Raphael Earhart
Our blades collided in a steady, precise rhythm. With each strike, Renald drove me closer to the wall. His movements grew sharper, more aggressive. If he had approached the fight cautiously at first, his irritation now seeped into every swing—I had managed to bruise his pride, and the boy was trying harder than ever.
Renald skillfully blended conventional swordplay with wind magic, which granted him speed and agility. Though he hadn't awakened his aura, this minor elemental control compensated for it, painting the picture of a dangerous opponent.
Yes, he was good. Against any other cadet, his relentless assault would have already secured victory. But everything changes when your opponent is a regressor.
My hands moved with confidence, parrying every thrust, countering every blow. I watched Renald's efforts crumble, his frustration growing as he failed to find even the smallest opening in my defense. His expression betrayed him—focused concentration gave way to irritation. This was the difference between a cadet and a seasoned warrior: impatience. It clouds judgment, conjuring obstacles where none exist.
Driven to desperation, Renald threw one of his short blades at me, hoping for an opening. I dodged the flying weapon and immediately countered his primary strike with my rapier.
Pivoting on my heel, I struck upward with my foot, launching him into the air. Following through with a leap, I spun and delivered a powerful blow to his chest. The air echoed with the sound of the strike as Renald crashed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust. He managed to brace his fall with his arms, but it wasn't enough to absorb the full impact.
Not wasting a moment, I closed the distance with a series of thrusts. Renald tried to parry, but my speed and precision overwhelmed him. My rapier danced through the air, leaving shallow cuts on his arms and torso. They weren't deep, but they told a story: I was faster.
He gritted his teeth, frustration and determination flickering in his eyes as he tried to retreat, desperate to put some space between us.
A voice broke through the tension hanging over the arena:
— Elias is out!
I glanced toward the sound and saw Erin pinning Elias to the ground. My sparring partner had been thoroughly defeated. It wasn't surprising—Erin was leagues beyond him. But her victory meant she would now join Elvira against Liana , a development I couldn't allow.
The whisper of wind warned me of an attack, and I instinctively deflected the blade aimed at my neck.
— Stay focused, my lord, — Renald sneered.
— Of course, — I replied with a smirk. — Just give me a moment.
— What?
I knocked his blade aside and summoned mana, shaping it into a glimmering ice wall between us. Turning toward Liana, I channeled mana into my legs and propelled myself forward.
In a flash, I stood between Liana and her opponent, Elvira.
— W-what?! — Elvira whirled around, startled by my sudden presence.
I reinforced my rapier with mana and struck just past her left ear—a feint designed to unbalance her. She flinched, stumbled to the side, and lost her footing. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed her arm, swept her legs, and pinned her to the ground.
Before she could recover, I pressed my rapier to her throat, ensuring her compliance.
— Elvira is out as well! — Mark's voice boomed.
The match was even again, but the atmosphere in the arena grew more charged.
Just as I rose from Elvira, six wind blades converged on me from all directions. Their varying trajectories, force, and speed made it clear this wasn't a scare tactic—Renald aimed to wound me.
His rage was palpable. Ignoring him to deal with Elvira had been an unforgivable insult. He had seen himself as my rival, but my disregard undermined that, and dispatching Elvira so quickly only deepened the sting.
Not that I cared. I shifted my stance and leapt aside, letting the wind blades pass with only the faintest brush against my hair. But the instant my feet touched the ground, a mana-infused blade shimmered in the air, aimed directly at my head.
Raising an ice spike, I intercepted Renald's strike. His blade embedded itself in the crystalline barrier, leaving him momentarily exposed. He glared at me, his frustration simmering into rage.
— You think this will stop me? — he growled, muscles straining against the ice.
Yet his efforts left me unmoved. Shifting to his side, I delivered a circular strike toward his arm without hesitation. The motion was flawless, calculated to the centimeter—forceful enough to demand his attention, but not so harsh as to cause serious injury. Renald jerked, managing to block the blow with his left hand, but his face couldn't hide the fleeting panic in his eyes—he realized he was at my mercy.
In truth, I had no intention of harming him. If this had been a duel to the death, his right arm would already be severed. I could have cleaved him in two, left him disarmed—or more likely, lifeless. But the purpose of this strike wasn't to injure; it was to demonstrate my strength. I needed him to doubt himself, to strip away the reckless confidence and fervor that rendered him utterly ineffective in a fight.
Each of my movements was a silent reminder: I could take his life at any moment, should I so choose. Let him feel the chasm that lay between us. He, who had approached this fight assured of his right to challenge me, was incapable of even posing a threat.
And now, it seemed, he understood. I saw the emotions flash across his face—frustration, then anger, and finally fear. He tried to mask it, clenching his teeth, but the beads of sweat trickling down his forehead betrayed the mounting tension within him. Feeling powerless, Renald renewed his assault, slamming into the ice barrier with doubled fury, but even his swiftest strikes couldn't shatter my defense.
The entire scene lasted no more than fifteen seconds, yet for both of us, those moments stretched into eternity. I had no intention of hastening his release—better to let this helplessness sear itself into his mind as deeply as possible.
Fifteen seconds. What does that mean in a battle where every instant is priceless? If a single fraction of a second can decide life or death, then fifteen seconds is an eternity. Fifteen times over, I could have ended this duel without giving him a chance to retaliate.
But I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I simply stood there, watching as Renald, panting with exertion, desperately tried to shatter the ice trapping his arm. His blade was frozen solid within the crystalline block, and each frantic movement only emphasized the futility of his efforts. I remained silent. I didn't move, didn't blink. My calm, expectant gaze was enough to drive home the difference between us.
For Renald, the silence was torture. It hung over him like a crushing weight, oppressive and unrelenting. His body was taut as a drawn bowstring, his eyes darting with rising desperation, but deep within, the first sparks of doubt flickered. We both knew: my inaction during those fifteen seconds wasn't an accident.
This is a demonstration.
I could see that, for him—a proud cadet of the family—this was worse than defeat. It was a cruel humiliation, one that gnawed at the pride not just of a boy, but of a future knight.
In the brief minutes of our duel, I had glimpsed the world he lived in and the role he held sacred. Renald had grown accustomed to the support of those around him, to being someone others couldn't easily challenge among the cadets. His friends had encouraged him, fed his belief that, with enough effort, he could best anyone. He was convinced that his strength was his own, that it was enough.
But what happens to that conviction when he's shown its limit?
His confidence and belief in his own superiority, though naïve, weren't entirely without merit.
Renald had achieved much. To an outsider, it might have seemed like I was merely fending off his attacks in a harmless duel. But the truth was, by agreeing to this sparring match, I had a singular purpose: to assess the capabilities of these young cadets, particularly Renald's.
I could see the signs on his hands—the calluses and scars born from countless hours of training. He must have hidden those marks even from his comrades. He had earned his strength, evident in the precision and assurance of his movements. His experience outpaced that of most other cadets. And yet, paradoxically, it was that very experience that became his weakness. Being the best among equals doesn't make you the strongest when faced with a true challenge.
Now, confronted by an opponent far beyond his reach, Renald wasn't just outmatched—he was undone, betrayed by his own overconfidence. He let his emotions unravel the composure that should have been the bedrock of his strength. Blinded by anger, he stumbled, and in that moment, his downfall began.
When the ice finally shattered, he staggered back, still avoiding my gaze. The blades infused with his mana dimmed, as if mirroring the fractured state of his spirit. He stood with his head bowed, struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
An experienced fighter would not have been so shaken by such a minor defeat. But Renald's naivety and blind faith in his own superiority had played a cruel trick on him. The shadow of his earlier zeal shrank inside him, leaving his confidence cracked. I saw it—a fissure that ran through his self-assurance, as though a single gesture on my part had erased his belief in his strength.
I knew what he was feeling. His entire world was collapsing before his eyes, like a house of cards toppled by an unyielding truth. The reality he had long denied now stood before him in all its harshness: he wasn't the most talented, nor the strongest. He wasn't the number one he had always considered himself to be.
I watched his shoulders slump, as though the enthusiasm and bravado with which he had challenged me had dissolved into a fog of doubt. He, who moments ago had been so certain of his path, now stood before me unable to meet my gaze. Shame consumed him like a cold tide, leaving him incapable of looking up.
I didn't move, didn't act—I let him confront his own weakness. This realization would make him stronger. Perhaps, one day, he might even be worthy of my knighthood.
As I mentally evaluated him and the other four cadets, I could picture the five of them as my loyal knights someday. But for now, they were just children, too proud and overly self-assured. If they allowed those traits to dominate, their talent would fade, much like it had with Theo. Pride would blind them to growth, barring their progress.
There were only five meters between Renald and me, but to him, the distance likely felt insurmountable—a chasm he would never cross. The surrounding world faded for him; the sounds of battle behind us melted away. It was as if we stood in a sealed-off reality, where no one else existed but the two of us. Had someone sought to strike him down at that moment, it would have been the perfect opportunity. But I didn't approach, didn't offer him a hand, or make any move to help, silently reminding him that the root of his weakness stood right in front of him. He needed to understand this for himself.
His world was shattering, falling apart like shards of broken glass, and for him, there was nothing more important now.
A single drop of water fell at his feet.
One solitary drop. An ordinary tear—a mere bead of saltwater, and yet for Renald, it meant so much more. This was the breaking point. He was undone, and I could see it. He stood hunched over, unable to even lift his head, as if that could preserve the remnants of his pride.
But the real question wasn't how deeply he would fall. The question was whether he could gather the shards of his broken world and craft something new—a reality where he would no longer view himself as the strongest but accept the truth, and his flaws.
My musings were interrupted by Mark's voice:
— Liana is out!
That was expected. Erin's strength surpassed each of the five cadets—it was no surprise she defeated Liana. Now the only question was whether Renald could reclaim his strength and will to fight.
I heard Erin's footsteps as she approached us. Without looking away from Renald, I felt her presence. She stopped near me and, like me, did nothing. She simply stood, waiting. Seconds passed in silence. The tension in the air grew, every sound echoing across the stillness of the arena, as though the world held its breath, watching what would happen next.
I noticed his hands trembling as they gripped his swords. He was fighting, struggling to regain his composure. Then, Renald raised his head. In the corners of his eyes, the faint traces of tears shimmered, but his face was lit by a weak, sincere smile—not one of mockery or stubbornness, but a quiet acknowledgment.
— Forgive me, my lord, — he said, his voice firm though subdued. — It seems I misunderstood my place.
I met his gaze, calm and unwavering, and replied:
— It's nothing.
Renald raised his paired blades and took a combat stance. His eyes no longer darted with uncertainty; they held a newfound clarity and determination, as if he had shed the weight of his earlier arrogance.
— I doubt I can do this alone, — he said softly, but his gaze didn't waver. — But surely we're two now, aren't we, Lady Erin?
A faint, approving smile crossed Erin's face.
— Of course.
I allowed myself a slight smile as well. Renald had overcome his weaknesses by acknowledging them. Somewhere along the way, he had set his pride aside and accepted his place in the hierarchy dictated by this world.
Perhaps he wasn't entirely changed, but he had begun to understand that strength isn't found in pride or solitary victories but in embracing one's limitations.
A moment ago, he would never have admitted defeat, let alone asked for help. But now, having done so without hesitation, his gaze carried a new kind of strength.
This was what I wanted to see. If he had clung to the same illusion of confidence as Theo, blindly charging forward, I would have left him to face himself. But now, I knew without doubt:
These five would become my first knights.
With that thought, I raised my rapier. Crystals of ice swirled into the air around me, glittering in the light like fragments of shattered glass. Aura enveloped me as I regarded them with a slight smile and declared:
— Give me a fight worth remembering.