The nurse returns, placing a folded uniform at the edge of Ares' bed.
Dark fabric. Clean. Unmarked.
"A standard Dreadspire Academy uniform," she says. "You'll need it."
Ignis and Aphrodite sit nearby on a couch, watching him closely.
The nurse continues casually, "Today, you'll be assigned a class."
Ignis cuts in before she can elaborate.
"There are three class divisions," she explains, leaning forward slightly. "Class A, the strongest. Class B, capable and reliable. Class C… not the weakest, but those who still need significant improvement."
Ares glances at them.
"What class are you in?"
Ignis straightens slightly, a hint of pride slipping through.
"B class."
Aphrodite nods softly.
"I'm in B as well."
Ignis continues, her tone sharpening.
"With what you did in the forest… the story has already spread across the academy."
She exhales.
"People are watching you now."
Aphrodite adds more gently, "Some see you as a hero… a great warrior."
Ignis finishes the thought.
"And others don't believe it. Even with witnesses."
Ares nods once.
Unbothered.
"So what is this exam?" he asks.
Ignis and Aphrodite exchange a glance.
There is hesitation.
Something like unease.
The nurse notices immediately, brow furrowing.
"…A duel," Ignis says carefully.
"With a professor," Aphrodite finishes quietly.
Ares shows no reaction.
That, more than anything, unsettles them.
Ignis stares.
Aphrodite blinks.
He would have smiled before.
Or shown excitement.
Or hunger.
Now—
nothing.
A quiet, controlled stillness.
They both feel it.
He has changed.
…
Ares stands in the arena.
Stone beneath his feet.
The stands rise high around him, packed with students.
Whispers ripple through the crowd like wind through dry grass.
"He's the one—"
"The goblin slayer—"
"They say he wiped out an entire army—"
"He doesn't look like much…"
Ares ignores it all.
His gaze drifts, distant.
Waiting.
Then—
the arena shifts.
A man steps forward.
A spear rests easily in his grip.
Spiked golden hair catches the light.
Tanned skin, sharp green eyes, a presence carved from confidence and experience.
He stops across from Ares.
"I am a professor of this academy," he says evenly.
"My name is Achilles."
A faint smirk touches his lips.
"There's a lot of noise about you."
A pause.
"But to me… you don't look like anything special."
Ares says nothing.
Instead—
a weapon forms in his hand.
Not the familiar black blade.
Something heavier.
An ebony war axe.
Dark metal drinks in the light.
The edge hums faintly.
Achilles' eyes narrow.
"…Now that," he mutters, adjusting his grip, "is interesting."
"I've never seen magic like that before."
In the stands—
Aphrodite leans toward Ignis.
"What is that?" she asks quietly. "I've seen him summon weapons before… but not like that."
Ignis frowns, eyes locked on Ares.
"I don't understand it either."
She exhales slowly.
"The chains I cast before were made of mana… temporary constructs."
Her gaze sharpens.
"But those weapons…"
A pause.
"They're real."
Aphrodite swallows.
Ignis finishes, voice lower now.
"And they reek of bloodlust."
Back in the arena—
Ares remains silent.
Still.
Watching.
Achilles watches him in return.
Then—
something shifts.
A subtle tension creeps into his posture.
A feeling.
Deep.
Instinctual.
Something is wrong.
The air feels heavier.
The arena—
feels like a battlefield.
Achilles' grip tightens on his spear.
The crowd begins to murmur louder.
"Why hasn't he moved?"
"Is he waiting?"
"What's he doing?"
A whisper cuts through—
"He's scared."
Achilles hears it.
His jaw tightens.
Resolve snaps into place.
He moves.
Explosive.
The ground cracks beneath his step.
A shockwave bursts outward as he launches forward—
fast—
too fast.
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
He closes the distance in an instant—
But—
Swords appear in the air.
Dozens.
Floating.
Then—
they move.
Achilles' eyes widen.
"What—?!"
He reacts instantly, deflecting one, twisting past another, narrowly avoiding a third.
Steel clashes against steel in rapid bursts as he cuts through the storm—
never stopping—
still driving forward.
"…Just what is this?!" he mutters, breath tightening.
The air grows thicker.
He can feel it now—
clearly.
Pressure.
Violence.
"This arena…" he breathes.
"…feels like a battlefield."
Then—
he reaches Ares.
Their weapons collide.
Spear meets axe—
A deafening clang explodes outward.
Another shockwave tears through the arena.
Stone cracks.
Air shudders.
For a moment—
everything holds still.
Two forces.
Locked.
Testing.
And something beneath it—
waiting to break.