Liam Jradan panted heavily as he pointed the spear tip of Thistlethorn at the strange boy before him.
That's how he would best describe Croy Belmont.
Strange.
He had defeated Belmont in the duel, but he couldn't call it an absolute victory.
Of course, he had expected to be challenged — otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to challenge Belmont to a duel in the first place.
But then everything unfolded strangely. And quickly.
Belmont had clearly never held a sword before — perhaps never even a Spellweapon, as he hadn't even activated the simplest sharpening runes on his sword.
If it had been a duel without spells, Liam would have crushed his opponent utterly. But Belmont had surprised him by using his spells deliberately and precisely. He had outsmarted Liam twice, and the second time he had nearly won.
Only thanks to Liam's relentless training had he been able to activate a barrier spell just in time.
He gritted his teeth as he slowly lowered his spear.
The only spells Belmont had used were the barrier spell and Discharge.
He had even activated the barrier spell passively. Liam could only guess that he must have trained for years to achieve that.
He himself hadn't managed that yet. It irked him. In that aspect, the victory went to Belmont.
And then there was that one spell Belmont had almost cast when he formed his fingers into a gun.
That was clearly the Mana Bullet spell. A military spell.
How did Belmont know military spells? He could even cast them without a Spellpistol... and Liam had instinctively sensed that it wasn't a coincidence. The mana forming at his fingertip had been dangerous.
Deadly.
He must have cast that spell thousands of times to be so fluid and lethal with it.
Was he a former soldier? He didn't look any older than Liam himself. He would look into that later.
'Also, violet mana...' he thought, narrowing his eyes.
In the end, Belmont had indeed had another trick up his sleeve. It was so simple, but Liam would never have expected it. That Belmont could reestablish his barrier in such a short time was...
Devilish.
No one else would have noticed. The formation and shattering of the barrier happened so quickly that Liam only realized it because of the impact. To all the other students, it must have looked as if Liam had simply missed.
"Tsk," Liam said, then turned away from Belmont.
He had won. But his opponent hadn't even really used a Spellweapon or even his best spells.
Of course, Liam hadn't either. Revealing all his secrets before so many eyes would have been foolish. But what if it hadn't been a controlled duel?
A fight to the death instead. One where Liam and Belmont used everything they had.
Would the result have been different?
What will the outcome be after a year?
'Croy Belmont. We will fight again.'
Liam's mouth twitched. He would have to train even harder if he wanted to defeat his father.
***
'Did... did that guy just say "Tsk"?'
Croy watched as Jradan disappeared into the crowd of gawking students. His heart was still pounding loudly, just as his jaw still hurt.
He was still bleeding.
But all that was minor. What bothered him more was that he had lost the duel, even with the surprise attack at the end.
He slowly picked up the Spellsword from the ground and examined it. The blade looked no different after the duel. But at the moment, the sword still felt wrong in his hands.
He would soon change that.
He looked up and noticed that now far more students were standing around him. But to his surprise, they didn't seem puzzled or impressed by the duel. Rather, they seemed to pity him.
And he found out why.
"He didn't stand a chance," someone whispered.
"Lord Jradan only challenged him to humiliate him... and the idiot accepted."
"At least he was brave."
"He has violet mana. But he can't even activate the runes on the Spellsword, so... is it wasted?"
"What a tragedy. Perverted and weak."
"Don't talk like that! At least he tried! You would have pissed your pants."
"But in the end, he got pretty close to Lord Jradan, didn't he?"
"That's only because Jradan allowed it."
'Are you serious?'
Apparently, no one had seen what really happened during the duel. All they saw was that Croy had been on the ground twice without landing a single hit on Jradan.
He grimaced. That was technically true. He hadn't landed a single hit.
At least his reputation seemed to be improving slightly. Now he was not only a pervert but also a brave idiot.
He sighed. He didn't have the energy to correct the students and would probably only make things worse.
But not everyone was talking. With his heart involuntarily skipping a beat, he saw the breathtaking imperial twins facing him. They were sweaty and panting heavily. Apparently, at some point during the duel, they had ended their own duel and watched.
But Croy couldn't read their faces. Was that curiosity? Indifference?
It hurt a bit that the princesses were looking at him like that.
'If Sandman finds out, he'll beat me up for losing in front of them.'
But if the two princesses were here, then where was...
Croy found Fredrik further back. He was frozen in a pose, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair.
He stood there like a statue, not even glancing in Croy's direction.
'What happened to him?'
Suddenly, he had a bad feeling from the look of the imperial twins. He prayed that Fredrik hadn't done anything stupid while he was fighting Jradan.
Slowly, the students began to lose interest. The duel was over, the young Lord Jradan had withdrawn, and all that remained was the loser.
The crowd dispersed. Behind Croy, he heard someone clapping.
Cookoff stood behind him, slowly clapping her hands. Her face was expressionless.
Croy smiled when he saw her.
"How was I?" he asked Cookoff.
She raised her eyebrows and smirked.
"You got beaten up badly. You're still bleeding."
Croy wiped the smile and the blood from his face.
"Thanks for the valuable critique."
Cookoff smiled briefly, then shook her head and became more serious.
"Honestly, I've seen worse. But also much better. It was your first time wielding a sword, but you couldn't even activate the runes on it."
She pointed to his bloody mouth.
"Because of that, you took multiple injuries and would have died in a real fight."
Croy grimaced.
"In a real fight, I would have—"
"You would have," she interrupted, "maybe won. Maybe. But that doesn't matter. You're here to learn how to handle the Spellweapon, and you're really bad at it. I'll find someone who can teach you."
Croy was about to retort, but the last sentence changed his mind. He smiled broadly.
"Thanks, Cookoff!"
She glared at him.
"It's Professor Aerav when we're here, Ember— I mean, Mr. Belmont."
She cleared her throat.
"Nice trick at the end."
Croy grinned. At least someone had noticed.
"Thanks, uh, Professor?"
Cookoff shook her head.
"I know. It's a bit weird for me too... Speaking of callsigns," she said, and her eyes suddenly narrowed.
An ominous feeling sent a shiver down Croy's spine. He took a few steps back and nervously rubbed his head.
Cookoff also took a step toward him, her hand clenched into a fist.
"Tell me, Mr. Belmont, is the nickname 'Pervert' also just a callsign?"
"Uh, I— there were misunderstandings!" he defended himself honestly.
Cook— no, Professor Aerav looked at him skeptically before she relaxed and chuckled a bit.
"We should have kept Sandman and Bunny away from you more."
'But it's really a misunderstanding!' he thought helplessly.
But she didn't seem angry with him. On the contrary, she placed a hand on his shoulder, leaned in, and whispered in his ear.
"It makes me happy to see you here like this. You finally seem to be having some fun."
Then she pulled back, a few strands of her violet hair lingering on his shoulders.
She gave Croy another smile, then turned and walked over to other students.
Croy's heart felt warm.
Fun?
Yes, he thought he was really having fun.
But he also wanted to win. And become stronger.
But first, he had to check on his friend. When he reached the statue that was the frozen Fredrik, Inera was already beside him, grinning foolishly.
When she noticed Croy, she waved at him.
"Hey, Croy! Look at his facial expression! I can't take it anymore!"
Croy stepped in front of his friend and immediately burst out laughing. His face was frozen into what Croy could only interpret as his friend's best attempt to look charming and suave.
Croy held his hand over his mouth to avoid spitting more blood.
"Don't you want to get that treated?" Inera asked him.
Croy smiled.
"Soon. Hey, Fredrik! Come on, snap out of it."
He tapped his friend on the forehead.
Somehow, Fredrik managed to speak without changing his facial expression much, which only made the whole situation more absurd.
"Leave me alone. Fredrik is gone. Only the frozen shell of his ascended self remains."
"That's very poetic," Inera remarked with a suppressed laugh.
Croy also had to hold back.
"Which one did you try it with?" he asked.
"With Princess Lyn, from what I saw from a distance," Inera answered instead.
Croy sighed. Then he grabbed his friend by the shoulders.
"Come on, I'll treat you. Although, the meals are all on the Academy's tab. Anyway, it can't have been so bad that you turn into a statue because of a rejection."
Fredrik's eyes snapped to Croy. A grin spread across his face.
"Rejection? Who's talking about rejection?"
Croy's eyes widened.
"I have a date with her!"
Croy and Inera both froze and became statues themselves.
'He is t-t-the Chosen One!'