was using spells… He did cast them at the start of the duel during the preparation allowed by the teacher…
"You might have thought it would be an opportunity to brush up on the basics, but I'm the wrong person to do that with."
"...you…!"
Rotsard added with a scoff, to which Justin wanted to say something, but he couldn't…
*THUMP* *WHOOOOOSH*
The very next moment, Rotsard took a step forward, and with a stomp, he kicked off the ground! The distance between the two opponents was swallowed in a single leap. Before Justin could even blink, his face was firmly held by Rotsard's hand, and the bleached-blond-haired boy was about to smash the future hero's head against the ground…!
"?!?!"
"!!!"
…only that Rotsard didn't finish the move, gently placing the future hero on the ground before turning around and returning to his original position to the tune of the background noise of the gasps and panicked voices of disbelief.
"Wh-wha…?!"
With an embarrassingly long delay, Justin haphazardly got back up, with his widened eyes glued to Rotsard's face.
…the face on which the stone-cold mask of indifference was breaking piece by piece, revealing deep-seated fury…
"Go on. Show me the student who achieved remarkable results on the end-of-semester evaluation. Or are you going to hold onto your cowardly peasant ways?"
"...!"
Rotsard challenged his opponent, spreading his arms open while his fingers remained curled up like claws of a starved beast.
…and his yellow eyes showed both anger and insatiable hunger…
"..."
For a moment, Justin appeared as if he wanted to say something.
Maybe something about not wanting to fight an opponent who was bare-handed while he wielded a weapon. Maybe voicing a concern about Rotsard's recklessness...
But one look in those yellow eyes was enough to force all those sentiments back down the future hero's throat.
"A weapon is an extension of a warrior's body, isn't it? Don't forget to channel your spells on it, too. It's a Royal Academy. Even a training weapon has the capacity to channel mana."
"!!!"
"!"
The bleached-blond-haired boy smirked and pointed out offhandedly, but his remark had quite the response.
Justin flinched so much he almost jumped. It really seemed as if one of his greatest secrets was exposed to the world.
But what was even more interesting was that the teacher watching over the duel seemed only slightly less surprised than the future hero. The way he looked at Rotsard changed. The strictness and suspicion changed into disbelief and… Cautiousness.
"If you need preparation, I'll wait. I give you my word."
With an oppressive aura practically seeping out of his body, Rotsard said, without ever taking his beastly eyes off his prey.
"..."
After a moment of hesitation, Justin took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He needed a few seconds to calm his breath, but once he did, he began chanting spells, and his body began to release a barely noticeable glow as the idle mana was channeled with clear intent.
Even the wooden sword began to shine, and creaked as the fibers of the wood were enveloped in strengthening spells.
"Thank you for waiting. The real duel starts now."
The future hero breathed out and opened his eyes, declaring with a stern expression.
"It better does."
Rotsard spat through his teeth, with angry veins pulsating on his neck.
Without any signal, the two of them charged at each other, equal in speed.
The exchange of blows was lighting-fast and brutal.
Like a tidal wave smashing against the rocky shore, the woden sword clashed against bare hands.
Empowered with magic, each hit carried a shockwave that raised clouds of dust, making it harder to follow the exchange.
But for the most part, the audience could tell.
Rotsard was losing!
His shirt's sleeves were getting torn apart, and his expression was growing more furious and more desperate with each attack.
At one point, he even stepped back and spat out a mouthful of blackish blood, before barely deflecting a diagonal slash aimed at his neck.