As I followed the golem, I observed my opponent. His hair cut incredibly short, it was a light, mousey brown color, while his eyes were a deep blue, akin to a still ocean.

Leading us to a pair of doors opposite each other, the golem turned.

“As you two have already participated in one duel already, I will omit any redundancy. Please finish as quickly as possible.”

Bowing to conclude his words, the lithe black metal figure left, leaving the two of us to our own devices.

Not even bothering to acknowledge me, the brown haired boy immediately opened his door, making his way to his respective preparation room.

My mind completely and utterly exhausted, I drifted in and out of consciousness, preparing my weapons and armor through muscle memory, and before I knew it, I found myself entering the dueling arena.

Standing on the opposite side, my opponent waited for me. Despite wearing only a leather chest piece, and not even wielding any sort of weapon, he had a calm air about him.

I dropped the mace I brought onto the dirt floor, deciding to use a spear, and shortsword.

Adjusting my leather sword sheath such that it would be behind me and out of the way, I massaged the surface of my gloves, praying that my wounded knuckles wouldn’t suddenly give out on me, before finally taking hold of the wooden handle of my spear.

As the door I entered through closed by itself, my opponent began to walk forward, only stopping when he reached the midpoint between us.

“I am Nira Elass,” he suddenly declared, bowing as he spoke, “I wish to know the name of the one who I have the honor of dueling.”

I waited to see if he was pulling some sort of trick.

“Sol,” I finally answered, “just Sol.”

Nodding at my response, Nira entered a stance, setting his feet apart, balling his hands into fists, and lowering and turning his torso such that the bottom of one of his fists faced me, while the other was behind.

“The Old Goddess bless you Sol,” he solemnly replied, “And may the Third Disciple’s light forever guide you.”

The throbbing from my fists intensified. I needed to finish this as quickly as possible. A prolonged battle could only end in one way: my loss.

Kicking off of the ground, I charged at Nira.

Frenzied, I unleashed a flurry of thrusts directed at his core, too exhausted to limit myself. I trusted that the black robed observer would stop me were I to go too far.

But my concerns were unfounded, as Nira precisely bobbed and weaved underneath my attacks, before he suddenly rushed at me, fiercely launching his body at me.

Experienced enough that I knew the advantage of a spear lay in it’s reach, I jumped to the side, attempting to maintain distance, but akin to a bloodhound that caught the scent of freshly wounded prey, he relentlessly chased after me.

I sloppily swung my spear horizontally, forcing Nira to jump back, but he continued to skulk around me, his torso lowered to the ground.

Panting heavily, I could feel my clothes begin to stick to my clothes, a droplet of sweat rolling down my face behind my leather masked helmet.

I lowered my grip on my spear, forcefully steadying my breathing.

Taking advantage of the lull in the fighting, Nira took the initiative and rushed at me, his fists raised and shielding his face.

I stabbed forward once again, intending to directly meet his blow, when suddenly, he shifted his body, snaking his arm up the shaft of my spear, and holding it in place.

Panicking, I attempted to directly pull my spear back, but it was as if it was embedded in steel. My spear was trapped.

Raising his free fist, Nira forced himself closer, and jabbed forward a dozen times within the span of a few seconds, striking me directly in the chest.

Each time he struck me, my vision momentarily went white, and by the end, the wind had been knocked out of me, spittle flying out of my mouth.

Despite the fact that there was no buildup to any of his attacks, something inside of my chest had very obviously broken.

Letting go of the spear, I persevered through the pain, and with as much power as I could generate, punched at Nira, aiming directly for his throat.

He jumped back, immediately going back to circling around me, waiting for another opportunity to attack.

Bending my waist, I strained to pick my spear back up. Even breathing was becoming difficult. Each time my lungs contracted, it was almost as if my ribs were stabbing into, and digging themselves deeper.

I stared up into the ceiling of the arena, and let the fatigue in my body wash over me.

Oh how comfortable it would be, to just close my eyes. To finally rest for the first time in what had felt like forever, my grade be damned.

I bit my tongue, the sharp pain clearing the fog in my brain, and I readjusted my sword scabbard again.

Holding the handle with one hand, I pointed the tip of my spear at Nira,

“Come,” I whispered, my voice ragged, and hoarse.

Breathing in deeply, Nira, exhaling, nodded, and kicked his feet off of the ground, running directly at me.

Smiling to myself, I bent my knees, feeling them ache and crack under the stress, before finally, like a coiled spring bursting with energy, I surged forward.

Suddenly, I threw my spear directly at his face.

Panicked, Nira attempted to twist his body so as to dodge, but I didn’t let up.

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Pulling my short sword out from its sheath, I stabbed forward.

I could see the fear in his eyes, as I continuously maintained pressure on him, not letting up for even one moment as I continued to slash, stab, and cut my way forward.

Nira continued to dodge my attacks, but he had become sloppy, making big, unnecessary movements. Movements I took advantage of, his body slowly being riddled with wounds, most of them shallow, but some of them deep to the point where they immediately drew a deep, crimson red.

Cutting through his leather armor at the stomach, I felt the sensation travel through the blade, and up my arm.

Face contorting in pain, Nira kneeled to the ground, dodging my sword and attempting to sweep my legs. Needing time to recover and having lost the range advantage of my spear, I judged that the elevated risk outweighed any and all benefits, and I retreated.

On opposite sides, the both of us panted, sweat glistening in the harsh white glow of the Lightstones embedded in the ceiling.

Applying pressure to his stomach, Nira looked down at his hand, visibly shaking and colored red with blood.

He closed his eyes, and deeply breathed in, forcibly steadying his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Nira suddenly apologized, staring directly at me with remorseful eyes, “I originally did not intend to use this. Please do not misunderstand this as me having previously looked down on you. You have my utmost respect for forcing me to this point.”

A feeling of fear and agitation welling up in my heart, I immediately rushed at him, regardless of how exhausted I was, but it was too late.

A nearly imperceptible blue aura around his body, Nira stood still, and I swung my sword at his head, a slight hope of winning entering my mind. But it was immediately snuffed out.

Slowly, he slightly moved his head back, dodging my attack by a hair’s breadth.

He was able to use mana, most definitely already having formed his first magic circle.

Breaking out into a cold sweat, I continued, desperately unleashing a frenzy of attacks, praying that just one would land in the hopes of setting the flow of the battle to my own tempo.

But nothing. I couldn’t even scratch him.

Dodging one last time, he once again twisted his arm, this time trapping my sword arm.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice genuinely apologetic, “Please forgive me.”

Pulling his fist back, he punched me in the chest.

But it felt different.

If previously his strikes made me feel like my ribs had broken, now it felt as if everything behind them had ruptured. My heart, my organs, my kidneys, my stomach, they were all now bleeding, burst, broken from the pain.

And he didn’t stop.

Continuing on, he kept striking me, a veritably whirlwind of fists and violence, he focused on my torso, my leather chest piece staying relatively intact, but everything behind it breaking.

Grabbing me by the collar, he began to strike my face, my masked helmet falling off of my head.

I felt nothing. I felt as if I was watching this happen to another person. That weak little bastard still at the mercy of those stronger than him couldn’t possibly be me.

That wasn’t me. I refused to believe it.

Nira raised me up in the air, the lightstone hitting my back, and my shadow covering everything below me.

I saw the nameless tribesman I had stabbed in the neck. I saw the lieutenant, a trail of tears running down her cheeks. I saw father.

Nira threw me to the other side of the arena.

“Please just forfeit,” he beseeched me.

Blood began to pool inside my mouth, the harsh taste of metal immediately hitting my tongue.

I felt tears beginning to well up inside of my eyes. But not from the pain. These wounds on my body were insignificant.

I forced myself back up, and kneeled in the direction of the door, my hands on the floor a shoulder’s width apart, the lightstone behind me.

I stared down at the inky blackness of my shadow.

Everything around me melted away. Nothing mattered anymore.

“When can I see you again?” I whispered, muffled through a pool of blood in my throat.

I felt lost. Adrift at sea.

Suddenly hearing a noise, I turned back. A brown haired boy, a head taller than me, stood a ways away from me, looking down at me with sorrowful eyes.

I didn’t know who he was.

“Fine,” he suddenly began, his voice calm, but with an undercurrent of remorse, “I’ll finish this.”

Getting into a stance, he seemed to be on the verge of entering combat.

With me.

Why? What had I done to deserve this? I didn’t even know him, and he wished to hurt me.

Reaching for the sword beside me, I forced myself back up using the blade as a support.

Fine.

If he wished to fight me, I would give him what he wanted.

But I wouldn’t give him my life so easily. Whatever it took, I would survive.

Hadn’t I always lived like that, so willing to do whatever necessary in order to live to see tomorrow?

Who was I deluding? I was weak. Completely and utterly talentless trash. I had cultivated for over a week already, spending countless sleepless nights on raising my mana conductivity, yet it was barely even 20% now, while Lunia, using some completely useless guide, was able to immediately form her first circle in not even ten minutes.

Tears flowed from my eyes.

The flame of desire continued to burn bright, searing my insides.

By whatever means necessary, I would survive. If I just persisted with the sole purpose of living to see the next day, I would eventually grow powerful enough to take control of my own fate. Make it so no one would dare attempt to control me ever again.

If my enemy was faster than me, I would cut off his legs.

If my enemy was stronger than me, I would cut off his arms.

If my enemy was smarter than me, I would cut off his head.

Finally getting up from the ground, my legs shook.

I stared at the brown haired boy in front of me.

“...Let’s finish this,” he bit his lip.

I smiled, my eyes hazy, pointing my sword at him.

As if we had reached an agreement beforehand, we rushed at each other at the same time, meeting directly in the middle.

Punching out at me, the brown haired boy’s eyes were focused, resolute.

The smile on my face grew wider, and I leaned in to his attack.

Spitting into his face with the blood in my mouth, I blinded him.

Taking advantage of his momentary loss of sight, I swung my sword at his neck.

I would take his head off with one strike.

“Thank you,” a black robed figure suddenly stopped my sword, “I think that'll be enough.”

But too exhausted to process his words, I fell unconscious.

***

“Sol, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I turned to my sister, confused on what she meant by that.

“I don’t know,” I leaned back on the old oak tree, letting the wind ruffle my hair, “Probably just work on the farm. Why?”

Jule leaned on my shoulder, staring out at the gray cloudy sky.

“...I want to live in a big house,” she finally answered.

“Mom said she used to be a handmaid for somebody,” I reassured, “She probably knows someone who would marry you. Despite your many… character defects.”

Outraged, Jule began to lightly beat my shoulder, before stopping, too physically weak to continue.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she continued, “I meant like with everyone. Mom, you, first brother, third sister, baby. And father. Wherever he may have gone.”

I could feel my throat closing up. A wave of fatigue washed over me.

“Yeah,” I barely choked out, on the verge of tears, “That sounds nice.”

Smiling, Jule hugged my neck.

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of her body, the smell of water entering my nose.

It seemed like rain.