The training grounds behind the Valerion estate were not built for comfort.
They were built for breaking people.
Stone platforms layered into descending tiers. Reinforced walls etched with flame-runes. Observation balconies above for officers and instructors.
Draven stood in the center ring.
Hands in pockets.
Looking bored.
Around him, ten recruits in Ember Crown training uniforms shifted uneasily.
Crimson crests stitched onto their shoulders. Fresh awakeners. Mostly E-Rank. A few pushing toward D.
At the edge of the platform stood their leader.
D-Rank.
Broad-shouldered. Spear user. Mana steady and disciplined.
He looked Draven up and down with open disbelief.
"This the one Lady Violet brought home?"
Draven tilted his head slightly.
"Is that how I'm being introduced?"
A few of the recruits snickered.
The D-Rank leader didn't smile.
"You're F-Rank."
"So I've been told."
"And you requested to fight without using flame."
Draven rolled one shoulder lazily.
"You requested ten."
A faint ripple of irritation spread through the group.
Above, on the observation balcony, Violet leaned forward slightly.
Her father stood beside her, arms folded.
"He won't use fire?" she asked.
"I told him the test measures combat instinct," Ignivar replied calmly.
"And?"
"And he said flame would be unfair."
Her brows knitted.
Below—
The D-Rank leader stepped forward.
"You're either arrogant," he said evenly, "or stupid."
Draven finally removed his hands from his pockets.
"Let's hope it's the entertaining one."
A signal flare shot upward.
The match began.
The ten recruits moved first.
Disciplined.
Three from the left. Two from the right. Ranged caster behind. Spear and sword forward.
Draven didn't move.
The first blade came down toward his shoulder—
He shifted half a step.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Just precise.
The blade cut air.
His palm struck the attacker's chest once.
Not hard.
The recruit folded instantly and collapsed.
Silence rippled outward.
Draven stepped through the space where the body had been.
Another came from behind.
He ducked.
Elbow to the ribs.
A crack.
Second down.
A spear thrust toward his throat.
He caught the shaft mid-motion.
Twisted.
Pulled.
The recruit stumbled forward—
Draven's knee met his abdomen.
Third.
No flame.
No mana surge.
Just control.
The ranged caster finally reacted, launching a compressed firebolt.
Draven leaned sideways.
The bolt grazed past his coat.
He was already moving before the caster realized.
Two steps.
A palm to the wrist.
Mana disrupted.
A light tap to the forehead.
Fourth.
The remaining six hesitated.
That was their mistake.
In the Abyss, hesitation meant death.
Here—
It meant humiliation.
Draven stepped into them.
He did not rush.
He walked.
And wherever he stepped, someone fell.
A shoulder dislocated cleanly with a precise twist.
A leg swept from under a swordsman before he could complete a swing.
A pressure-point strike behind the ear.
A controlled throw that used the recruit's own momentum.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
The last of the ten stumbled backward, breathing hard.
Draven stopped in front of him.
The recruit swallowed.
"You're F-Rank…"
Draven looked at him calmly.
"So?"
The recruit lunged desperately.
Draven sidestepped.
Placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
And pushed.
The boy collapsed face-first onto stone.
Ten.
Silence.
The training grounds felt different now.
He hadn't overpowered them.
He hadn't overwhelmed them.
He had dismantled them.
Like they were slow.
Predictable.
Human.
Above, Violet's fingers tightened on the railing.
"He didn't even breathe harder."
Ignivar's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He fights like someone who has faced death repeatedly."
Below, the D-Rank leader stepped into the arena.
Mana flared around him properly this time.
Disciplined fire aura.
Not flashy.
Refined.
"You're done playing," the D-Rank said evenly.
Draven finally looked mildly interested.
"You're stronger."
"Yes."
"Good."
The D-Rank didn't waste time.
He moved fast.
A proper thrust aimed at Draven's collarbone.
Draven stepped inside the strike.
Too close for the spear to be useful.
A sharp exchange followed—
Fist against forearm.
Knee blocked.
Shoulder checked.
The D-Rank was trained.
Efficient.
But—
He relied on rhythm.
And Draven had spent sixteen hundred years fighting things that didn't have one.
The D-Rank tried to create distance.
Draven didn't allow it.
He stepped forward once.
And something shifted.
It wasn't mana.
It wasn't flame.
It was presence.
The air grew heavy.
Not oppressive.
Just… undeniable.
The D-Rank felt it instinctively.
Like standing before something that had ruled battlefields long before he was born.
His movements slowed for half a second.
That was enough.
Draven struck once.
A clean palm to the sternum.
Not enhanced.
Not flashy.
The D-Rank flew back three meters and skidded across stone.
The grounds went completely silent.
Draven stood where he was.
Hands lowering slowly.
Breathing steady.
Not triumphant.
Not aggressive.
Just… finished.
The D-Rank coughed once, then looked up.
Not angry.
Confused.
"How…" he muttered.
Draven met his gaze calmly.
"You telegraph when you commit."
Above, Violet exhaled slowly.
"That wasn't flame."
"No," Ignivar agreed quietly.
"That was experience."
Below, the recruits were staring at Draven differently now.
Not dismissive.
Not mocking.
Instinctively wary.
In his mind, Vortex spoke softly.
[You suppressed your aura well.]
"I didn't use it."
[You did.]
A faint pause.
[Not mana. Authority.]
He said nothing.
[You step into combat as if it already belongs to you.]
"Doesn't it?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then—
[You are adapting again.]
A faint smirk touched his lips.
The D-Rank slowly stood.
"I lost."
Draven gave a small nod.
"Yes."
No cruelty.
No gloating.
Just fact.
Ignivar's voice carried down from the balcony.
"That's enough."
Draven looked up.
Their eyes met.
Measured.
Assessing.
Ignivar finally spoke.
"You may participate in the guild evaluation."
Not an invitation.
Not acceptance.
An opening.
Draven slipped his hands back into his pockets.
"Convenient."
The recruits parted unconsciously as he walked past them.
No flame.
No show of power.
But the air seemed to shift slightly around him.
Like something greater had briefly stood there
And chosen not to show itself.
Inside his mind
[You enjoyed that.]
"A little."
[Humans are easy.]
"They are."
A pause.
Then he added quietly—
"But they're trying."
Vortex went silent for a moment.
Then, softer
[Do not get attached.]
He didn't respond.
Because that
Was the real danger.