The training ground was empty.
No noise. No clashing weapons. No murmurs from onlookers.
Nyx stood at the center of the field.
The sword rested in his right hand—a simple black blade, neither ornate nor gleaming. There was no surge of mana, no elemental invocation, no internal circuits opened. His body was in its natural state, as if he had sealed away everything that marked him as an Awakened.
Across from him stood Leander.
His spear was longer, giving him a clear advantage in reach. His grip was firm, his stance balanced, his breathing steady. He wasn't tense—but he wasn't relaxed either. He was fully present.
A moment of silence passed between them.
No countdown. No signal.
Leander moved first.
One step forward—the spear shot straight toward Nyx's chest. A clean thrust. No hesitation. Not a test, but a direct attack.
Nyx shifted half a step.
The sword rose at a precise angle, the blade brushing the spear's shaft and diverting it just enough to miss its mark. He didn't try to overpower the strike—only redirect it.
Leander pulled back immediately.
He reset to his preferred distance, then attacked again. A second thrust. A third. Each from a different angle. He wasn't rushing blindly—he was building a steady rhythm.
Nyx moved far less than anyone would expect.
He didn't retreat much, nor did he advance recklessly. Every motion was calculated, every parry expended the minimum effort. Sometimes the sword moved. Other times, only his body adjusted its angle.
Minutes passed.
The spear controlled the distance.
The sword waited for a mistake.
Leander realized it.
He increased the pace.
A chain of attacks—step forward, then a sweeping strike with the spear's butt. Nyx retreated this time, the edge of the strike passing dangerously close to his shoulder. He felt the pressure of displaced air.
His expression didn't change.
But Leander felt something.
This wasn't an opponent waiting for exhaustion.
It was an opponent waiting for a moment.
He pressed on.
A low thrust. A quick withdrawal. Then a sudden charge—a feint designed to force a delayed response.
Nyx didn't delay.
A sidestep. A slight rotation. The sword slid along the spear's shaft instead of resisting it.
The distance collapsed.
Leander was forced to retreat quickly.
For the first time, faster than he intended.
Nyx didn't pursue. He stopped, reset his stance, and waited.
Leander's breathing grew heavier—just slightly.
The fight resumed.
This time, he was more cautious. His attacks became intermittent instead of continuous, testing reactions, shifting tempo, trying to break Nyx's pattern.
He succeeded—partially.
One thrust forced Nyx back two steps. Another made him raise his sword higher than he preferred. No injuries—but clear signals.
And yet, each time, Nyx returned to center.
Calm. Silent.
As if the fight wasn't about winning or losing—but about reading.
More time passed.
Sweat gathered on Leander's brow. His shoulders felt heavier. His grip remained firm, but the strain was beginning to show.
Nyx wasn't untouched by effort either.
His breathing deepened. His muscles tightened. Without mana, the burden rested entirely on the body.
Then it happened.
The mistake wasn't obvious.
It wasn't severe.
Leander stepped back half a step too far.
Nyx advanced in the same instant.
The sword rose—a single strike, incomplete, landing against the training armor at Leander's shoulder. Not decisive, but clean.
Both froze.
No one moved.
Seconds passed.
Then Nyx lowered his sword.
The duel hadn't officially ended—but the outcome was clear.
Leander took a deep breath, then straightened. He looked at the point of impact, then back at Nyx.
He smiled.
Then said calmly,
"As I expected—you're stronger than me."
It wasn't a heavy statement. Just a fact.
After a brief pause, he added,
"But not by an overwhelming margin."
Nyx looked at him for a few seconds, then replied in a calm voice, carrying neither challenge nor humility:
"…For now."
Leander stiffened slightly at the words.
They weren't mockery.
Nor arrogance.
They were an incomplete truth.
Nyx turned, heading toward the exit of the field.
Leander remained where he was, staring at his back. The words echoed in his mind.
For now?
What does that mean…?
He took a deep breath, then spoke before Nyx could get any farther.
"Nyx."
Nyx stopped.
This time, he turned.
"I want another duel."
Leander said it plainly. No hesitation. No attempt to soften it with a smile.
A brief silence followed.
Nyx looked at him, as if weighing the words more than the request itself.
"I—"
Leander cut in immediately, his voice not rushed, but sincere.
"You're the only first-year I can fight without holding back or pretending."
He paused, then added more lightly,
"Most of them… can't last at all."
He didn't sound boastful.
He was acknowledging an uncomfortable truth.
Then he continued,
"And also…"
He hesitated for a second before saying,
"You're like me, aren't you?"
He didn't ask it as a question.
He stated it as a conclusion.
"You're trying to move forward on your own."
"And you know that if you stop, others will pass you."
Nyx didn't respond.
But this time, the silence wasn't refusal.
He looked down at the training ground floor, then back at Leander.
"One more duel," he said at last.
"Under the same conditions."
Leander didn't grin widely—but his eyes lit up slightly.
"That's all I want."
Nyx gave a small nod.
"Then… be ready."
He didn't say when.
He didn't say how.
But Leander understood.
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