The morning sun broke over the kingdom's towering walls, its golden rays filtering through the misty haze that lingered across the training fields. Outside the city's eastern gate, where nobles seldom wandered and peasants dared not linger, Ethan stood in the clearing, shirtless and soaked in sweat. But he bandaged his right forearm till his chest, to cover the Leviathan markings. His muscles flexed with each movement, each swing of the blade a dance of discipline and wrath. His eyes, those dark crimson irises, focused on the training dummy that lay in tatters before him.
"Faster," Velina shouted from across the field. She was still wondering how he got those scars on his back. And also admires his toned body, muscles well shaped.
The merchant's daughter stood with her arms crossed, a stern expression plastered across her delicate face. She was dressed in the light gray tunic of a training instructor, her long blue hair tied in a warrior's braid. Despite her age, she was sharp, relentless, and fiercely talented.
"Again, Ethan. That swing was wide."
Ethan exhaled, stepping back and shifting his grip.
"A knight does not strike with rage alone," she called. "Control your footwork. Rage is your weapon, but discipline is your shield."
He nodded silently and moved again.
WHOOSH. THWACK. WHOOSH. THWACK.
Each swing landed sharper than the last. The blade, a fine iron weapon gifted by the Merchant, sliced through the air as if yearning for battle. Sweat beaded on Ethan's forehead and ran down his chest. But he pushed forward. Every strike was a memory. Every slash a vow.
Velina watched him, eyes narrowing. "You're getting better. Faster too. How are you feeling?"
"Like I could cleave a mountain if I wanted," Ethan said through heavy breaths.
She smirked. "Good. Because you might just have to."
But their moment was soon interrupted.
"Oi, peasant dog! Still flailing like a headless chicken?"
The voice came from behind them, laced with mockery and venom. Ethan turned slowly to see a group of noble youths walking toward the field. Leading them was Darius Algrave, the third son of the Duke of Ironspire.
Darius was clad in polished training armor, a real sword strapped to his hip. His blonde hair was slicked back, his smile the kind that belonged to a viper. Beside him were three other nobles, all smirking, arms crossed like arrogant statues.
Velina stepped forward. "Darius, we train here in peace. You and your lapdogs aren't welcome."
"Oh, forgive me, dear Velina," Darius mocked with a shallow bow. "I was simply admiring your... enthusiasm in training street rats."
Ethan's eyes darkened, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
"Back off, Darius," Velina warned. "You don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do," Darius replied. "You see, this savage saved your father's life, didn't he? What better way to thank him than to show him his place?"
Ethan stepped forward, his voice low and steady. "Say another word and I will show you the place your blood belongs."
Gasps rang from the watching nobles.
Darius's eyes flared. "Oh? A duel then? Not with toys. Real blades. Unless the little stray is afraid."
Velina stepped in between them. "Darius, you know the laws. This could get you expelled before the assessment."
"Not if it's agreed upon," Darius grinned, never breaking eye contact with Ethan. "Well, dog? Shall we dance?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. He stepped past Velina and drew his sword. The sun glinted off the dark iron, now engraved with faint runes from countless late-night modifications.
"Fine. You want blood? Let's see if yours is noble enough."
A circle formed. Merchants, guards, and a few early Academy scouts gathered at the edge of the field. The duel was about to begin.
The two young men faced each other.
Velina bit her lip and stepped back. "Don't kill him," she whispered to Ethan.
But Ethan was no longer listening.
The system inside him buzzed faintly.
[SYSTEM ALERT: THREAT DETECTED]
[WARNING: HIGH RISK ENCOUNTER]
[ENEMY: DARIUS ALGRAVE –NOBLE BLOODLINE | KNIGHT TRAINEE]
[WRATH: 12/30]
[SKILL AVAILABLE: ABYSSAL LUNGE]
[WRATH COST: 8]
[WRATH: 35/35]
"Begin!" a scout barked.
Darius lunged first, aiming a wide horizontal slash at Ethan's chest. Ethan stepped back, pivoted on his heel, and deflected the strike with a sharp clang of steel. The vibration rang through his bones, but he gritted his teeth and countered with a swift vertical slash.
CLANG! Sparks flew as their blades met again.
Darius smirked. "Not bad. For a bastard."
Ethan didn't reply. Instead, he stepped inside Darius's guard and slammed his shoulder into the noble's chest. The impact drove Darius back three paces.
[WRATH SURGE DETECTED]
Darius snarled and came again, this time with a spinning slash aimed at Ethan's neck. Ethan squat at the last moment, spun with his leg and tackled Darius. He loss balance and fell to the ground. Ethan brandished his sword, swung it downward at Darius, but he shoulder rolled to the side evading the strike.
Ethan didn't follow, he took two step back, watch and calculated.
"I can't use any of my skills here. I don't know if having a system is a normal thing... I have to keep it secret... My only way out here is through metal" Ethan thought to himself.
He was holding back from using Abyssal lunge, the fight would end faster but suspicions will raise around him
Darius on his feet already, held his blade tighter and charged forward. Ethan did same, each lunching a strike at the other
Slash! CLANK! CLANK! SLASH!
Metal meeting metal. Ethan parried, counter attack and so did Darius. But his strike were becoming predictable. And a knight who is predictable become no danger to his enemy.
So Ethan charge with his whole weight, striking to the left but Darius parried in time. It wasn't enough, the power of the strike was amplified by Ethan's weight, making him stumble. Ethan asserted a combo of three consecutive strikes. Darius parried but his sword left his hand. Ethan jumped and spun mid-air, landing two kicks on Darius cheek. Blood spilled out his mouth.
The watching crowd fell silent.
Darius turned, fury in his eyes. "I will not be humiliated by you!"
He picked his sword and charged wildly, his swings erratic, furious.
Ethan ducked, sidestepped, and countered with precise slashes that bit into Darius's legs and arms.
CLASH. SLICE. STEP. PARRY.
The duel turned into a dance of steel. But only one danced with purpose.
Finally, Ethan knocked the sword from Darius's hand again. It clattered to the ground.
Ethan stepped forward and placed the tip of his blade at the noble's throat.
"Yield."
Darius gasped, bleeding, humiliated. But he nodded.
The scout stepped in. "Duel ends! Victor: Ethan!"
The crowd burst into whispers. Some cheered. Some recoiled. But one truth became undeniable: the boy with no noble blood had defeated a duke's son.
Velina walked up, her eyes wide. "You… you didn't kill him."
Ethan breathed hard, staring at the fallen noble. "He wasn't worth it."
As the crowd dispersed, Ethan turned to the rising sun. His grip on the blade tightened.
This was only the beginning.
And bloodlines… would no longer define power.