Since the first semester at Kingsfield, Liam and his classmates had been assigned to a sword instructor who drilled them relentlessly, correcting their forms during training.
He often wished he could switch to the blunt weapon classes, but that required an ungodly number of merit points and a rigorous application to the academy's head office.
He would need to write a formal statement on why he wanted to change weapons, then wait weeks—maybe months—for approval.
'If only I transmigrated right before the first semester started,' Liam thought with a sigh. 'Now I'm stuck swinging a sword.'
"We're going to start off with some light sparring," the instructor, a man who looked to be in his late twenties, announced.
His sharp voice cut through the chatter of the training hall. "Emphasis on light. Don't let me catch you using mana. And remember to apply the parrying tricks I showed you last week."
His eyes swept over the large training room filled with sword-bearing students. "Pair off with different partners and spar for twenty minutes before switching. I'll be going around correcting and adjusting your postures when necessary."
Liam scanned the crowd, claymore in hand. Before he could choose, a square-jawed boy as tall as Liam, with arms built thick like they were meant to strangle a gladius—approached him.
"Wanna spar?" the boy asked, his voice surprisingly deep for his age.
"Yeah." Liam nodded and raised his claymore.
They circled each other cautiously before clashing. Steel rang against steel as they tested each other's rhythm.
Despite how it might seem to a bystander, Liam actually felt no pressure.
It felt almost casual. His opponent pressed harder and harder, but compared to last week's training, Liam's body moved sharper, lighter.
His strength had abnormally spiked—from F-rank to E+ in what felt like a blink. He'd gone from borderline weakest to suddenly one of the strongest in his class.
The boy across from him, also E-rank but still a minor grade lower, couldn't quite match his power—especially when factoring in Liam's improving physique.
"I see you've ranked up," the boy grunted, locking blades with him. "E-rank now. Not bad." He pushed Liam back a step, then smirked. "You don't mind taking it up a notch, do you?"
Liam smiled faintly. "Not at all."
He answered with a sudden slash.
Their blades sparked as the boy met him blow for blow.
Liam swung low, forcing his opponent to leap back, then immediately pressed forward with a flurry of jabs.
The boy blocked the first two but staggered when Liam twisted his wrist and sent the third strike at an angle that nearly disarmed him.
Recovering quickly, the boy swept forward with a heavy two-handed strike.
Liam parried, the force rattling his arm, but instead of retreating, he slid into the boy's guard and flicked the edge of his blade close enough to graze his shirt.
The boy froze for half a heartbeat—acknowledging Liam could've landed a clean hit—then grinned fiercely and charged again.
Their clash drew attention, more than a few students pausing their own spars to watch.
Liam, still holding back… nonetheless displayed speed and precision far beyond what anyone expected.
When the instructor finally broke them apart, he nodded approvingly at Liam.
"Significant improvement. I'm proud of you, Liam. Keep this up."
Liam nodded silently, chest rising and falling. His energy hadn't fully recovered since the train ride earlier, and he already felt the burn creeping into his limbs.
"Alright, twenty minutes is up. Switch partners!" the instructor barked.
"Let's spar again… next time," the boy said, lowering his blade with a satisfied grin.
***
Liam stretched his arms, scanning the room for a calmer opponent. His eyes swept across the crowd—momentarily lingering on Julian and the elves. But he quickly looked away. The last thing he wanted was to draw their attention, though he doubted such a thing was even possible.
His next spar was with a student completely opposite from the first: a shorter boy with quick feet who wielded two short swords. His movements were flashy, almost acrobatic—spins, twirls, feints—but his rank was only F+.
Liam matched him step for step, parrying with ease and striking when necessary. Compared to the earlier bout, this felt almost relaxing.
His final sparring partner was Sam, the boy who usually sat behind him in class.
"How the hell did you get so strong?" Sam complained mid-fight, his face tight with concentration.
Liam chuckled. "Practice."
Sam blocked, teeth gritted. "I did notice how much harder you've been training these past few weeks…" He ducked under a slash, then added, "But there's no way that alone explains it. You skipped a whole minor rank. F straight to E? That's ridiculous."
Liam deflected his strike and countered lazily. "I practiced really hard."
Sam groaned. "Forget it."
***
As they fought, Liam noticed something was off. The tension in the room shifted. Sam was the first to pause, eyes widening at something behind Liam. Gradually, the rest of the students slowed too, until nearly every gaze was fixed on the same spot.
Liam turned—and saw it.
Julian was sparring with one of the elves. Aeon, the male one.
But calling it sparring was generous. Their blades moved like thunder and lightning, strikes clashing with the intensity of an actual duel.
Liam froze. He remembered reading about this scene in the novel. A vague fragment of memory, written words describing Julian and Aeon's clash. And now it was unfolding right before his eyes in living steel and sweat.
The surrealness of it rooted him to the spot.
"They're leagues above the rest of us," Sam whispered.
It was true. The sheer tempo of their strikes was monstrous—E+ strength, maybe even brushing into D-. Their precision, their timing, their awareness—it was on a different plane entirely.
"I've never seen anyone fight like that," Liam muttered.
"The elf fights like… like a dancer," he added, watching elf's elegant but deadly movements.
"His name's Aeon," Sam supplied quietly.
"What?"
"The male elf. Aeon."
"Weird name," Liam said absently.
Sam shrugged. "I think they all fight like that. You should've seen the girl—Isode. She fights differently, graceful in her own way."
Liam nodded, gaze locked on the duel.
Julian pressed forward with relentless aggression, attacking from every angle, and yet Aeon parried effortlessly—each counter as smooth as flowing water.
Watching them, Liam felt a fire ignite in his chest.
His blood stirred.
He wanted to stand where they stood, to face them, to test himself against the best of the best.
But he knew his strength wasn't anywhere near theirs. Not yet.
One day, he vowed. I'll catch up. I'll surpass them.
"Who do you think would win?" Sam whispered.
"It's a spar, not a fight," Liam said, though the clash before them hardly looked like one.
"Just—if it was. Who would win?"
Liam fell silent. The tempo of their battle kept rising, strikes growing sharper, heavier. Aeon's finesse met Julian's brute will in a dance of steel.
"When it comes to a battle between swordsmen…" Liam said grimly, "Julian won't ever lose."
Sam gave him a strange look. "You sound too sure. Like you know something. Source?"
"Source?" Liam smirked. "Bro… divine intuition."
Sam chuckled softly.
But before the clash could reach its climax—
"Your twenty minutes are up!" the instructor's voice cut through the air, halting everything.
A collective groan rose from the students.
"Cry all you want," the instructor snapped. "It's time for the next exercise."
Liam stretched, exhaling, then glanced once more at Aeon. He noticed the elf's brow furrow ever so slightly in frustration.
And for no reason at all, Liam's lips tugged into a crooked smile.
***
Author's Note:
If you've read this far, thank you for sticking with me. It really means a lot.
This is my first book, so I hope you'll bear with me as I grow along the way.
Don't forget to add the story to your collection; I'll be dropping a new chapter every day after each reset.
And please don't be a ghost reader. Your comments, thoughts, and suggestions help me improve, so feel free to share them below!
***