A male assistant strode onto the colosseum stage, his crisp tunic and clipped tone screaming "no-nonsense NPC."
"Each of you will be assigned a dorm room and a training dummy in it. Understood?" he barked.
"Sir, yes, sir!" the students shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the arena's stone walls. I just blinked, caught off guard. That's it? The speech was shorter than a tutorial cutscene! Liam's three rules and this guy's dorm talk—Xyuli Academy was not messing around.
"Follow me to the dorms!" the assistant ordered, marching off the stage. The students trailed him, leaving the fancy-clad parents behind. I glanced back at Masamato, who stood by the benches, flashing a proud grin and waving. His lips mouthed, Good luck. I shot him a thumbs-up, my chest warming at his dad-like vibe, and hustled to catch up with the group.
The assistant led us out of the colosseum, through the back forest and into a quieter wing I hadn't seen before. My mind buzzed—a dorm room? Never had one back on Earth.
On the way "Is the Dorm room also part of the Guild's property?"
We emerged out of the forest, and my jaw dropped at the dormitory building looming ahead. The structure was a beast, its exterior a fortress of gray stone carved with intricate runes that pulsed faintly, like the guild's mosaic floor. Arched windows, framed in dark iron, glinted under the morning sun, their stained glass casting kaleidoscopic flecks of crimson and sapphire across the cobblestone path. Ivy clung to the walls, weaving around statues of sword-wielding heroes perched on ledges, their bronze blades weathered but proud. Twin spires flanked the entrance, their tips piercing the sky, giving the place a vibe halfway between a castle and an elite academy. No way this is just for 400 students, I thought. Then it clicked—Xyuli's been running eight years, and there were only 400 students.
We stepped through the double oak doors into the interior, and the grandeur didn't quit. The foyer sprawled wide, its polished marble floor inlaid with silver crests—probably Xyuli's emblem, a crossed sword and flame. Crystal chandeliers hung from a vaulted ceiling, their light dancing on tapestries depicting epic battles, their threads shimmering with faint enchantments. A grand staircase of dark wood swept upward, its banisters carved with coiling dragons, while corridors branched off, lined with sconces that flickered with arcane flames. The air carried a crisp scent of wax, old leather, and a hint of ozone, like magic was baked into the walls. Students' footsteps echoed, mingling with the low hum of enchanted runes humming faintly from the stonework. It felt like walking into an endgame guild hall, every corner screaming prestige and power.
"Here we are!" the assistant announced, halting in the foyer. "Rest today—training starts tomorrow, 6 a.m., at the colosseum. I'll assign your rooms now." He rattled off names and numbers:
"Slyia, Room 107. Williams, Room 16…" and so on.
I got Room 102. Nice and low—maybe I wouldn't get lost.
"Find your rooms yourselves," he added, a sly grin creeping in.
"Consider it your first test." With that, he vanished down a corridor, leaving us to fend for ourselves. What freaking test!! We are adults!!
I waited for someone to protest—Seriously, no guide?—but the rich kids stayed eerily calm, like they'd expected this curveball. Some whipped out magic, their hands glowing as they muttered tracking spells to locate their rooms. Magic to find a freaking room? This world's cheat codes were unfair.
Others went solo, striding off with smug confidence, while groups formed for nearby room numbers. I tagged along with a crew headed for rooms 100–110, led by a wiry girl whose spell lit up like a GPS, her fingers tracing a shimmering thread through the air. Show-off.
Our group of six chatted to get acquainted—names, hometowns, the usual. I dodged the Japan truth, claiming "Solva native" with a shrug. No one blinked, thankfully. We swapped small talk—some were from Xipen's noble houses, others from merchant families bankrolling their shot at glory.
After nearly thirty minutes of winding through rune-lit corridors and up a creaky staircase, we reached our rooms.
I waved goodbye, their chatter fading as I pushed open the door to Room 102.The dorm room was compact but cozy, like an adventurer's crash pad leveled up. A single bed hugged the wall beside a tall, arched window, its rippled glass framing a view of Solva's spires, the midday sun casting dappled light across the polished oak floorboards. The bed's frame was sturdy iron, its mattress plush under a woolen blanket dyed deep indigo, a faint sword-and-flame crest stitched into the corner. A table stood nearby, its dark wood nicked but solid, paired with a simple chair and a brass lantern, its wick unlit but ready to glow. A training dummy loomed in the corner, its straw-stuffed body wrapped in leather, marked with faded sword slashes—someone's old sparring partner. Shelves lined one wall, empty but dusted, ready for my gear. A small bathroom tucked in the back was a surprise—stone walls, a copper basin, and a rune-etched faucet that hummed faintly, probably charmed for hot water. The air smelled of fresh linen and cedar, with a hint of dust from the beams overhead, their knots staring down like watchful eyes. It wasn't a palace, but for a solo F-rank like me? Jackpot.
I flopped onto the bed, the mattress yielding with a soft creak. "I can't wait to get stronger!" I murmured, grinning like an idiot. Jolting up, I unpacked my haul on the table: the Sword of Absolute Death, its red gem winking; the tome, its glyphs daring me to read; and my coin-heavy bag, maps crinkling inside. No more inn rent, hell yeah. Plus, there's a caféteria, so food's covered. Then Lance's voice echoed in my head:
"School food tastes like shit—nobody eats there" .
Can't be that bad, right? I shrugged, lying back down, exhaustion hitting like a debuff.
"Well, I hope I remember how to get back down there" I said while looking at the window.
The window showed Solva's bustle, but it wasn't even noon. Whatever. Today's my only day off—might as well milk it. I drifted off, the room's cedar scent lulling me to sleep.
I jolted awake in the evening, my stomach roaring like a starved direwolf. "Ugh, I'm starving," I groaned, dragging myself off the bed. Where's the cafeteria, anyway? No one gave me a map of this rune-crazy building. I stumbled out of my Room, my boots scuffing the oak floor, and wandered the dormitory's maze-like corridors. Rune-lit sconces flickered, casting eerie shadows on the dragon-carved banisters, but no signs pointed to food. Gah, why's this place a dungeon crawl? Just give me a minimap or something! After what felt like an eternity—dodging dead ends —I finally stumbled on the cafeteria, its double doors propped open, spilling a faint glow into the hall.
The cafeteria was a cavernous space, more functional than fancy, a far cry from the guild hall's opulence. Its vaulted ceiling loomed high, supported by plain stone columns, their surfaces etched with faded runes that barely glowed, like someone forgot to recharge them. Long oak tables stretched in neat rows, their surfaces scratched and stained from years of student meals, flanked by mismatched benches that creaked under weight. Iron chandeliers dangled above, their lanterns casting a dim, flickering light that left corners shrouded in gloom. The floor was scuffed stone, littered with crumbs and the occasional spilled sauce, a testament to the day's earlier crowds. Along one wall, a serving counter of weathered wood held trays of dubious-looking food: grayish stew, lumpy bread, and some wilted greens that screamed "zero flavor." A lone cook, his apron stained, ladled portions with a bored grunt, the clank of his ladle echoing in the near-empty room. The air hung heavy with the greasy scent of overcooked meat, stale broth, and a faint sour tang, like milk gone bad. A single window, high and narrow, let in slivers of twilight, doing little to brighten the mood
. Only a handful of students dotted the tables—five, maybe six—hunched over their trays, eating in silence or muttering in low tones.
I grabbed a tray—stew, bread, and a cup of watery juice, all looking as sad as an F-rank quest reward—and scanned the room. Maybe I should make friends first I thought. Social stat boost, let's go. Most tables were empty, but one had a lone guy, about my age, picking at his food. His tunic was deep navy, its silver embroidery glinting, screaming "rich kid," yet here he was, eating cafeteria slop. Weird. I shuffled over.
"Excuse me, can I sit here?" I asked, flashing a grin. He glanced up, his dark eyes sizing me up.
"Sure," he said, voice flat, returning to his stew. I plopped down, the bench creaking.
"Why're you eating here? I heard this stuff tastes like shit," I said, poking my lumpy bread.
"Why're you eating here?" he shot back, one eyebrow raised.
"Uh, haha, 'cause I'm broke," I lied, scratching my neck.
"Exactly," he said, shrugging. Wait, what? I pegged him for a noble, but maybe he's got a sponsor like me.
"Anyway," I said, switching gears, "you think this dorm's part of the guild's property?" It'd been bugging me since we left the colosseum.
He paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "This is the guild's backyard. Of course the school and dorms are guild property."
For real? My jaw dropped. I'd suspected Xyuli was guild-tied, but the whole campus? Just how massive is this place?
"I see," I muttered, trying to play it cool.
"Btw, I'm Kozuki, Solva native," I said, offering a hand.He shot me a sharp glance.
"Aazroth, Solva native," he replied, ignoring my hand. Not a talker, huh.
We ate in awkward silence, the stew's bland, gritty taste making me wince. Lance wasn't kidding. I tried again.
"So, three months is super short, right? How're we supposed to learn anything that fast, haha?"
Aazroth's glare could've frozen a dragon. "I supposed you don't know,despite only 8 years of opening Xyuli's one of the top sword academies in Kingdom Xipen?" he said, his tone dripping impatience.
"It's produced legendary swordsmen, including the latest Sword Saint."
The Sword Saint?! My fork clattered. That's S-rank-level hype!
"He had birth blessings, sure," Aazroth went on, suddenly animated, like he was reciting a guild pamphlet. "But he said he'd never have become Sword Saint without Xyuli's guidance and his family's support."
Okay, why's he fanboying now? His pride was weirdly contagious, though. "I see," I said, nodding.Silence crashed back, heavier than my training dummy. A few minutes later, Aazroth finished, stood, and muttered, "Bye," before striding off.
'Shit I forgot to ask his room number, I will asked him tomorrow'
I scarfed the last of my meal—barely edible—and trudged back to my room, the dorm's maze-like corridors mocking me again. Why no map, Xyuli?
I reached my room, flung open the door, and beelined for the window. Leaning out, I heaved, vomiting into the night air. What the hell was that food made of? Lance was right—it was pure garbage. I wiped my mouth, grimacing. Never again.
Maybe I should train to get the tastes out of my mouth. I grabbed the Sword of Absolute Death, its red gem glinting, and faced the leather-wrapped dummy. I swung hard, picturing Liam's smug face, but after a few strikes, the dummy barely flinched—just a few scratches on its hide. What? I poured all my strength into that! It should've been shredded!
Ugh, whatever. I tossed the sword onto the table, its clatter echoing my frustration, and collapsed onto the bed. Exhaustion hit like a critical debuff, my body aching. 6 a.m. training? Why so early? Last time I woke that early was high school, cramming for exams. Why am I this tired? I'd napped four hours ago! Glancing out the window, Solva's lanterns twinkled under a starry sky—probably 10 p.m., no clocks to confirm. This world needs watches. Maybe the dummy swings drained me. No training outside class, ever, I vowed, eyes drooping. With that, I drifted into sleep, the cedar scent of my room fading into dreams.
The next morning, I was dreaming of Earth's instant ramen when a bellowing voice shattered my peace. "Everyone, wake up! You all have ten minutes to get down here!"
Who's shouting at this ungodly hour? I groaned, peeling my eyes open. The assistant's silhouette loomed outside, visible through my window's rippled glass. Oh, right—training. Why does it have to be 6 a.m tho? I dragged myself out of bed, half-zombified, and fumbled into my charcoal tunic. Grabbing the Sword of Absolute Death, its red gem glinting like it was mocking my exhaustion, I stumbled out of my room. Still no clue about this dorm's layout. I wandered the rune-lit corridors, dodging dragon-carved banisters and dead ends, until I finally found the exit—dead last, naturally.
The assistant glanced at his pocket watch, then at me, his scar twitching but saying nothing. Clocks do exist here? I sho buy one.
"I'll only escort you for one week," he announced, voice sharp. "Starting next week, you're on your own to reach the colosseum by 6 a.m. Latecomers get extra training hours as punishment."
Extra hours? My legs already felt like jelly.
"Let's go—Liam's waiting," he added, leading us down a wooded path. No breakfast? My stomach growled, but I trudged along, marveling at the guild's scale. A whole forest and a colosseum in their backyard? This place was an open-world map on steroids.We reached the colosseum, its sandy floor and stern warrior statues as intimidating as ever.
Liam stood center-stage, his icy aura chilling the dawn air. "Formation!" he barked.
We snapped into line, my boots scuffing the sand. "Before we begin," Liam said, pacing, "here's the training structure. First month: basic training. Second: intermediate. Third: advanced. At each month's end, a competitive test will score your sword skills. No one fails, but score below 100, and you'll get extra training hours—plus extra months at 10 gold coins each."
What?! My jaw dropped. He's milking these rich kids dry! Ten gold per extra month? Masamato's vouching was my only lifeline here.
"Let's start," Liam continued. "If you don't have a sword, you can grab one by the entrance." He paused, but no one moved.
"Good. Everyone's got their own."
He split us into groups, drilling us all morning on vertical cuts, diagonal cuts, horizontal cuts, and thrusts. My arms burned, the Sword of Absolute Death feeling like a lead weight. By lunch break, I was starving. No way was I risking the cafeteria's vomit-inducing slop again.
I bolted into Solva, clutching my coin pouch, and hit the nearest restaurant—a cozy joint with a wooden sign reading Iron Skewer. I wolfed down a juicy roast chicken, its crispy skin heaven for only 4 copper coins. Score. The downside? Climbing those guild stairs again to get back. My legs cursed me with every step.
After lunch, we repeated the same grueling routine—cuts, thrusts, sweat. By the end, I was so wiped I couldn't even think about dinner. Navigating the dorm's maze back to my room felt like a bonus quest with no reward. I tossed my sword onto the table, its clatter echoing my defeat, and collapsed onto the bed.
"So this is sword training," I muttered, muscles screaming. Oh, right—Aazroth. I'd asked his room number this morning—106, just down the hall. Maybe I'll visit tomorrow… if I'm not a walking corpse. Exhaustion won, and I passed out.The next day was a carbon copy: 6 a.m. wake-up, endless cuts, chicken run to Iron Skewer, more cuts, no dinner, maze slog. I didn't visit Aazroth—too dead. By night, I flopped onto my bed, sore as hell. "Liam said we're stuck on cuts for a week," I groaned. My hands and feet throbbed, but at least they let us out by 6 p.m. Small mercies. I drifted off, praying for a stat boost.But the next day, something happened—something I never saw coming and definitely didn't want.
Under the pale glow of a crescent moon, Masamato strode along the outer walls of Solva, his obsidian armor gleaming faintly, flanked by two city guards. Their lanterns cast flickering pools of light across the frost-kissed grass, the only sounds the crunch of their boots and the distant howl of a night wind. This was their nightly ritual: patrol the city's shadowed alleys, then circle the towering walls, a bulwark against Solva's rising tide of crime.
The air was sharp with the scent of pine and damp earth, the stars above a cold, unyielding witness to their vigil.
"The crime rate's dropped significantly, sir, thanks to you," one guard said, his voice tinged with awe.Masamato chuckled, his breath misting in the chill. "Not just me—it's our combined work," he replied, his tone warm but firm, ever deflecting praise.
"Don't be so hum—" The guard's words choked off as a silver arc flashed through the dark. His head toppled, blood spraying the grass, his body crumpling before it could register the blow.
Masamato's sword rasped free in an instant, its rune-etched blade glinting as he dropped into a defensive stance, shock flickering across his weathered face. "Watch out!" he shouted to the second guard, but the warning came too late. Another unseen strike severed the man's head, his lantern crashing to the ground, its flame guttering out. The moon alone illuminated the carnage, casting long shadows over the headless corpses.
Masamato's pulse thundered, but his A-rank discipline snapped him back to calm. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady, eyes scanning the darkness.
A low, mocking chuckle slithered from the shadows. "Oh, I think you know." A dagger hurtled forth, slicing the air at sonic speed, aimed for Masamato's face. He parried with preternatural ease, the blade sparking against his sword, the deflected projectile vanishing into the night.
"Impressive," came the voice, dripping with sardonic praise.
"No wonder they call you one of Solva's finest."
"Show yourself," Masamato growled, gripping his sword tighter, its runes pulsing faintly.
"Eager, are we?" The figure stepped from the gloom, his black cloak billowing like liquid shadow, a half-mask of obsidian concealing his eyes, its edges glinting with cruel intent. Twin daggers gleamed in his hands, their blades etched with runes that drank the moonlight.
"Fovos," Masamato said, his voice a low rumble, recognizing the adventurer-killer.
"The one and only," Fovos In Shadow replied, his smirk audible.Without hesitation, Masamato charged, his sword a blazing arc aimed at Fovos's chest.
Fovos met the strike with both daggers crossed, the clash ringing like a struck bell, sparks cascading into the frost.
"Ignite!" Masamato roared, and his blade erupted in a torrent of crimson flames, the inferno surging outward, engulfing the grass behind Fovos in a searing blaze. The fire's roar drowned the night, its heat warping the air, but Fovos was already gone, a blur of shadow reappearing behind Masamato.
A dagger slashed down, but Masamato spun, parrying with a grunt, the impact jarring his bones.
"I knew this wouldn't be easy," Masamato said, eyes narrowing, his stance unshaken.
"Englacir!" he chanted, and his sword flared anew, wreathed in flames that crackled with arcane fury, casting his face in a hellish glow.
"Surrender," he demanded, voice like iron.Fovos laughed, a chilling sound.
"Why would I?" He lunged, daggers weaving a deadly dance, their runes flaring as they sliced through the air. Masamato parried, each block precise, but Fovos's speed was relentless, a storm of strikes forcing Masamato to pivot and weave across the scorched earth.
"Engulf!" Masamato bellowed, swinging his sword in a wide arc. A massive wave of fire erupted, a tidal surge of flame that devoured the grass and lit the night like a second sun.
Fovos darted aside, his cloak singed but his movements fluid, dodging at near-sonic speed.
"Fire!" Masamato chanted, hurling fireballs that streaked like comets, their heat blistering the air. Fovos wove through them effortlessly, a shadow flickering in the blaze. "Too slow!" he taunted, dashing forward, daggers gleaming.
Masamato stabbed his sword into the ground. "Engulf!" A towering wall of flame erupted around them, a roaring prison of fire that sealed them in a molten arena, the grass beneath reduced to ash. Fovos's strike came, but Masamato blocked, their weapons locking, the heat of the fire wall singeing their armor.
"Nowhere to run," Masamato said, his voice grim, sweat beading on his brow.
Fovos's masked eyes glinted. "But not for me." He surged forward, faster than before, one dagger grazing the flames, its blade glowing red-hot. The strike came like lightning, aimed at Masamato's chest.
Masamato twisted, barely dodging, but the dagger tore through his obsidian armor at the shoulder, blood welling from the gash. Pain flashed across his face, but he held his ground, his calm fraying yet unbroken.
"Not bad," Fovos said, landing lightly behind him, his cloak swirling.
"You too," Masamato replied, voice steady despite the wound. He raised his free hand skyward.
"Phoenix!" A deafening screech split the night as a colossal fire phoenix materialized above, its wings of flame illuminating the battlefield in blinding gold. The beast dove, talons of fire outstretched, aiming for Fovos.
The ground quaked as it struck, waves of flame exploding outward, scorching the earth into blackened craters. Fovos leapt clear, his cloak charred, but the blast's heat forced him to stagger. Seizing the moment, Masamato charged, his flaming sword a blur. Fovos parried, daggers flashing, their duel a whirlwind of steel and fire. Strikes rained from every angle, Fovos's speed growing demonic, each blow harder to block. A dagger grazed Masamato's side, slicing through armor, drawing a thin line of blood. "Is this the might of one of Solva's best A-rank?" Fovos sneered. "Pathetic."
Doubt flickered in Masamato's mind—Am I going to die?—but he shoved it aside. Not yet. With a primal roar, he swung, his blade catching Fovos's left arm, carving a shallow gash. Fovos didn't flinch, his laughter maniacal.
"Hahahaha!" He pressed the assault, daggers a blur, forcing Masamato back, the fire wall's heat blistering their skin.
"Enough!" Masamato roared.
"Blaze of Fire!" His body ignited, a radiant aura of flame erupting outward, a supernova that consumed the battlefield. The fire wall collapsed inward, its flames merging with his aura in a cataclysmic inferno. The night turned to day, the ground charring to ash, the air a furnace of searing heat. When the blaze faded, only scorched earth remained, lit by the moon's cold gaze.
"Is he dead?" Masamato panted, sword raised, scanning the smoke. Something seems wrong, and as he turn around to defend. But it was too late, A shadow flickered behind him.
Fovos's twin daggers plunged into his chest, piercing his heart with surgical precision. Masamato's eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips.
I haven't even use my full power.
"No" Fovos whispered, his voice a venomous hiss, yanking the daggers free.
Masamato's sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground with a hollow ring. He sank to his knees, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes lifeless, his face frozen in a mask of defiance. His body slumped, a kneeling monument to his final stand, surrounded by the smoldering ruins of their battle—charred grass, shattered earth, and the faint crackle of dying embers.
"You fought well, although you couldn't satisfy me" Fovos said, his tone devoid of warmth. He turned, his cloak melting into the darkness, leaving Masamato's corpse to the mercy of the moonlit night.
Moments before the grim discovery, in the heart of Solva's security headquarters, Lucian sat in his office, a fortress of dark oak and rune-etched stone. Maps of Kingdom Xipen sprawled across his desk, their edges curling under the dim glow of a single arcane lamp. A sharp knock broke the silence.
"Come in," Lucian called, his voice a low rumble, eyes not lifting from the patrol reports.
A guard entered, his chainmail clinking softly, his face taut with urgency.
"Yes, sir," he said, saluting.
"What is it?" Lucian asked, glancing up, his silver-streaked beard catching the lamplight.
"Sir, reports of a Fire Phoenix and violent disturbances outside the walls," the guard said, his words clipped. "Blazes lit up the western perimeter."
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
"Masamato," he murmured, the name heavy with recognition. The A-rank adventurer's signature phoenix spell was unmistakable. He rose, his crimson cloak sweeping the floor, and seized his rune-carved longsword from its stand.
"Let's move. Rally every guard available—now."
"Yes, sir!" The guard bolted from the room.
Lucian strode out, his boots echoing through the guild's marble halls, as fifteen elite guards—ranging from B-rank veterans to low A-rank prodigies—fell in behind him. Their armor gleamed under torchlight, swords and spears at the ready, their faces set with grim resolve. The group surged through Solva's gates, the night air biting with frost, the moon a pale sickle casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. The western wall loomed ahead, its runes flickering faintly, as if sensing the chaos beyond.
They reached the site, and time seemed to freeze. Masamato's body knelt in the scorched earth, a tragic monument amidst the battle's aftermath. His obsidian armor was rent and charred, its once-impenetrable plates gouged by dagger strikes, blood seeping from a jagged tear at his shoulder and a thin gash along his side. His chest bore the fatal wound—twin punctures where Fovos's daggers had pierced his heart, crimson rivulets staining his tunic, pooling in the ash beneath him. His sword, its rune-etched blade dulled by soot, lay discarded nearby, its hilt glinting faintly in the moonlight, a silent witness to his final stand.
Masamato's face was frozen in defiance, his jaw set, but his eyes, once sharp with A-rank fire, stared blankly, their light extinguished. Strands of his dark hair, singed and matted with blood, clung to his brow, stirred by a faint night breeze. The surrounding ground was a wasteland of devastation: grass reduced to blackened ash, craters from a phoenix's impact smoldering with residual embers, and the faint crackle of dying flames echoing in the stillness. The air hung heavy with the acrid stench of burned earth, blood, and molten metal, a grim testament to the inferno that had raged mere moments ago.Lucian and the guards halted, their breaths catching in collective shock. A low murmur rippled through the ranks.
"How did this happen?" one guard whispered, his spear trembling. "Who could do this to him?" another asked, voice hoarse. "Fovos?" a third ventured, the name a curse In the night.
Lucian approached cautiously, his boots crunching on charred grass. He knelt beside Masamato, his gauntleted hand hovering over the lifeless form. He pressed two fingers to Masamato's neck, searching for a pulse, then rested his palm against the bloodied chest. "He's dead," Lucian said, his voice a hollow echo, weighted with grief and disbelief.The guards' murmurs grew louder, a mix of fear and awe.
"If Fovos did this," a B-rank guard said, gripping his sword, "he's stronger than we thought."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Stronger than most," he agreed, his gaze lingering on the twin dagger wounds, their precision chillingly surgical. He reached out, his hand steady despite the tremor in his heart, and gently closed Masamato's eyelids, shrouding the lifeless stare.
"Rest in peace," he whispered, his voice thick. "You served Solva with honor."
Rising, Lucian turned to the guards, his crimson cloak billowing as he drew himself to full height.
"Put the city on full alert," he commanded, his voice cutting through the night like a blade. "Tighten security tenfold—gates, walls, alleys, all of it. There is ought to a surge in crime. Fovos is no mere killer; he's a force we can't underestimate."
"Sir, yes, sir!" the guards shouted in unison, their resolve hardening despite the fear in their eyes. They dispersed to carry out the order, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies as they vanished into the darkness, leaving Lucian alone with Masamato's body, the moon casting its cold judgment over the scene of a hero fallen.
On Myrrheign morning, after a grueling session of sword cuts at Xyuli Academy, Liam summoned me to his office. I stood before the double oak doors, their rune-carved surfaces looming like a final boss gate. My stomach churned. What does he want? My F-rank brain spiraled—Am I flunking? Is he expelling me?! No way, I'd been hacking at that dummy like my life depended on it. Swallowing hard, I knocked, my knuckles barely grazing the wood.
"Come in," Liam's voice rumbled, cold as ever.
"Yes, sir," I said, stepping inside. His office was a fortress of polished mahogany, shelves crammed with tomes and a massive desk strewn with guild reports. I stood stiffly before him, the Sword of Absolute Death heavy at my hip.
"You called, sir?"
"What do—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Masamato is dead."
My heart stopped, like someone hit pause on my isekai life. What?! Masamato—dead? No way.
"You're joking, right? Hahaha," I forced out, my laugh brittle, echoing in the silent room.
Liam's face was a mask of granite, his eyes shadowed with a grief I'd never seen in him. No smirk, no ice—just raw, heavy sadness.
"Hey, that can't be real, right?" My voice cracked, panic clawing my chest. But Liam ignored me, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond.
"Masamato's funeral is in two hours," he said, voice low. "I expect you'll attend. He was your savior, after all."
"Don't ignore me!" I shouted, desperate.
"He's not dead, right? Answer me! He can't be!" I sounded pathetic, clinging to a guy I'd only known a month, but Masamato was my lifeline—my mentor, my cheat code in this world.
"He's dead," Liam said, calm as a still lake, but his words hit like a critical strike.
"That's all. If you're going, be at the guild entrance in an hour. Skip training today. Dismissed."
Rage and despair boiled over. I stormed out, slamming the door, my head screaming No! Denial was my only shield. How? Masamato was A-rank, untouchable. How did he die?! My thoughts raced—Fovos? A monster? A trap? I stumbled through Xyuli's corridors, barely seeing the rune-lit sconces, until I slumped against a wall, chest heaving. Slowly, the fog cleared. I have to go to his funeral. I owed him that much.
An hour later, I grabbed my gear—sword which I left at the colosseum—and headed to the guild entrance. The towering arches and gilded spires mocked my mood, their grandeur hollow. I waited, boots scuffing the cobblestones, until Liam emerged, his cloak stark against the dawn.
"Let's go" he said, voice clipped. I nodded, words stuck in my throat. We descended the guild's cursed stairs—my nemesis, now just a numb slog—and climbed into a luxurious horse cart, its ebony frame polished to a mirror sheen, cushioned seats draped in velvet.
The driver snapped the reins, and we rolled through Solva's bustling streets. Merchants hawked wares, adventurers clinked in armor, but the air felt heavier, the crowds thinner. I peered out the window, spotting guards—way more than usual—posted at every corner, their spears glinting, eyes scanning like hawks.
Liam sat silent, his face carved from stone, and I couldn't muster a word either. The cart's wheels rumbled, carrying us toward the Inevitable.
We arrived at the cemetery, a sprawling expanse tucked beyond Solva's western gate, where ancient trees whispered secrets to the dead. The iron gates creaked open, their rusted vines curling like skeletal fingers, revealing a maze of weathered tombstones stretching into the mist. The ground was uneven, cloaked in damp moss and fallen leaves, crunching underfoot as we walked. Obelisks and marble statues loomed—sword-wielding heroes, weeping people, their stone faces eroded by time, some cradling rune-etched lanterns that glowed faintly, casting eerie flickers across the graves. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, decaying flowers, and a faint metallic tang, like blood long spilled. Willow trees drooped low, their branches swaying in a mournful breeze, while distant crows cawed, their calls echoing like a grim chorus. The atmosphere was heavy, oppressive, as if the cemetery itself mourned, its silence broken only by the soft tread of mourners and the occasional sob.
As we stepped through the gates, the red sapphire in my sword's hilt flared in its sheath, a brief pulse of crimson light I didn't notice, too lost in dread. We approached the funeral site, a cleared circle ringed by low stone pillars, each carved with Solva's crest—a flame-wreathed sword. A wooden bier stood at the center, draped in black silk, and there he was: Masamato's lifeless body. My breath caught, denial shattering like glass. His obsidian armor, once gleaming, was scarred and charred, its plates cracked.
Bloodstains marred his tunic, darkest at the punctures over his heart, the wounds unnaturally precise. His face, even in death, held a flicker of defiance, but his closed eyes and blood-matted hair stole any trace of the man who'd ruffled my head.
A singed locket hung from his neck, its clasp broken, a quiet relic of his life. Beside him, his rune-etched sword rested, cleaned of soot, its blade reflecting the gray sky, a silent honor guard. Wreaths of white lilies and burning incense encircled the bier, their sweet smoke curling upward, mingling with the mist. A guild banner, crimson with gold trim, draped the bier's edge, its embroidered flame dimmed by the occasion.
The funeral was crowded, a sea of mourners—guild officials in formal cloaks, adventurers with lowered heads, and citizens whispering prayers. Even Jame, his scar stark under the torchlight, lingered at the edge, his eyes unreadable.
Lucian stood near the bier, his face etched with grief, flanked by guards, their armor dulled for mourning, spears grounded in respect. The Midnight Vanguard gathered close—Suzuki, her emerald eyes red-rimmed; Lance, forcing a grim smirk; Gild, silent as stone. Their presence hit hard, like losing a party member in a raid.
"You came," Suzuki said, approaching with Lance and Gild, her voice soft but strained.
"Yeah," I croaked, staring at Masamato's body.
"I can't believe he's gone."
"He was a fool," Lance said, his usual bravado brittle. "Should've run if he couldn't win." His eyes betrayed him, glistening with unshed tears, his cheer a flimsy mask.
Gild stood mute, quieter than ever, his massive frame hunched, like the weight of loss crushed even his S-rank strength. I wanted to say something, but words felt useless.
Then Lucian approached, his crimson cloak sweeping the mossy ground, his silver beard catching the faint rune-light. His eyes met mine, heavy with a sorrow that mirrored my own.
"You're Kozuki, right?" Lucian said, his voice low, his silver-streaked beard catching the torchlight at Masamato's funeral."Yes, sir," I replied, my throat tight, still reeling from the sight of Masamato's lifeless body on the stone slab.
"I'm sorry for your loss. I know you owed him much," he said, his eyes heavy with shared grief.
"Yes, sir," I managed, barely a whisper. He nodded and walked back to his corner, his crimson cloak trailing. The mourners stood in a somber circle, the cemetery's lilies and scorched earth a grim backdrop.
After a moment, Lucian stepped near the bier, his presence commanding silence. "May I speak?" he asked.The crowd stilled.
"We believe Fovos, the infamous adventurer-killer, is responsible," he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
"We don't know his next target, but rest assured, the security department is doing everything to catch him."
Whispers erupted—fearful, angry. I knew it! Fovos. Rage flared in my chest. I'll kill him. Then reality hit: Stop dreaming, F-rank loser. My fists clenched, helpless.
"That's all," Lucian said, returning to his place. A cold voice broke the silence.
"I want to speak." It was Jame, his scar stark under the flickering torches. He stepped forward, his dark eyes glinting.
"I didn't know Masamato personally, but his reputation was great. It's a tragedy a man like him is gone." His voice hardened.
"Fovos killed my best friend— that's no rumor, it's truth. I swear I'll kill him, not just for Masamato, but for all his victims." He stalked back to his corner, leaving a chill in the air.
I wanted to speak, to scream Masamato's name, but anxiety choked me, my F-rank courage failing. The burial began, Masamato's shrouded body lowered into the earth, the guild's sword-and-flame crest vanishing beneath soil. I lingered with the Midnight Vanguard—Suzuki, Lance, and Gild—trading quiet words of grief. "Goodbye," I said, my voice cracking, before leaving with Liam. On the way out, I glimpsed Jame striding off, his cloak a shadow in the dusk.
By the time our horse cart rolled back to the guild, evening had settled, Solva's lanterns glowing like fireflies. I trudged up those cursed stairs, my legs leaden, and navigated the dormitory, its rune-lit corridors now familiar. In my room, I dropped my Sword of Absolute Death on the table, not knowing its red sapphire pulsing faintly in it's sheath. It felt lighter, but I shrugged it off. Probably my imagination. I collapsed onto the bed, Masamato's face haunting me as I drifted to sleep.
The next week dragged on, a blur of training—morning and evening sword cuts, my arms screaming, no time to mourn. The second week after starting Xyuli shifted gears: no more cuts, now guard stances—Low Guard, High Guard, Middle Guard, and parries. My body ached, but I memorized each stance, desperate to prove I belonged among C-ranks and higher.
By the third week, Liam taught us basic sparring himself, his rune-etched sword flashing as he demonstrated. I got knocked on my butt more than once, but I kept swinging. On the Third Elyndar evening, I remembered Aazroth. I meant to visit him weeks ago. No excuses tonight. I knocked on Room 106's door.
"Oh, it's you," Aazroth said, opening it, his navy tunic pristine.
"Can I come in?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, stepping aside. His room was spotless—bed made, table bare, not a speck of dust, unlike my chaos den. We talked, but he was his usual curt self, answering in clipped sentences. Mention the Sword Saint, though, and he lit up like an otaku at a convention, ranting nonstop about the guy's legendary feats. Total fanboy. We touched on Fovos, too, his name souring the mood.
Around 9 p.m., I said goodbye and shuffled back to my room, the dorm's cedar scent lulling me to sleep.The fourth week introduced imbuing magic into swords, straight out of an isekai anime. We used mana, but Aazroth had said F-ranks like me have little to none, while he, a B-rank, was loaded.
I focused on my sword, picturing mana like a game meter. To my shock, it worked—the sapphire glowed red, the blade shimmering with a faint crimson aura. I can use magic?! This goddess-gifted sword wasn't just a fancy stick after all, though it still felt like a basic blade with a cool design.
On the last day of the first month, Liam gathered us in the colosseum, his voice booming.
"Get a good night's sleep! Tomorrow's your first test."
Fuck. The month was over already? My heart sank. I could barely imbue magic consistently, and my cuts and guards were shaky. Worse, I'd figured out every other student was C-rank or above. I'm gonna die tomorrow, I thought, slumping in my dorm, the glowing sapphire my only spark of hope in this F-rank nightmare.
The dreaded day arrived—Xyuli's first-month test, a colosseum showdown under the morning sun. Liam lounged in the stands, his icy gaze scanning us like a final boss, scribbling grades on a parchment. Students packed the stone benches, their cheers and gasps echoing off the sandy arena's walls, where stern warrior statues glared down.
One by one, my classmates sparred, blades flashing, magic flaring, giving it everything. I watched Aazroth dismantle his opponent with B-rank precision, his sword a blur of steel and mana. I'm so dead, I thought, gulping hard. My F-rank heart pounded like a noob facing a raid boss. After countless bouts, my name rang out.
"Kozuki!" the assistant teacher bellowed, his scar twitching as he paced the arena's edge.
"Yes, sir!" I croaked, scrambling from my seat, my boots slipping on the steps. I stumbled into the colosseum, sand crunching underfoot, the crowd's eyes boring into me.
"Belzub!" the assistant called.
"Yes, sir," came a voice cold as a dungeon's depths. Belzub strode into view, his sleek black tunic rippling, his sword's hilt glinting with arcane runes. If memory served, he was one of the top student—B-rank, maybe higher. Why him out of all people? I swallowed, my throat dry as Solva's outskirts. Surrender's an option, right? Extra training hours beat dying, but Liam's stare said failure wasn't cheap—10 gold coins per extra month and also Masamato is gone.
I drew my Sword of Absolute Death, its red sapphire pulsing like a health bar. Please, sword, pull a miracle. I focused, channeling mana like I'd practiced.
The blade shimmered with a faint crimson glow, weak but there. Goddess, I take back every snarky comment—help me! I prayed, glancing at Belzub, who stood like a dark knight, unfazed.
He unsheathed his sword, its blade humming with a blue aura, mana thick enough to choke on. Show-off.
"Combatants, ready—go!" the assistant roared. Belzub launched forward, a streak of shadow, his sword slashing with terrifying speed. I dove aside, the blade whistling inches from my face, sand spraying my tunic. Is he trying to kill me?! It was Liam's brutal test all over again. Belzub didn't pause, charging again, his sword a gleaming arc. By some miracle, I raised my blade, parrying with a clang that sent a shockwave through my arms. Ow, my bones! I staggered back, heart racing, the crowd's cheers a distant roar.
He pressed the assault, relentless, his strikes a storm of steel. I dodged some, my boots sliding in the sand, but others grazed my arms, slicing shallow cuts that stung like fire, blood trickling down my sleeves. A few I blocked, my sword's crimson glow flickering under his onslaught, each clash sparking like a forge. The arena spun, my lungs burning, the crowd's shouts blurring into white noise. Minutes dragged like hours, my F-rank stamina draining fast. Then, a desperate swing—I grazed his chest, my blade nicking his tunic, a faint tear in the fabric.
Belzub's eyes locked onto me, cold and predatory, like I'd just aggro'd a world boss.
"I'm sorry!" I blurted, panic overriding my brain. His boot slammed into my chest, the force like a battering ram, sending me skidding across the colosseum. My sword flew from my grip, clattering into the sand, and I coughed up blood, pain exploding through my ribs. Shit, shit! The crowd gasped, their faces a haze of shock and pity. I staggered to my feet, every muscle screaming, and spotted my sword glinting just a few feet away.
Belzub charged, his blade raised for a finishing blow, the air crackling with his mana. Adrenaline surged—I lunged, grabbing the hilt just in time, and swung upward, parrying his strike with a bone-rattling clang. Sparks flew, the crowd roaring.
He growled, his voice dripping venom. "You should've stayed down."
I wish I can, but I literally can't, I thought.
I swung wildly, my strikes sloppy, too slow. Belzub blocked each one effortlessly, his sword a blur, his smirk taunting me. Do something, you stupid sword! I screamed internally, the sapphire's glow mocking my F-rank failure.
Then, in a moment of pure, idiotic desperation, I did the dumbest thing imaginable. I chucked my sword at him, the blade spinning like a lopsided shuriken, and charged barehanded, roaring like an anime protagonist gone rogue. Belzub froze, his eyes widening in genuine confusion, as if I'd just glitched the game.
The crowd fell silent, then burst into laughter—actual laughter. My sword clattered uselessly into the sand, and I flailed toward him, fists raised like I was about to punch a possible C-rank or higher into next week. What am I doing?!
Belzub snapped out of his stupor, his sword flashing to counter, but my legs gave out mid-charge, my vision swimming. I faceplanted into the sand, out cold before I hit the ground.
The last thing I heard was the assistant's shout—"Winner, Belzub!"—and the crowd's deafening cheers, mixed with a few snickers at my epic fail.
That evening, I blinked awake, sprawled on a leather couch in Liam's office, the dark stone walls and dusty tomes looming around me. My body ached, but my cuts from the colosseum spar were gone, healed by some guild medic's magic.
"You are awake?" Liam said, his voice gruff, scribbling at his rune-cluttered desk.
"Yeah, so has the test ended?" I asked, flexing my arms, marveling at the vanished wounds.
"It ended a few hours ago," he replied, not looking up.
"So what score did I get?" I pressed, bracing for disaster.
"106," he said flatly.
"Huh," I muttered, stunned. 106? Me?
Back in my room, I flopped onto my bed, staring blankly at the cedar ceiling. "106," I whispered, still processing. For an F-rank like me, scraping past the 100-point cutoff was a miracle—no extra training, no 10-gold-coin penalty. My gaze drifted to the Sword of Absolute Death on my table, its red sapphire glinting mockingly. Damn it, why're you called 'Sword of Absolute Death' if you're useless? The Goddess had hyped it as some god-tier weapon, but it flopped against Belzub. I could picture her smirking from whatever divine couch she lounged on.
I glanced down at my torn, grime-caked tunic, a casualty of the past month's grind. Time for a wardrobe refresh. I swapped into my sport suit, its loose black fabric a comfort after weeks of sweat and sand.
My stomach growled, loud as a direwolf. Oh, right—no food since breakfast. I needed to eat, stat.
The next day, the first day on the second month of school, Liam gathered us in the colosseum, the morning sun glinting off its sandy floor.
He announced the test scores, his voice booming. Aazroth and Belzub topped the list with 308 points each, their C- and B-rank swagger untouchable. Me? Dead bottom at 106, but I'd take "not expelled" over glory any day.
"Starting from today, we are teaching Feints and Deceptions, Advance imbuing magic into sword, riposte and one hunting trial"
Liam declared, his icy eyes scanning us.I blinked. Feints? Riposte? Half those words sounded like a foreign skill tree, and hunting? Like, monsters? Am I gonna die for real? My plot armor better hold up. Liam continued
"And Riposte will be practice in a group of two, so please pre-choose your partner and let's begin the first lesson."
I glanced around, spotting Aazroth standing alone, his navy tunic pristine as ever.
"Hey, wanna be my partner?" I asked, half-expecting a glare.
"Sure," he said, shrugging. Score. Liam kicked off the lesson, explaining Feints and Deceptions—fake moves to trick enemies, like juking in a boss fight. He demonstrated slick sidesteps and false swings, his rune-etched sword a blur, then drilled us to craft our own. For two weeks, we practiced, my boots scuffing the colosseum sand. I wasn't half-bad—okay, maybe quarter-bad—my feints starting to look less like a drunk stumble. I even started night training, despite swearing I'd never do it again.
I poured mana into my sword, its sapphire glowing red, but my F-rank mana pool was a teaspoon, leaving me gasping after a few tries. One evening, in the second week of the second month, I hit Solva's streets to buy clothes and dinner. The city's bustle was my jam now—lanterns flickering, merchants hawking wares, guards patrolling double-time since Masamato death.
I stopped by Jouki, the chime jingling as I stepped inside.
"Welcome—Ah, Kozuki! Long time no see!!" Garrick boomed, his burly frame dwarfing the counter, his beard as wild as ever.
"How the school going?" he asked, grinning.
"Well, not so bad," I said, scratching my neck.
"Hahahahah," he laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulder.
"How about you, are you still trying to sell stuffs to Liam?" I teased, shrugging off his arm.
"Well, yeah hahahaha," he admitted, unabashed.
"Oh right, I heard there has been more crimes lately," he said, his tone dipping."Yeah I heard," I replied.
"Anyway what are you doing here, want to buy some Armor or something?" he said, his merchant side kicking in.
"Well, nothing much just stopping—" My words died as my eyes locked onto a mannequin in the corner. A red robe with black sleeves, sleek trousers, and long black gloves—pure anime protagonist drip. So frickin' cool! I bolted over, stars in my eyes.
"Ah, you got some nice eyes," Garrick said, smirking."Is this for sell?" I asked, fingering the silky fabric.
"Yes," he said, leaning in. I cleared my throat.
"But why is fashion clothes doing in blacksmith, don't tell me you are expanding to clothes shop."
He laughed. "Of course not, what you are seeing is one of a kind and also my latest project, it may look like normal clothes but it is make up of a special fiber found only in Kazrundak."
Kazrundak, if my memory serves me correct it is the Kingdom of Dwarf.
"And it has the durability of some of the best armor you can find around the world and what do you know it's light as feather," Garrick added, puffing his chest.
"So how much is it?" I asked, praying for a deal.
"1 stellar coin," he said, eyes gleaming. My jaw dropped. One stellar coin? I had 8 gold coins and a handful of silvers—chump change.
"I see," I said, deflating.
"So will you buy it?" he pressed, grinning.
"Not now, maybe I will buy it in the future, haha," I said, forcing an awkward laugh, my heart sinking."
Leaving already?" he called as I turned.
"Well, it is getting dark so yeah," I said, waving.
"Oh, well I hope to see you again," he said, waving back.I left, cursing under my breath. I wanted that so bad. Defeated, I swung by Velvet Vows, grabbing five pairs of the same outfit Suzuki picked for me last month —functional.
On Myrrheign, the last day of the second week of the second month, we gathered before a forest near Solva's walls, its towering pines casting long shadows. Liam stood at the edge, his crimson cloak stark against the greenery.
"Today, I will put your sword skills into real world practice, hunting animals," he announced.Thank the Goddess—not monsters. I exhaled, relieved.
"I know that Bows are most commonly used for hunting but Swords are the most efficient in hunting if use professionally," Liam continued.
What? Chase animals with a sword? I glanced around, hoping someone would question this madness, but my classmates just nodded, unfazed.
"I will give you 6 hours to hunt anything you like, deer, slime, anything you llike, but if you fail to bring back at least one animal, there will be extra training," Liam said. "Btw do not worry there are not high rank monsters in there and if you get lose, just open the magic tool we gave you earlier."
Wait, 'not high rank' means there ARE monsters? My plot armor felt thinner by the second.
"We start now!" Liam shouted. The second he did, students bolted into the forest, some cloaked in speed-boosting magic, others sprinting like mana-fueled rogues. I gripped my sword, its sapphire glinting, and ran in, praying I wouldn't be F-rank lunch.
I plunged into the forest, gripping my Sword, its red sapphire glinting faintly under the canopy. The towering pines loomed like dungeon spires, their needles muffling my steps, but a creepy déjà vu nagged me—like I'd wandered into a respawn trap.
I kept my blade ready, ears straining for danger, until a rustling snapped me alert near a thorny bush. I froze, staring at the trembling leaves, my heart pounding like a boss fight was loading. Hesitantly, I crept forward, parting the branches with my sword, and there it was—a deer-like creature grazing on glowing grass. Jackpot! Its antlers curled like twisted vines, its pelt shimmering silver in the dappled sunlight. Now, how do I kill it? Sneak up? I'd heard deer could hear a bee's wings, but was this even a deer? For all I knew, it was a mana-fueled death machine.
Then I remember Aazroth's words from our usual conversations: "You can also enhance your self with Mana, it is like magic but it's not."
"So how do I do it?" I'd asked.
"Just focus on what part of the body you want to enhance and why?" he'd said, all B-rank smugness.
Worth a shot. I focused on my feet, picturing ninja-level stealth, channeling my pathetic F-rank mana pool. A faint glow pulsed around my boots, then faded. Did it work? I hoped so, because failing this hunt meant extra training, and my wallet was already crying.
I slipped from the bush, moving like a rogue in stealth mode, each step silent on the mossy ground. The creature munched on, oblivious, its antlers swaying. I raised my sword, heart hammering, ready to strike its neck—until my foot snagged a rock. I tripped, sprawling face-first into the dirt with a loud thud. Shit!
The creature's head snapped up, revealing six glowing eyes, each burning with predatory malice. What the hell?! It wasn't a deer—it was an abomination, its maw splitting to reveal jagged fangs. With a guttural snarl, it reared, its hooves thundering down to crush me. I rolled aside, the ground quaking as its legs gouged craters into the earth, splinters of rock stinging my face. What just happened?! My plot armor was barely holding.
The beast lunged, pinning me under its bulk, its hooves slamming toward my chest like warhammers. I swung my sword desperately, deflecting a blow, but the force sent a shockwave through my arms, my blade trembling under the strain. Too strong! Its fangs snapped inches from my face, hot breath reeking of decay, its eyes glowing like cursed lanterns.
I thrashed, kicking at its forelegs with all my F-rank might. My boot connected, and the creature wobbled, its balance faltering with a surprised grunt. Now's my chance! Scrambling to my knees, I gripped my sword two-handed, and With a primal yell, I drove the blade upward, piercing its skull in a spray of dark ichor. The creature let out a bone-chilling screech, its six eyes dimming as it collapsed, its antlers cracking against the ground.
My sword's red sapphire glow faintly for a few seconds but I didn't noticed.
As I panted, chest heaving, staring at the corpse. What the hell is this thing? Up close, its pelt was mottled with unnatural runes, its fangs more wyrm than deer. Not hostile, my ass.
Exhausted, I figured one kill was enough—Liam only asked for one animal, not a zoo.
I tried hoisting the corpse, but it weighed as much as a raid boss. Nope.
I grabbed its antlers and dragged it, the body carving a trail through the underbrush, twigs snapping, my arms screaming. After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled out of the forest, sweat-soaked and gasping, to find Liam and his scar-faced assistant waiting at the clearing's edge, the Solva walls looming behind them.
"Oh you are back, it has only been 1 hour," Liam said, his crimson cloak billowing, eyebrow raised.
"Well you didn't say we only have to came out after 6 hours, and also I brought an animal," I panted, shoving the corpse forward with a grunt. I collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, the scent of pine and blood clogging my nose.
"Oh you caught a Vulu, impressive it is rare to find Vulu here in this woods," Liam said, inspecting the carcass with a nod.Vulu? What the hell a Vulu? I was too wiped to care, my limbs jelly from the drag.
"I see"
muttered, sprawled out, waiting for the others to return, praying they'd hurrying up so I could get back into my bed.
"Gahh, finally it is finished," I muttered, collapsing onto my bed in my room, the cedar ceiling staring back like a judgmental NPC. The hunting trial had wrecked me—dragging that Vulu corpse was a one-way ticket to muscle-ache city.
In the end, I was the only one who brought back a single animal, while my classmates flexed, hauling multiple kills with fancy mana tricks. Aazroth and Belzub topped the charts, their piles of animals making my lone Vulu, what ever that is, look like a participation trophy. Show-offs, I thought, my F-rank pride bruised but relieved—no extra training for me.
The next week, we dove into advanced imbuing magic for swords, and let me tell you, it was no beginner's quest. Unlike basic imbuing, where my Sword of Absolute Death barely glowed red, this was next-level. We had to channel mana to make blades flammable, crackle with lightning, or shoot magic slashes like some anime swordmaster. Liam demonstrated, his rune-etched sword blazing with fire one moment, then sparking with arcs of electricity the next, each swing slicing the colosseum air with a whoosh. I focused hard, picturing my mana as a game meter, but my sapphire only flickered, spitting a pathetic spark or two.
After that hunt, I felt like my Mana pool has increased, nah it probably my imagination I thought while laying on my bed after the training day of imbuing magic into my sword.
Wiping sweat from my brow. My arms burned from practice, but I kept at it, determined not to be the F-rank flop again.
The last week of the second month brought riposte training—a slick counterattack after a parry, like a combo move in a fighting game. Liam and his scar-faced assistant showed it off In the colosseum, their blades clashing in a flurry of steel. Liam parried a thrust, then snapped his sword forward, stopping an inch from the assistant's throat—textbook riposte, multiple scenarios, pure badass. "Study the angles," he barked, and we paired up. Me and Aazroth drilled, his B-rank precision making my sloppy parries look like a toddler's flail. Still, I landed a few counters, my sword's sapphire glinting with each hit. Not bad, Kozuki, I grinned, though Aazroth's "Tch" said otherwise.
With riposte training wrapped, the second test loomed like a dark souls boss. I flopped onto my bed, groaning. "It hasn't been a while since the last test, and now there come an another test tomorrow."
My voice echoed in the dim room, the lantern's flicker mocking my dread. Gahh, I am fr going to dies this time. The last test left me coughing blood against Belzub, and now, with feints, advanced imbuing, and riposte on the table, I was a noob facing a pro-league gauntlet. I stared at my sword, its sapphire dull on the table. You better pull a miracle, or I'm toast.
The next day, the colosseum buzzed with anticipation, its sandy floor glinting under the sun, stern warrior statues glaring from the walls.
Liam lounged in the stands, his crimson cloak stark, quill poised to grade us like a dungeon master tallying loot. Students packed the stone benches, their murmurs mingling with the clink of armor from a surprising addition—adventurers, their guild crests gleaming, here to scout or gawk. I fidgeted on the sidelines, my Sword at my hip, its sapphire dull. Another test, another chance to flop, I thought, my F-rank nerves fraying.
My jaw dropped when the assistant called out Aazroth and Belzub. Wait, what?! The two best students— Aazroth and Belzub—dueling?
This is gonna be like an anime finale-level brawl! I gasped, leaning forward, the crowd's excitement crackling like mana in the air.
Aazroth and Belzub took their positions at opposite ends of the arena, sand swirling around their boots. Aazroth's navy tunic rippled, his sword's hilt pulsing with green runes, his fanboy smirk replaced by icy focus. Belzub stood like a dark sentinel, his black tunic taut, his blade's blue aura humming with menace, his cold eyes locked on his rival. The colosseum fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke on.
"Ready!?" the assistant roared. Both drew their swords in a flash, steel singing against sheaths.
"Go!"
Aazroth erupted forward, his blade igniting with roaring flames, the fire trailing like a phoenix's wake, scorching the sand to glass beneath his boots. The crowd gasped, and I cheered, "Go, Aazroth!" Belzub held his ground, his sword steady, its blue aura flaring brighter. As Aazroth's flaming strike descended, a molten arc aimed at Belzub's chest, Belzub countered with a blinding slash, his blade crackling with lightning, the air sizzling with electric fury.
Aazroth slid beneath the attack, his body a blur, sand spraying in his wake. He sprang up, his fiery sword thrusting at Belzub's flank, but Belzub parried with a thunderous clang, sparks of fire and lightning showering the arena, stinging my face even from the sidelines.
Aazroth leapt back, his boots skidding, and flashed a feint—a fake lunge that made Belzub twitch. Nice one! I thought, recognizing the move from our training.
Belzub didn't flinch, his eyes narrowing, and both charged, colliding in the arena's center with a bone-rattling clash. Their swords danced in a storm of steel and magic, Aazroth's flames weaving through Belzub's lightning, each strike a symphony of light and sound. Aazroth spun, his blade slashing in a riposte after parrying a thrust, the fire grazing Belzub's tunic, singeing it black.
Belzub countered with a magic slash, a crescent of electric blue that tore a trench in the sand, forcing Aazroth to dive aside, his cloak smoldering.
The students went wild, half screaming for Aazroth—me included, fist-pumping like an otaku at a con—while others chanted Belzub's name, their voices a roaring tide. Adventurers leaned forward, their murmurs sharp, some scribbling notes.
They're scouting these guys, I realized, my F-rank heart sinking. I'm just cannon fodder.
The duel raged on, Aazroth unleashing a flurry of feints, his sword a blazing comet, while Belzub's precise ripostes sent lightning arcs sizzling past, one grazing a statue's arm, cracking stone. Aazroth vaulted over a low slash, landing in a crouch, and unleashed a fireball from his blade, the orb screaming toward Belzub. Belzub deflected it with a lightning-charged swing, the fireball exploding against the colosseum wall in a shower of embers, the crowd ducking as heat washed over us.
Minutes stretched, their mana pools seemingly endless, their blades a blur of red and blue. Aazroth's face glistened with sweat, his breaths sharp, but his strikes never faltered.
Belzub's cold smirk faded, his movements growing fiercer, each parry a calculated dance. In a final, heart-stopping moment, they lunged simultaneously, Aazroth's flaming sword aimed at Belzub's throat, Belzub's lightning blade pressed against Aazroth's. They froze, inches from death, their eyes locked in mutual defiance, the arena silent save for the crackle of their magic. Sand drifted, embers fizzled, and my breath caught, the crowd holding its collective gasp.
The assistant's yell shattered the stillness: "Draw!" The colosseum erupted, cheers and roars shaking the stands, students and adventurers alike on their feet. I whooped, my voice hoarse, as Aazroth and Belzub lowered their swords, stepping back, their gazes still burning with unspoken rivalry. That was insane, I thought, my F-rank dreams of ever matching them crumbling, but damn, I am glad that Aazroth is my friend and not an enemy.