Echoes of screams rippled through the air, wrapping around the soldiers who huddled, their attention riveted on the duel unfolding amidst the skeletal ruins of an ancient castle.
A young man, his raven hair tousled by the sandy wind, tightened his grip on his sword's leather-wrapped hilt. The weight of the metal seemed a comfort, a steadying anchor against the towering figure before him.
Across from him, a silvery-haired giant loomed.
Standing at an imposing height of perhaps eight, even ten feet, he was a spectacle of brute force. A lance, larger than any man, rested at his side. His bulging muscles strained against the fabric of his beige tunic, a testament to his raw power.
Yet, the soldiers encircling them, the scent of blood and violence thick in the air, were mere background noise to the combatants. The battle was a mismatched spectacle, a contemporary David and Goliath tale.
Regardless, potential was not determined by the size of one's muscles, nor by the weight of their weapons.
There was no fear in the young man's eyes, only a fierce yearning for the battle to begin. He could feel his body straining with anticipation, his lungs too small for the breaths he took, his muscles quivering in readiness.
This Goliath-like figure was his first real challenge, his baptism by fire.
He bent his knees, took a deep, steadying breath, and launched himself into action.
In the blink of an eye, he became a blur of motion.
He moved too fast for even the most attentive observer to see. But they would have surely heard the air slicing and the clash of metal as two weapons collided.
The young man had initiated his first attack: a powerful sword swing with both hands.
The giant intercepted, deflecting the blow downward with the blade of his massive lance. He swiftly followed up by striking the young man's shoulder with the lance's shaft.
The blow landed with a dull thud, drawing blood and a defiant grin from the young man.
He retaliated with a flurry of sword strikes, none of which found their mark on the impressively swift and nimble giant. The sword hissed with each swing, signaling the lethal force behind each attack.
The giant, however, defied logic with his speed, given his colossal form.
The young man was equally terrifying, his swordplay fierce and relentless.
After a brief exchange, the silver-haired behemoth spun his lance, striking his opponent's stomach with its butt.
The young man gasped, his eyes rolling back before he recovered just in time to evade a second strike.
He retreated several feet away, panting and regaining his composure.
The giant slammed his lance into the ground, sending nearby stones flying, and erupted into laughter.
"Hahaha, no one has ever underestimated me like this before," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why don't you fight seriously?"
The young man sighed as the tip of his sword grazed the ground.
"I thought I could do more than that…" he admitted, stabbing his sword into the ground with a forceful thrust. "I was only at about 20%. I wanted to avoid sore muscles, but when it's time to go all out, it's time." He swung his arms, loosening up his muscles.
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Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
As his eyes snapped open, he charged at his adversary with even greater speed.
The wind cracked, producing a high-pitched, airy sound.
The giant swung his lance, anticipating the young man’s position, but he was too fast. He wasn't to the right or the left, but rather airborne, back arched and knees bent.
As the giant raised his lance, the young man's sword met it in midair, intercepting the blow.
A possessed sword danced in his hand, its movements clean, precise, incisive, and ungraspable. With a few swift strokes—while still in midair—the young man sliced the giant's lance as if it were a mere sausage.
Undeterred, the giant clutched the remaining wooden shaft attached to his lance's blade, readying a strike, but it was too late. The young man was on the verge of delivering a lightning-fast thrust...
"LUKE!" a shrill voice pierced the air.
Startled, Luke awoke with a jolt. Was it a dream or a memory? He couldn't quite recall what he had just experienced in his slumber. All he knew was that he found himself sitting at a desk, at the back of a classroom, with the girl beside him struggling to stifle her laughter.
"Luke, are my lessons so dull?" the professor inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"I love your lectures," Luke replied. "I was just meditating on the content."
The class erupted in laughter, and the girl wearing a beanie beside him could no longer contain her giggles. Her laughter sounded like... someone choking. No sound escaped her lips.
Seeing this spectacle, the professor muttered a few words under her breath, turned, and continued her monologue at the chalkboard.
Luke had short, raven-black hair. He was tall, with a sturdy build. He was handsome, and he knew it, given the numerous glances he received while walking through the university's corridors.
The school year had just begun, and he was already gaining a reputation for his inattentiveness.
The lectures bored him to no end. But why was he here? Why was he studying? He wasn't quite sure anymore. His mind felt heavy, still drowsy from the nap he'd just taken. At that moment, he even struggled to remember where he was.
Then the bell rang. The lecture was over. "That went by quickly," Luke thought to himself.
He stood, packed his belongings into his bag, and left the room along with the other students. He joined the long line of pupils filing through the corridor, heading towards what he assumed was the campus cafeteria.
He was enrolled in a prestigious university.
The campus consisted of five large buildings, each dedicated to a different specialty. These rectangular structures surrounded a spacious courtyard containing a park where students loved to picnic in the summer. The park's verdant greenery contrasted with the buildings' gray exteriors and the monotony of the lectures with the excitement of reuniting with friends.
Luke was studying the arts, hoping to spend his days drawing, but to his dismay, the curriculum was mostly theoretical.
He had no interest in ancient arts or the way his ancestors dressed. What he truly wanted was to create something tangible, to immerse his hands in clay and express himself with a brush.
But let's get back on track.
Bracon University - named after a great conqueror who had unified the country centuries ago - offered students the opportunity to live on campus. They could choose to stay in a private room with a shared bathroom, or even in a flat.
But what made this university intriguing was the mandatory dress code for students.
It consisted of a black waistcoat with a golden tree emblem - the symbol of the school - black trousers, and polished black shoes.
The most important part of the uniform was a long black cape made of thick fabric, which gave the students a unique aura. Whenever someone saw a Bracon student, they couldn't help but stare at their cape, representing the great ambitions of the wearer.
However, Luke found this dress code unnecessarily flashy, as it gave value to those who didn't deserve it.
"They're still in school and haven't achieved anything yet." Was his thought.
As Luke walked down the pristine white hallway, large windows offering a view of the outside world, he noticed a group of students gathered nearby and heard screams. Something was happening.
He sprinted through the narrow gaps between the stunned students, his heart pounding in his chest.
Luke suddenly remembered why he was there, and his warrior instincts took over.
Pushing his way to the front of the group, he discovered the source of the panic – vomit on the floor, tears streaming down faces, and cries echoing through the corridor.
This university, so concerned with maintaining its polished image, had once again been exposed.
There were no elites here, no shining beacons of hope for the future – just a grim, harsh truth.
Reality struck when least expected, whether in a bakery, a cinema, or the hallway of a university… And there, right in front of Luke, was a young girl hanging lifelessly from a rope.
It was at that moment that Luke fully grasped the gravity of his mission and the weight of his responsibilities.
"I'm sorry, I swear I’ll stop him." He thought coldly, his gaze fixed on the girl's ashen face. The light reflected off the tears that still lingered in her lifeless eyes.