The training courtyard was louder than usual.
Steel clashed from every direction.
Students moved in and out of the duel circles, some excited, some nervous, some already frustrated by how quickly the rankings were shifting.
The great Ranking Board shimmered at the far end of the courtyard, names rearranging whenever a challenge ended.
Every few moments, a voice would rise above the noise.
"Winner — Rank 47!"
Then the crowd would react all over again.
— Lysander's POV —
Lysander stood near the outer edge of the courtyard with Taro beside him.
He watched one duel end, then another begin.
A swordsman rushed forward too quickly—
missed—
and nearly stumbled when his opponent stepped aside.
A moment later, he was disarmed.
Lysander blinked once.
…That was fast.
Another duel started nearby.
This one lasted longer.
One student relied heavily on mana from the start, pouring too much into every strike. The pace looked impressive for a few seconds—
then it slowed.
Then broke.
He lost not long after.
Lysander exhaled lightly.
"…He ran out too early."
Taro glanced at him.
"You can tell that?"
Lysander nodded.
"A little."
That much was easy to see.
Another match ended.
Then another.
Some students were stronger than others.
Some had better control.
Some only looked strong until the fight actually started.
Lysander kept watching.
Not because he thought he was above them—
but because this was useful.
If he had to fight soon, then every match here mattered.
What worked.
What didn't.
How people reacted under pressure.
How much of their rank was real.
A sudden burst of golden light flared from the center arena.
The surrounding noise dropped for a moment.
Several students instinctively turned toward it.
Lysander did too.
Leon Valerian stood inside the duel circle.
His opponent had already been pushed back three full steps.
Golden mana flickered faintly around Leon's body, bright but controlled.
Not excessive.
Not wasteful.
His next movement was simple.
One step.
One strike.
One clean burst of force.
His opponent's guard broke immediately.
The training weapon spun from his hand and clattered across the stone.
Silence.
Then—
"Winner — Leon Valerian!"
The courtyard erupted.
"No surprise."
"That's Rank 2."
"He ended that way too fast…"
Leon scratched the back of his head awkwardly while his opponent gave a tired laugh and bent down to pick up his weapon.
"Sorry," Leon said. "I pushed a little harder than I meant to."
"No," the other student muttered. "That was just unfair."
Leon laughed.
Not arrogantly.
Just naturally.
He stepped out of the duel circle as several students made way for him without even realizing it.
Taro let out a low whistle.
"Okay, yeah. That guy's different."
Lysander nodded once.
"…Yeah."
He was.
There was no hesitation in Leon's movements.
No wasted effort either.
That kind of control didn't come from talent alone.
The next few matches passed quickly.
Then the air changed.
The shift was small, but noticeable.
The temperature dipped slightly.
Whispers spread through the students nearest the next duel circle.
"Frostborn…"
"Rank 4…"
Lysander looked over.
A girl stepped into the arena.
Pale blue hair moved lightly behind her as she took her position. Her expression didn't change, and neither did her breathing. A blade rested in her hand, calm and steady.
Valeria Frostborn.
Across from her stood a student several ranks below her, but still high enough to carry himself with confidence.
He raised his sword.
She didn't.
"Begin!"
He moved first.
Fast.
Direct.
Valeria took one step.
That was all.
The strike passed her by.
Not because she moved far—
but because she had already moved exactly enough.
The opponent turned and attacked again, sharper this time, trying to pressure her before she could settle.
Their blades met.
A clean metallic sound rang through the courtyard.
Then frost spread across his weapon.
Not all at once.
Just enough.
A thin layer.
A slight delay.
His motion slowed.
Valeria moved.
One step.
One cut.
She stopped with her blade resting near his throat.
The fight ended before most of the crowd had even fully processed what happened.
The student froze.
Then lowered his sword.
"…I yield."
"Winner — Valeria Frostborn!"
No one cheered loudly this time.
The reaction was quieter.
More careful.
Like the students weren't sure if making noise around her was the right idea.
Valeria stepped back and lowered her sword without expression.
Taro folded his arms.
"…She's scary."
"A little," Lysander said.
Taro looked at him.
"Only a little?"
Lysander's mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
"…More than a little."
Taro laughed.
That, at least, felt normal.
As the crowd shifted again, Lysander expected Valeria to leave the arena area like everyone else.
She didn't.
Instead, she walked toward the outer edge of the courtyard.
Toward them.
Taro noticed first.
"…Why is she coming here?"
Lysander didn't answer.
A few nearby students went quiet as she stopped a short distance in front of them.
Up close, her presence felt exactly like her fighting style.
Still.
Cold.
Controlled.
Her eyes moved to Lysander.
"You're Rank 63."
Her voice was calm.
Not mocking.
Just stating it.
Lysander nodded.
"That's what the board says."
Taro snorted beside him.
Valeria ignored him.
She studied Lysander for a moment longer, then said,
"I watched your stance during the earlier matches."
Lysander waited.
Her gaze narrowed slightly.
"…Your movement is inconsistent."
Taro blinked.
"Inconsistent?"
Valeria continued as if he hadn't spoken.
"Some steps are hesitant."
"Others aren't."
"You adjust in the middle of motion."
A pause.
"…It's unrefined."
Lysander answered simply.
"…That sounds right."
That made Taro turn toward him.
"Wait, you're just accepting that?"
"It's not wrong."
Valeria's eyes stayed on him.
Then she asked,
"How long have you trained with the sword?"
The question was direct.
No challenge in it.
No insult either.
Lysander thought for half a second before answering.
"…Not long."
A quiet pause followed.
Not dramatic.
Not sharp.
But noticeable.
Valeria didn't react outwardly.
Still, something in her gaze shifted.
Measuring again.
Reconsidering.
"…I see."
That was all she said.
No second question.
No disbelief.
No praise.
She turned and walked away.
Taro stared after her.
"…What was that?"
Lysander looked back toward the dueling circles.
"I think she was curious."
"About what?"
"…I'm not sure."
That part was true enough.
Another duel began near the center of the courtyard.
Then another.
The Ranking Board shifted again.
A student climbed three places.
Another lost five.
The noise returned in full.
Lysander kept watching.
This time not just the winners.
The losers were useful too.
How they failed.
Where their balance broke.
How quickly nerves ruined their decisions.
He adjusted his grip on the wooden practice blade at his side.
Taro noticed.
"You thinking of challenging someone?"
"Not yet."
Taro frowned.
"Still learning?"
Lysander nodded.
"For now."
That was enough for Taro, apparently.
The beastkin crossed his arms and looked back toward the arena.
"Well, try not to wait too long."
"Why?"
Taro grinned.
"Because people are starting to notice you."
Lysander looked around.
He didn't need to search long.
Some students glanced his way, then looked elsewhere when they realized he'd seen them.
Across the courtyard, Cassian Dreadmoor stood beside one of the duel circles with his arms folded, watching the matches.
Or maybe not the matches.
Maybe him.
Hard to tell from this distance.
Further off, Leon had already finished another short conversation and was now looking over the shifting ranks on the board.
And near the arena path, Valeria had stopped again—not close enough to be obvious, but not so far that it meant nothing.
Lysander exhaled softly.
Taro wasn't wrong.
This was getting annoying.
A challenge ended with another student being knocked flat on his back.
The instructor overseeing that ring raised a hand.
"Winner — Rank 34!"
The losing student groaned and sat up.
A few people laughed.
Then someone else stepped into the open ring.
A tall student.
Noble uniform.
Sharp features.
His gaze moved through the crowd once—
then stopped on Lysander.
"There you are."
The voice carried clearly enough that students near the ring turned their heads.
Taro muttered, "Oh, here we go."
The noble student pointed his practice weapon toward him.
"Lysander Vale."
The courtyard quieted around them.
"I challenge you."
The instructor looked over.
"State your rank."
"Rank 54."
More whispers spread immediately.
"Fifty-four challenging sixty-three?"
"That's within range."
"Isn't that the blessingless one?"
Taro looked at Lysander.
"You don't have to take it if you don't want to."
Lysander didn't answer right away.
His eyes stayed on the challenger.
Rank 54.
Close enough to be reasonable.
Far enough that winning would matter.
A simple academy fight.
Nothing like Blackroot Forest.
Nothing like the Wolf King.
Nothing that actually deserved fear.
Still—
he had no reason to rush.
The noble student frowned.
"…Well?"
Lysander stepped forward.
Calmly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for the crowd to open a path.
Taro let out a breath through his nose.
"Guess that answers that."
Lysander passed him and entered the duel circle.
The stone underfoot felt dry and steady.
The noise around the courtyard faded into something distant.
Not because anything had changed.
Just because this was the moment now.
Across from him, the challenger raised his weapon.
The instructor stepped between them.
"Ranking challenge accepted."
The students around the circle leaned in slightly.
Watching.
Waiting.
At the edge of the crowd, Leon turned fully toward the ring.
Valeria's pale blue eyes lifted.
And from further back—
Cassian Dreadmoor watched in silence.
The instructor raised his hand.
"Prepare."
Lysander settled his stance.
Nothing special.
Nothing hidden.
Just steady.
The hand began to fall.
And the entire courtyard went still.