The day of the Mid-Term Practical Duels dawned with a cruel, indifferent brightness.
The pain was the first thing to greet me. For seven days, I had lived in a private, self-inflicted hell. My muscles were a latticework of fire, my Mana Core a raw, over-stressed nerve. I had not slept in what felt like a year. But as I rose from the floor of my room, my mind was not foggy. It was unnervingly sharp, as if the exhaustion had burned away every superfluous thought, every hint of panic, leaving only a single, cold, crystalline purpose: Endure.
I looked at my hands. The blisters had long since calloused over, and the skin was tough. My body felt different. It was still the lean, aristocratic form of Lucian Greyfall, but it felt denser, harder. The Mana Breathing had worked. I was saturated with my own magic, my bones and muscles reinforced by a fine, internal weave. It was a suit of armor worn under the skin. It would not be enough to win. But it might be enough to live.
I dressed in the formal, light-armor-padded uniform required for the duels. It felt redundant.
As ordered, I met Damien in the main hall. He was the picture of a proud noble, greeting professors and fellow students with his effortless, charismatic smile. When he saw me, his smile became one of proprietary approval. He noted my dark-ringed eyes, my grim, silent expression.
He pulled me aside, his voice a low, encouraging murmur. "You look focused, Lucian. Good. You understand the gravity of this. You understand your part."
"I understand," I said, my voice a dead, toneless rasp.
"Excellent." He gave my shoulder a paternal squeeze. "Remember the plan. He is an animal. You are the thorn. Goad him. Frustrate him. Make him forget he is a 'hero.' Make him show everyone the rabid dog he truly is. This is your stage, Lucian. Make your performance a convincing one."
His words, meant to inspire, only cemented my resolve. My performance would not be for him.
I walked to the Grand Arena alone. It felt like a condemned man's last mile. The academy was electric. The massive, open-air amphitheater was packed, shoulder to shoulder. Students filled the lower tiers, while the upper balconies were reserved for the faculty and visiting nobility—families who had come to see their children perform.
I felt the thousands of eyes on me as I took my place at the designated waiting area. Most were indifferent, but some were filled with the familiar aristocratic disdain for Damien's sidekick.
I scanned the crowd.
I found Damien, seated in a place of honor beside his father, a stern, powerful-looking man. He was looking down at me, not with the anxiety of a general watching a battle, but with the calm, detached confidence of a man who had already won.
My eyes continued to search. I found her. Seraphina. She was in the student stands, not with the nobles. She was staring directly at me, her expression an unreadable, complex mask of pity, contempt, and a sharp, clinical curiosity. She was waiting to see what the coward would do.
Then, a roar went up from the commoner section. Leonidas val Aris stepped into the arena on the opposite side.
My breath caught. This was not the boy from the dining hall. The "thundercloud of rage" had passed. What stood across from me was the storm itself. His face was pale, his expression utterly, terrifyingly calm. There was no hot-headed fury in his eyes. There was no emotional volatility. There was just a cold, dead, and profound hatred. A grief that had been forged into a killing intent.
This was not a beast to be baited. This was an executioner.
Damien's entire plan, my entire preparation, had been based on a "hot-headed, clumsy" rage. This... this was something far more dangerous.
"And for our next match!" the proctor, a battle-scarred professor named Valerius, boomed, his voice magically amplified to fill the arena. "From the House of Greyfall, Lucian Greyfall!"
A polite, sparse spattering of applause, mostly from the noble section.
"And his opponent, the commoner prodigy, Leonidas val Aris!"
A thunderous, deafening roar erupted from the lower tiers. They were screaming his name. He was their hero, their champion.
We walked to the center of the sand-filled arena, stopping ten paces from each other. The proctor stood between us.
"This is a practical duel, gentlemen, not a war," Valerius said, his eyes hard. "You will fight until submission, incapacitation, or my call. Understood? No lethal force. No permanent maiming. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Leonidas just nodded, his dead eyes never leaving mine. Through my Soul Resonance, I felt his aura. It was a compressed, silent, white-hot inferno. He was burning with a rage so deep and so controlled it had become something new.
"Good," Valerius said. "Salute your opponent."
I raised my blunted training sword in a proper, formal salute.
Leonidas did not move. He just stared at me.
"Mr. Aris. Salute," the proctor commanded, his voice sharp.
Slowly, with a reluctance that was an insult in itself, Leonidas lifted his blade a bare inch, then let it drop.
The proctor's eyes narrowed, but he let it go. "Return to your starting positions."
We walked back. I stood on my mark, my feet planted in the sand. I could feel Damien's gaze. I could feel Seraphina's. I could feel the hatred of a thousand students who saw me as the villain.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, sinking into the defensive stance I had practiced a thousand times. I let the mana from my Core flow, not into a weapon, but into my skin, my muscles, my bones. The inner armor was in place. I was the porcupine. I was the rock.
Proctor Valerius raised his hand. "Let the duel... begin!"
He dropped his hand.
And the world exploded.
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[ Author's Note- Hey guys, how are you doing.
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Thank You. ]