Me and Leon walked toward the swordsmanship training grounds, the casual noise of the academy gradually fading behind us. The further we went, the quieter it became—not silent, but focused. The kind of atmosphere where distractions naturally died, replaced by something sharper, something that demanded attention.
Clara had already left earlier, heading toward her archer class. She had mentioned it before with a faint sense of hesitation, but there was no doubt that ranged combat suited her far more than close quarters.
As we stepped onto the training grounds, my gaze swept across the field.
Students were already lined up.
Wooden swords in hand.
Postures varied—some rigid, some relaxed, some pretending confidence they clearly didn't possess.
The ground beneath us was unnaturally smooth, pale, almost sterile. It didn't feel like a natural training field. It felt engineered—as though even the environment had been designed to strip away comfort.
Among the crowd, familiar figures stood out.
Silver Ryker stood near the front, his posture perfectly straight, his presence cold and unmoving as if he had already separated himself from the rest.
Reinheart Verilian stood nearby, that same composed smile resting on his lips, his gaze calm yet observant, like someone watching a performance rather than participating in it.
Yelena Zephyr leaned slightly to one side, her stance loose, but her body carried a tension that betrayed readiness. Even without mana, there was something volatile about her, something that refused to settle.
Then—
"Hey, you two. Get in line. Stop standing around like morons."
The voice cut across the field without restraint.
Leon's expression darkened instantly, irritation flashing across his face.
"This fucker… did he seriously forget how I—"
Before he could finish, I raised my hand and covered his mouth.
"You're under disguise," I whispered quietly. "Control yourself."
His eyes twitched with annoyance, but after a brief moment, he clicked his tongue and pulled back.
"Tch… whatever."
I let go.
My gaze shifted forward.
The man standing ahead had brown hair, a well-built frame, and a presence that didn't scream power—yet refused to be ignored. Two swords rested at his waist, positioned with the kind of familiarity that only came from long use.
Ron Graves.
His eyes flicked toward us, narrowing slightly.
"Huh… are you two gay or something?"
Leon stepped forward instantly, his temper flaring.
"Haah—this fu— I'm seriously going to—"
"No, sir," I cut in, grabbing his collar and dragging him back. "We'll join the line."
Ron stared for a moment, then shrugged.
"Whatever."
We stepped into formation.
The air settled again.
"Now that everyone's here…"
Ron stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as if loosening himself for something trivial.
"I'm Instructor Ron. I'll be handling your swordsmanship training."
His tone lacked the rigidity of a typical instructor. There was no formal introduction, no attempt to establish authority.
And yet—
It was there.
"Grab a wooden sword."
Students moved quickly. So did we.
The moment I picked one up, I tested its balance. It was light, crude, nothing like a real blade—but sufficient.
Ron turned back toward us.
Then he grinned.
"Come at me."
A ripple passed through the group.
Confusion.
Hesitation.
Then—
Silver stepped forward.
His voice was cold, edged with irritation.
"Do you want to die?"
Ron didn't even blink.
"Oh, shut up, brat of Ryker. You couldn't kill me in your sleep."
A faint pause followed before his grin widened slightly.
"Now I said—come at me."
Silver vanished.
His movement was fast—too fast for most to follow.
He reappeared in front of Ron, sword already descending.
Then—
His eyes widened.
"My mana…?"
The realization had barely formed when—
Thud.
A wooden blade struck his chest.
Clean.
Direct.
Silver's body was sent flying back, sliding across the ground before coming to a stop.
Silence spread.
Ron rested his sword casually against his shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, almost lazily, "this entire field is stripped of mana."
He tapped the ground beneath his feet.
"Call it anti-mana if that helps."
Silver pushed himself up slowly, his expression darkening.
Ron's gaze swept across all of us.
"You rely too much on mana."
His tone shifted, not louder, but heavier.
"Enhancement. Reinforcement. Affinity tricks."
A faint scoff escaped him.
"And because of that… your swordsmanship is garbage."
The words didn't feel like an insult.
They felt like a verdict.
"So," he continued, lifting his sword once more, "come at me. Only skill. No mana."
He unsheathed his sword fully.
My eyes narrowed.
The grip—
It was wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Different.
A reverse grip.
To most, it would look inefficient. A stance that sacrificed reach and power for nothing.
But Ron held it with ease.
With familiarity.
There was no hesitation in his posture, no imbalance in his stance.
He truly fights like that.
The first wave of students rushed him.
One after another.
Their attacks came fast, fueled by numbers rather than coordination.
Ron moved.
Barely.
A step here.
A shift there.
A strike.
"Disappointing."
Another movement.
"Boring."
A deflection.
"Trash."
A counter.
"Pathetic."
Each word matched a motion.
Each motion ended a fight.
Bodies fell.
Effortlessly.
Then—
A blur cut through the field.
Yelena.
She moved like lightning, weaving through fallen students, closing the distance instantly.
In a single motion, she leapt upward.
Her sword descended.
Fast.
Precise.
Ron's grin returned.
"Heh… not bad."
He vanished.
Yelena's eyes widened.
Before she could react—
He reappeared mid-air.
His blade came down.
Thud.
The impact sent her flying backward, her body crashing across the ground.
Silence followed.
A stunned, heavy silence.
"I thought we weren't allowed to use mana…"
A voice whispered somewhere nearby.
"That's not mana."
Leon's voice answered, calm, almost bored.
"That's just his physical strength."
My eyes shifted slightly.
Physical… strength?
Before the thought could settle—
Leon kicked me forward.
"Go."
I stumbled a step before regaining my footing.
"Tch…"
A breath escaped me.
Fragments surfaced in my mind.
Ogram's teachings.
His voice.
His relentless presence.
Be faster.
Be aggressive.
Don't hesitate.
I stepped forward.
Closed the distance.
Ron's eyes met mine, a grin forming slowly.
"Show me, Apex… that you don't need mana to be considered talented."
I didn't respond.
I moved.
A step to the side.
A strike toward his flank.
Clack.
Blocked.
I redirected instantly, turning the motion upward.
Clack.
Deflected.
I shifted again, dropping my blade toward his chest before pulling it back mid-swing—
A feint.
I twisted my body, cutting low toward his leg.
Clack.
Stopped again.
His movements were minimal.
Efficient.
Precise.
I pressed harder.
Faster.
My strikes chained together, one flowing into the next, each one attempting to break his rhythm.
But—
He wasn't reacting.
He was anticipating.
Each clash echoed sharply across the field.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
I stepped closer.
Too close.
I shifted my grip and drove the hilt toward his ribs.
For a brief moment—
His eyes flickered.
Then—
His shoulder slammed into mine.
My balance broke.
Before I could recover—
His blade tapped my side.
Clean.
Decisive.
I slid back, regaining my footing.
My chest stung slightly.
But my mind—
Was calm.
He's good.
No—
He's worth learning from.
Ron exhaled lightly, scanning the field once more.
"Hm… are you the only one left?"
His gaze shifted.
Settling on Leon.
Dark hair.
Black eyes.
Unremarkable.
At least, that's what it looked like.
Leon smiled faintly.
A subtle expression.
Easy to miss.
Ron didn't notice.
"Hurry it up," he said, rolling his shoulder. "I'm getting bored—"
Leon disappeared.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Just—
Gone.
Ron's pupils shrank.
In the next instant—
Leon stood in front of him.
Their swords collided immediately.
Clack!
The impact rang louder than before.
Heavier.
Leon didn't stop.
His strikes came in rapid succession, each one aggressive, each one carrying weight that didn't belong to a student.
Ron stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
A faint strain appeared in his arms.
"Ugh…"
For the first time—
He was being pushed.
Leon's eyes flickered briefly.
Ah… right.
I need to hold back.
His stance shifted.
Subtly.
Deliberately.
A gap opened on his side.
Clean.
Obvious.
Too obvious.
Ron saw it.
Instinct took over.
He stepped in and struck.
The hit landed.
Solid.
Leon's body recoiled, sliding backward across the ground.
The clash ended.
Just like that.
Silence settled once more over the training field.
Not the earlier silence of shock.
But something heavier.
Something uncertain.
Ron stood still, his grip tightening slightly around the wooden sword. His breathing had changed—not ragged, not exhausted, but… aware.
Because for a brief moment, something had felt wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not overwhelming.
But—
Off.
His eyes lingered on Leon for a fraction longer than necessary.
A faint frown forming, almost imperceptible.
Then it disappeared.
The moment passed.
Yet the feeling remained, buried beneath the surface, refusing to fully fade.
As if, just for an instant—
He hadn't been facing a student at all.