"Did you hear? The young master is going to spar with butler Garren!"
"Spar? More like Garren is gonna play around with him."
"...dude. Wording man."
The training field was packed as many servants within the manor began to fill up the surroundings. Within the center field, Nevaris stood in a black training garb.
The top was a tantalizing piece, it covered his arms and stretched across his shoulder blades. Yet his rippling abs, and chiseled chest remained visible to all as he watched the man in front of him with a calm expression.
The servants who hadn't gotten a glimpse of their young master last night were shocked by his new look. None could reconcile the striking young man in front of them with the sickly figure in their memories.
Garren on the other hand, was still dressed in his butler outfit. The form-fitting tuxedo clung to his frame like a second skin as he observed Nevaris' new physique with relaxed interest.
His gaze was playful, like a cat looking down on an unexpecting mouse.
Nevaris ignored his gaze and asked, "You ready old man?"
Garren raised an eyebrow, "You won't be using a weapon, young master?"
Nevaris didn't even blink as he shot him down. "I don't like the idea of hiding behind a tool. If I'm gonna fight, it's gonna be through skin and sinew alone."
To him, weapons were distance. A buffer.
An excuse.
He preferred the honesty of impact—the jolt of bone against bone, the rhythm of breath and movement, the intimate brutality of feeling an opponent's strength falter beneath his hands. No barriers. No intermediaries.
He had always respected martial artists, seeing them as the epitome of brutal beauty. After all, whether it is fighting or warfare, both are affairs that are stained in blood and grime. What is the use of pretty, flashy weaponry stances?
Nevaris' ideology, was if he was gonna get down and dirty, might as well make sure he gives them the respect of doing it with his own hands.
Seemingly sensing his resolve, Garren blinked in surprise before his own smile widened in pride.
'Madam Selunara, the young master has grown up.' he said inwardly, his eyes growing misty.
Seeing him getting sentimental, Nevaris rolled his eyes before he said, "Enough of the sappy shit. Let's get to it!"
Garren laughed genially as he wiped the corner of his eyes.
"Yes, yes. As you say young master."
But his relaxed posture didn't change. He just stood there, smiling at Nevaris as he waited for him to make a move.
Nevaris didn't get angry, nor did he find it insulting. The old man may act senile most of the time, but he was a warrior through and through.
In the world of Elysium, levels mattered. They quantified your existence and showcase your standing on the pecking list. But evolutions were what separated the ordinary from the extraordinary.
And Garren had evolved several times already, making him confident enough not to see Nevaris as a threat. But he didn't know that Nevaris was a freak of nature that had already evolved once himself, going against the laws of the universe.
'Well then, let's see what this body can do!' Nevaris murmured as he lowered his stance.
With a step, he vanished from his position, appearing directly in front of Garren with a manic smile on his face as he punched out.
With a look of unconcealed surprise, Garren hurriedly dodged to the side as a pressurized column of wind pressure erupted from Nevaris' fist.
BOOM.
A large hole etched itself into the distant wall of the manor, leaving the training grounds in a dumbfounded silence.
Garren looked from the hole to the figure now seeming to tower over him.
Nevaris turned to face him, the smile on his face not wavering for a second.
"Old man…I asked for a fight. Not a game of measuring dicks."
Garren shook slightly as he locked eyes with him. An old feeling began to bubble up in his chest. Bringing with it a heat he thought to have long forgotten. His lips began to curl upwards into a smile even though he didn't realize he was showing.
"You wanna get nuts?" he said almost to himself. Then he gazed at Nevaris, brownish-yellow scales growing across the sides of his face. "Then let's get nuts!"
The air between them froze as they stared at each other, then their bodies disappeared like mirages as they reappeared in the air, their scaled fists already clashing as the sound of metal clanging echoed through the silent field.
…
The servants of the mansion were transfixed, gazes trembling with wonder, exchanging uncertain glances as if silently asking one another whether the miracle unfolding before them could possibly be real.
THIS was their young master?
The useless fool who could barely lift a pen, let alone a sword. The coward who had spent the last eighteen years of his life getting beat-up for so much as breathing too loud.
You're trying to tell them that that failure was now going blow to blow with an old monster like the head butler!?
Ana and Lilith's reactions weren't as extreme, but their eyes shimmered with luster as they watched their husband fight. Though they have known this husband of theirs for only a day, everything they have seen from him has subverted their understanding of him entirely.
He was a mystery, a mystery they couldn't wait to solve.
BANG!
With a fierce collision, the two figures separated. To the utter shock of those watching, Garren seemed to be on the losing end of the exchange. His breathing was a little heavy as he stared at Nevaris in disbelief.
Though he was holding himself back, and only competing with his physical body, he was above level 50 already! As a certified demi-god, his body should be impervious to any of Nevaris' blows. Yet what was this faint sensation of pain?
As he watched Nevaris roll his shoulders lazily, he gulped as that small fire in his chest began to burn even brighter. This spar wasn't just about testing the identity of his young master anymore. Now–now, he just wanted to fight to his heart's content.
Nevaris seemed to notice this change as his smile widened.
"About time old man. Took you long enough to warm up."
Garren chuckled as he began to remove the now torn jacket from his shoulders. The bulging muscular frame hidden beneath now on full display.
"My apologies, young master. To make it up to you, I'll take this a little more seriously," he said with a warm smile.
But the atmosphere around him had changed entirely. Nevaris felt as if he was standing in front of a wild beast, the bloody-thirsty aura sending chills down his spine.
Nevaris' eyes held none of the expected fear. Not even the shadow of hesitance.
All he could feel was anticipation.
In his mind, the description of his class was displayed clearly as if it was etched in his soul.
[Marital God]: the pinnacle of physical transcendence — a warrior who has honed flesh, spirit, and will into a weapon sharper than any blade. Where others rely on steel or sorcery, the Martial God turns their own body into a divine instrument of destruction. You awaken godlike mastery over combat itself — reading intent before it forms, shattering mountains with a single blow, and standing unbroken against armies.
Nevaris grinned as he recalled it. This class was perfect for him. As a human this class would surely stand a notch above the others, but when used with the physique of a beast, especially an imoogi with a body bordering on the divine like his?
His body vibrated with exhilaration at the thought of the coming violence. Nevaris lowered himself to all fours, every muscle in his legs coiling like springs as he locked onto the threatening figure before him.
As if by some prior agreement, they both launched forward at the same time. Garren's hand transformed into a claw as it slashed down at Nevaris as if trying to shred him into scraps of meat. But to Nevaris, his movements felt like slow motion.
His body moved in an unbroken flow, slipping under the blow like a serpent as he raised his own fist, hammering it into Garren's exposed flank. The entire motion, from the dodge to the counterattack, was unbroken and natural.
As if he had done it thousands–hundreds of thousands of times before. The echoes of the Marital God class were etched into his soul, every motion, every twitch of muscle, no matter how small–was like a blinking green light to his eyes.
Nevaris wasn't seeing Garren's flesh–he was studying a living blueprint of pressure points, fleeting openings, fault lines in bone and breath, each one a silent invitation to be broken.
Garren grunted from the force of the blow, but as a warrior, a soldier who had fought in wars longer than Nevaris had even existed, he didn't falter. Before Nevaris could react, a tail extended from behind Garren, sweeping out toward him.
'Shit!' he cursed inwardly, putting his arms in front of his chest to offset the damage.
But to his astonishment, the tail changed directions, wrapping around his legs and dragging him through the air before slamming him into the ground like a sack of flour. The force of the intimate introduction to the dirt caused him to see stars.
Garren watched him struggle to his feet with cold appraisal.
"Young master, what are you?" he asked.
The sudden question stunning not only Nevaris, but those watching as well. Thinking this was him trying to voice his doubts about his identity again, Nevaris rolled his eyes as he spoke in exasperation.
"This again? I already told you, I am still me!"
"That isn't what I meant," Garren shook his head, his gaze then locked back onto Nevaris with a harsh glare. "I asked, what are you?"
Nevaris was speechless as he continued.
"You are stronger, that is for sure. I don't know what happened yesterday, but you are no longer something as simple as a wyrm. Not anymore," he said calmly. "But why are you fighting like those pathetic humans?"
It was like an explosion detonated in his mind. That's right, why was he still fighting like a human. He had shed that form, that life. He hadn't even realized he had been holding himself back by confining himself to the fragile limitations of his old life.
Garren's gaze deepened as he looked into Nevaris' eyes, his words seeming to pierce his soul.
"Are you a human, young master? Or are you a dragon?"