The smoke started to dissipate slowly after a few breaths time. It floated until it eventually reached gaps from where it could disperse to. After awhile, it revealed the stage’s state. It had received no worthwhile damage considering it was built to withstand more power than what mere students could possibly unleash but even then, some areas were still charred black. Bots of blood that had lost its luster were scattered unevenly in some parts of the stage while remnants of what should be a shield and a sword could be found wherever you look. Standing gloriously among the vestiges of this fight was a badly injured youth and beside him was a sprawled lean student whom was covered in sweat and his breathing labored.

The badly injured youth was Dirk. He was bleeding heavily on where he had held the shield while his face was covered in soot mixed with blood which made him look horrifying, but his eyes contained a satisfied glint. He had a radiant smile as if to say that it was his win and the injuries he suffered were nothing for a person like him. With his relatively better arm, he held the hilt of his sword and directed the broken end to the sprawled youth. “I won, Cev. It’s my win,” he said in a giddy voice.

“Yeah. You did,” responded Cev in between breaths. “That makes you fifty-five wins.”

“And you, fifty-four,” said Dirk with a smirk.

Cev indifferently waved. “Yeah, yeah. Now, get me up.”

Dirk happily laughed and stretched out a hand to help Cev up. He ungraciously took the hand and stood up with Dirk’s help.

Cev was essentially fine when compared to Dirk and thus was able to stand up on his own after, albeit, unsteadily. He was only exhausted and drained, and had no worthwhile injuries. After all, he mainly fought with spells but while he was uninjured and technically free from harm when compared to Dirk –the irony was that he lost because he depended too heavily on his spells.

It was because he, too, risked it all on the spell he shot out. It was a spell that was a level above his own, and thus exhausted him greatly after a single use. With the line of thinking that the longer he fought, the lower his chances of winning was, he came to the conclusion that he must end the fight at all cost –especially against a Spirit Warrior like Dirk, and even more so in a limited space. He wanted to overwhelm Dirk then and there but it was apparent that his all, was not enough. He would have won if he was able to shoot out a few more spells, but the conditions were just too unfavorable for a Spellcaster like him. In his thoughts, he decided that he would never risk his chances like that ever again. Later on, he would rather make sure that he had the upper hand, instead of relying on blind luck.

Cev softly sighed. He had some regrets that he lost. Like any other aspiring youth, he also wanted to be part of the Kingdom’s Order; a legendary place that all of them had heard about ever since they were young but when he realized the grim state Dirk was in, the regrets instantly vanished and was replaced with pride. At least with this, I would still have a chance. With a shook of his head and a dry laugh, he said, “Dirk. You need to get yourself healed.”

*

It was a very surprising and unbelievable end, for the lean youth whom had no apparent injuries was the one who lost, while the one who suffered the most had won.

The fight had ended and while short, cheers had already thundered in the Arena, expressing their sentiments and excitement. But before the two youths could enjoy their limelight, they were promptly ushered away in order to be treated by an Instructor who knew how to Heal; one was treated in his bodily injuries, while another in his mental exhaustion. The Instructor deftly treated both of them for this was not the first time any of the students were hurt in random bouts, even more so for repeated offenders like these two. Afterwards, they were sent to the sides to rest but with no guarantee on whether they had passed the Selection, they waited there anxiously.

The Justicar taking notice of the two students who had just fought and currently resting, spoke, “Those two pass. Although they have only an inkling of the Creed, their talents are more than noteworthy for the Order.” He glanced at the Artificer of his squad, “Nodan, inform them. There’s no need to let them wallow in anxiety.” Nodan nodded and trotted away. The Justicar having done his part, redirected his gaze back to the stage. “Now, what other interesting things can these students show me. One of them should have caught Morr’s attention... Who could it be?” he murmured with a delighted smile.

*

Everyone was still basking in the afterglow of the last fight. Not one of them were not swept along with the emotions that filled the Arena. With their imaginations going wild they grew more and more excited for what the next match might hold. After all, the Great Continent they lived in relied heavily on one’s strength to survive –it was natural to covet and envy strength and anyone who passed would eventually rise above his peers. It was an event that the town of Krol would be proud of.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Now, it was time for the second fight. Silence once again permeated the Arena, as two students stood on the now-charred stage. The Knights and the Instructors stood to the sides, watching intently. The two students who had fought before, now looked at ease and unexpectedly stood with the others as if their recent bout had not sapped their strength.

Two students on opposite sides, walked to the stage...

But as they did, the somber atmosphere was broken before the match had even began as a cold and arrogant laugh sounded out. It was a tall and mature-looking youth with a greatsword for a weapon. His profile was pompous and overbearing, like that of a young master from a Noble Clan. “Alvan! You have guts, I give you that.” His voice was overflowing with pride and arrogance. “It seems my warning wasn’t enough. But no matter, this time, I’ll show to you one last time that your efforts are meaningless against a Chosen of the Gods!” he roared with a broad and sadistic grin.

Alvan, an ordinary-looking youth with nothing significant to note, except the mangled wooden sword he had and a unique leather glove, ignored the tall youth’s provocation and calmly walked to his respected side. But as each insult was hurled, his grip tightened more and more on the wooden sword. His expression bordering on rage; he was inwardly furious. Just you wait! he thought. I’ll finally show you that talent is not everything when it comes to strength! Once reaching his destination, he stood there like a stone wall, impervious to all, patiently waiting for the match to start.

Realizing that his insults were all in vain, the tall youth’s expression twisted like he was mad. With a grunt, he hefted the greatsword just by his side and lifted it overhead. His grin disappeared and what replaced was an icy gaze that could kill. He was not amused. I am a Chosen! I won’t be mocked like this! the tall youth thought and went silent.

The atmosphere relaxed, but everyone knew that the match this time wouldn’t be as simple like the one before. With how things were, it wouldn’t be something honorable nor just; it won’t even be fair. The gap between the two was clear as day –one had the status of a young master from a well-established family of Krol, while the other only had a wooden sword, and one that was not even properly maintained.

Everyone was doubtful if the match would even last that long, and felt pity for the youth who was unfortunate to fight the young master. To them, it was a very steep hill for Alvan to climb –too steep that he might even get hurt in the process. In the end, they could do nothing but pity, for strength mattered the most in their lives.

Some sighed at Alvan’s misfortune. Judging on how he joined the Selection in the first place, they knew that Alvan, too, wanted to be part of the Order but with how things were, he would be overshadowed by the might of his opponent. It seemed cruel to offhandedly decide it like that, but when compared to the jeers Alvan regularly got from the tall youth and his troupe, he would feel happy that some sympathize with him still. From afar, a man missing a left arm had eyes glinted with nostalgia.

The Justicar, whom frowned at some point, shouted to start the match, “Stance!” Only Alvan had responded to the call as he went into a common stance which had the sword perpendicular to the ground. On the other hand, the tall youth had not moved and still had the greatsword overhead as if to imply that Alvan was not enough to make him move. Alvan unwittingly clenched his teeth to suppress his humiliation and rage. The Justicar, still with the dissatisfied frown, continued, “Commence!”

As soon as the signal of the start of the match went out, Alvan immediately dashed in and roared. His wooden sword was now covered in a hazy film, and his body glowed in a murky light that looked dimmer than Dirk’s. His leather glove began to softly buzz that was almost inaudible and started accumulating mana in his surroundings at a slow speed that only the Knights and the Instructors were capable of perceiving. It gave them the impression that he had no talent in weaving mana. But he continued on, as resolute as ever.

At this moment, he was concentrated on only one thing. He did not let any unnecessary thoughts clutter his mind. With a shout that vented his frustration alongside the filtered thoughts, he said, “Xander! Today, I’ll show you that you were wrong!”

He looked weak, even now, but he had to be strong.

His weapon was fragile, but his grasp should be firm.

He was talentless, but he will find ways to compensate.

This was the day that he would take the first step in achieving his goal.

On this day, the path had been paved. And at every juncture, he will win, no matter the cost!