Draven and Alex stood facing each other in the castle's training room.
The atmosphere was tense, but neither of them looked particularly serious—yet.
"I heard you can't use mana," Alex said, rolling her shoulders. "So I won't either."
Draven smirked.
"You're might need it."
"For someone with no mana, you sure are arrogant."
"For an old lady, you sure talk a lot," Draven shot back without missing a beat.
Alex's grin turned sharp.
"For a brat, you sure have a big mouth."
"Grandpa's why don't you stop yapping and come at me already?"
Her expression darkened.
"I think it's about time I shut that mouth of yours."
She vanished.
Her movement was so fast that the eye could barely follow her.
In an instant, she reappeared directly in front of Draven, her dagger flashing in a horizontal slash.
Draven shifted into a boxer's stance and swung.
His gloved fist collided with the flat of her blade, sparks flying from the impact.
They exploded into a flurry of motion—feet sliding, fists flying, and the dagger slicing through the air.
The training room echoed with the sound of impact after impact.
Neither gave the other an opening.
After several furious exchanges, Alex flipped backward and landed lightly on her feet.
A smirk curled across her lips.
"For someone so cocky," she said, "you're not that strong."
Draven's hands were mangled, bones visible through torn flesh.
Yet he kept walking toward her.
Slowly, the wounds began to stitch themselves together. Muscles reweaved, bones slid back into place, and torn flesh sealed over as if nothing had happened.
Draven flexed his fingers once they had completely healed.
"That was just a warm-up."
Alex tilted her head.
"For a hybrid, your regeneration is insane."
Draven's eyes glowed red.
"Cut the small talk."
He vanished.
Alex's eyes widened.
What the—? I thought he couldn't use mana! How's he moving like that?
Before she could react, Draven reappeared beside her.
His fist shot toward her ribs like a bullet.
She barely managed to dodge, disappearing in a wisp of shadow magic and reappearing several feet away.
Draven straightened, mockery in his voice.
"Hey, granny. I thought you weren't going to use mana."
"I was caught off guard," Alex muttered, clearly annoyed.
"Are you so old? That your body failing you already?" Draven asked with a grin.
Alex's cheeks flushed red.
"Okay, brat. Now I'm going to get serious!"
She launched herself into the air, her dagger arcing downward in a vicious strike.
Draven caught the blade between his gloved hands.
The two clashed again, harder this time—gloves against blade, speed against speed, instinct against instinct.
The air filled with the sound of steel against flesh and the crack of breaking bones.
Then—
The door creaked open.
A maid entered, bowing slightly despite the carnage around her.
"Young Master," she said calmly, "the Lord requests your presence."
Both fighters froze.
The floor was slick with blood.
Draven's shirt was torn and stained red.
Alex's hair was a tangled mess, and her dagger dripped crimson.
"Just when I was about to win," Alex muttered, lowering her weapon.
"You wish, granny," Draven replied, rolling his shoulders.
"Stop calling me that! I'm still young!"
"Since when does forty count as young?" Draven teased.
"I'm not forty, I'm thirty-nine!"
"Same thing."
"As a night elf, that's basically a child!" she insisted.
Draven turned toward the maid, completely ignoring her.
"Go bring me a change of clothes."
The maid blinked.
"Right away, Young Master."
Alex sputtered.
"Did you—did you just ignore me?!"
Draven didn't even glance her way.