The courtyard had gone quiet.
Not completely.
But enough.
The kind of quiet that formed when something was about to happen.
Lysander stood inside the duel circle.
Across from him, the noble student adjusted his grip on his weapon.
Confident.
Relaxed.
Like this was already decided.
The instructor stepped between them.
"Ranking challenge. Rank 54 versus Rank 63."
A brief pause.
"Begin."
The hand dropped.
The noble moved first.
Fast.
Direct.
His blade cut through the air toward Lysander's shoulder.
Lysander stepped back.
Barely.
The edge passed in front of him.
Closer than he expected.
…Fast.
The second strike came immediately.
No pause.
No wasted motion.
Lysander raised his blade.
CLANG.
The force pushed him back half a step.
His grip tightened slightly.
The noble didn't stop.
A third strike.
Sharper.
Lower.
Lysander shifted his stance—
just enough—
and the blade scraped past his side instead of cutting clean.
"…You're slower than I expected," the noble said.
Lysander didn't respond.
He was still adjusting.
The next exchange came faster.
Strike.
Block.
Shift.
CLANG.
The rhythm wasn't his yet.
The noble pressed forward again, tightening the space between them.
Too close.
Lysander stepped back—
his foot caught slightly against uneven stone.
Just for a moment.
His balance shifted.
The noble's eyes sharpened.
There.
The strike came down immediately.
Lysander forced his body to move—
twisting just enough—
the blade cutting past his shoulder instead of into it.
Too close.
He pushed off the ground and created distance.
Taro's voice came from somewhere outside the circle.
"…He almost got hit."
Lysander exhaled quietly.
Unsteady footing.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
He adjusted his stance again.
More carefully this time.
The noble smirked slightly.
"Done adjusting?"
Lysander looked at him.
"…Almost."
That earned a small laugh.
"Good. I'd hate to end this too quickly."
He moved again.
This time faster.
The pressure increased immediately.
Strike after strike came in tight succession.
Lysander blocked one—
redirected another—
barely avoided the third.
His arm felt the impact now.
Not pain.
But weight.
…He's more refined.
The noble didn't waste movement.
Every attack had purpose.
Every step had control.
Lysander shifted again—
trying to match the rhythm—
but it wasn't clean yet.
Another clash.
CLANG.
The sound rang louder this time.
The noble pushed forward harder.
Their blades locked briefly.
"You're holding," the noble said quietly.
"…But not well."
Lysander didn't deny it.
Because it was true.
The pressure increased again.
A downward strike—
Lysander blocked—
but the force drove him back a full step this time.
His footing slipped slightly again.
Unstable.
Annoying.
He exhaled slowly.
Then stepped forward.
Not to attack.
To match.
The next exchange shifted.
Instead of reacting—
he moved with the attack.
The noble struck—
Lysander adjusted his angle—
redirected instead of blocking—
and slipped just outside the line of the blade.
A small change.
But it worked.
The noble's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Better."
Lysander didn't answer.
He moved again.
This time—
not slower—
not faster—
Just… cleaner.
The next clash felt different.
Less force.
More control.
The noble attacked—
Lysander stepped in instead of back—
cutting the distance in half.
Unexpected.
The strike still came—
but the angle was off now.
Their blades met—
CLANG—
and separated instantly.
The rhythm shifted.
Not fully.
But enough.
Outside the circle, Taro leaned forward.
"…He's changing."
The noble attacked again—
but this time—
Lysander was already moving.
Not reacting.
Anticipating.
The strike passed—
and for a brief moment—
there was an opening.
Small.
But real.
Lysander's hand moved.
The draw was fast—
not perfect—
not clean—
but enough.
The blade stopped just short of the noble's neck.
Silence.
The noble froze.
His own blade still mid-motion—
but too late.
A breath passed.
Then another.
"…I yield."
The instructor's voice followed.
"Winner — Lysander Vale."
The noise returned all at once.
"…He won?"
"Rank 63?"
"That didn't look clean…"
Taro let out a breath.
"…Okay, yeah. That was close."
Lysander lowered his blade.
His grip relaxed slightly.
Not a clean win.
Not comfortable either.
He stepped out of the duel circle.
For a moment—
nothing happened.
Then the system appeared.
[SYSTEM — STATUS]
Progress Evaluation:
Sword Handling: Improved
Combat Adaptation: Increased
Lysander looked at the screen briefly.
Then spoke quietly.
"…Show full status."
The window shifted.
Name: Lysander Vale
Rank: E
Strength: 7
Agility: 9
Endurance: 7
Mana: 5
Perception: 10
Luck: 1
His eyes paused on the last line.
Luck: 1
He closed the window halfway—
then opened it again.
"…Why does this keep happening?"
No response.
Then—
[System Response]
Luck represents alignment with fate.
Current Value: 1
Status: Severely misaligned
Outcome:
→ Increased probability of irregular events
→ Increased probability of attention and conflict
Lysander stared at the message for a second.
"…So the more I avoid things…"
→ The probability of involvement increases
He exhaled quietly.
"…That's annoying."
The system disappeared.
Around him—
the courtyard hadn't settled.
If anything—
it felt louder.
More eyes than before.
From a distance—
Leon glanced in his direction.
Valeria stood still, pale blue hair catching faint light as her gaze remained on him for just a moment longer than before.
And further back—
Cassian Dreadmoor smiled faintly.
Not impressed.
Interested.
Lysander looked away.
Yeah…
This was getting worse.