"Don't lie to me," Aidan snarled, grabbing Lucian by the collar and yanking him to his feet.
Lucian winced, his earlier bruises standing out against his pale skin.
Aidan's fist hovered midair, ready to strike, when a voice rang out from across the room.
"Stop it!"
The words hung in the air, freezing the room's occupants.
All eyes turned to the source.
A dark-haired boy standing defiantly in the center of the room. His clothes, though clean, lacked the embroidery and fine fabric of noble tailoring.
"A commoner," a low murmur rippled through the room, punctuated by scoffs and sneers.
"Who let a commoner in here?" someone muttered.
"Does he even know who Aidan von Brandt is?" another snickered as if they knew Aidan for a long time.
The boy's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't back down. "Leave him alone, you... bully."
Aidan's grin widened as he released Lucian, stepping toward the boy with a swagger. "Oh, how heroic of you." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "And who are you to give me orders, you... peasant?"
The commoner faltered under the nobles' ridicule. He glanced at the other two commoners in the room, seeking support, but they quickly averted their eyes.
Emboldened by their silence, Aidan shoved the boy backward, causing him to stumble.
"Where's that strong sense of justice you just had, hmm?" Aidan grabbed him by the collar.
Smack!
The sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room.
"Where did it go?" he demanded, delivering another stinging slap.
"Hnn..."
"Huh?!" Slap after slap followed.
Aidan's laughter is growing louder while the boy's cheeks turned red and bruised.
"Err..."
Finally, Aidan shoved him beside Lucian, sending him crumpling to the ground in a heap.
The boy moaned in pain, clutching his face.
"You're in my turf now," Aidan said, his voice laced with mockery. "And if you want to play hero, you can join the loser club with Lucian here."
The room erupted into laughter.
From his bed, Austin let out a quiet sigh, his patience wearing thin while Lucian and the commoner stood against the suffocating ridicules in the center.
"Do you ever shut up?" Austin's calm voice sliced through the chaos.
The laughter stopped.
Aidan turned to him along with everyone else, his grin faltering. "What did you say?"
Austin's expression remained neutral. "You're loud. All of you. I came here for some peace. I'm not to listen to this circus."
A ripple of amusement swept through the nobles, and one of them sneered. "Oh, look. The Saintling has something to say."
Another chimed in, "The descendant of a washed-up sword saint? What's a relic like him doing in the Mystican Academy?"
"Hey, Saintling, martial arts is no longer revered in this era, so you better shut your mouth."
In ancient times, Martial Arts ruled the world. However, as Mystians grew in number and advanced the Mystical Arts—offering greater power and convenience—Martial Arts was gradually reduced to just a subset of Mystical Arts.
The words struck deeper than Austin anticipated. Not for himself, but for his father—the man whose honor these spoiled brats so carelessly mocked.
He clenched his fists, suppressing the urge to respond, knowing escalation would only bring more conflict.
Sensing weakness, Aidan seized the moment. "Exactly! A relic from the Todesfall Forest. Tell me, Austin, how does it feel to be one of a dying breed?"
Austin's dark eyes sharpened. His voice, steady and cold, cut through the taunts. "Better than being remembered as someone who can't win without picking on the weak."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy.
Aidan's smirk twisted into a scowl, his pride stung. "You think you're the good, clever guy, Saintling?" he growled, taking a step closer. "Let's see how clever you are in a duel."
Excitement rippled through the room.
A duel—a day before the Academy's welcome ceremony.
All eyes were on Austin, waiting to see how he would respond.
Austin chuckled, rising from his bed.
His movements were unhurried as he met Aidan's glare. "I'd like to avoid immature dramas."
"Too scared to get embarrassed?" Aidan provoked.
Austin let out a soft sigh of disbelief before speaking, "Alright, but don't cry when it's over."
Aidan's fists clenched, his ego too bruised to back down. "You are going to regret this."
Austin shrugged, his expression unbothered. "We'll see."
***
The announcement of the duel spread like wildfire through the freshmen dormitories, spilling over into the surrounding edifices.
Whispers turned into excited chatter as groups of students hurried to find a vantage point in the area, their curiosity sparked by the audacity of a duel just a day before the Welcome Ceremony.
"Did you hear? Aidan von Brandt and that top scorer are going at it."
"Already? This year's going to be wild!"
"Some nerve challenging a von Brandt..."
"Who's that?"
"He is of noble birth in my country."
The training ground were abuzz, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows over the terrain.
Rows of practice dummies stood in orderly lines, and racks of armors gleamed in the light.
Beyond the training ground, the surrounding greenery swayed gently in the breeze.
A boy pushed his way through the crowd, weaving past taller peers to get a clear view.
By the time he finally found a gap between shoulders, the duel was already over.
His eyes widened as he took in the scene.
Aidan lay sprawled on the ground, his uniform disheveled, and his face pale. His chest rose and fell faintly, but his unconscious state made it clear he had lost.
Austin stood nearby, utterly composed, not a bead of sweat visible on his face.
His sharp eyes scanned the crowd briefly before he turned away, indifferent to the whispers swirling around him.
"What happened?" the student asked the person next to him, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
The other boy, still staring at Austin, shook his head slowly. "It was over in a flash. Aidan didn't stand a chance."
***
Earlier That Afternoon, when Aidan declared his challenge in the dormitory, the atmosphere had shifted instantly.
"I demand a duel," Aidan declared to a nearby professor, his voice loud and cutting through the murmurs of passing students.
There was an edge to his tone, daring anyone to misunderstand his intent.
Every student's gaze had turned toward him, the tension is thick.
The professor, casually taking a stroll with his hands clasped behind his back—a middle-aged man with a deep cocoa skin tone, graying hair, and a tired expression—halted and turned.
He cleared his throat, his expression slightly exasperated. "Perhaps I should introduce myself first. I am Professor Charles Beaumont. It is customary to greet someone before issuing demands, is it not?"
Aidan hesitated, his jaw tightening for a second before he offered a sharp bow, his movements polished. "My apologies, Professor Beaumont. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Aidan von Brant, son of Count Alistair von Brant from the Thule Kingdom in the Western Continent."
Professor Beaumont raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ah, yes. North from here, is it not? How fascinating." His tone was cool, almost dismissive.
Aidan's eyes narrowed slightly at the professor's choice of words, his pride pricked. "Indeed, Professor. The Thule Kingdom is renowned for its—"
"—Distance," Professor Beaumont interjected smoothly, cutting off the boy's retort. He offered a polite yet firm smile, his gaze briefly sweeping the gathering crowd.
"..."
"No need to elaborate. I understand 'first time' can be... overwhelming for some who travelled a long way."
Aidan's nostrils flared ever so slightly, but he forced a thin smile, his hands tightening behind his back.
Before he could reply, the professor's attention shifted, his sharp eyes landed on a certain student.
Beaumont gestured toward the boy. "Ah, yes. You there." His voice carried an unmistakable note of intrigue. "Step forward."
Austin, standing quietly amidst the crowd, raised his eyebrows as he met the professor's gaze.
He stepped forward at his command.
"Good day, Professor Beaumont. My name is Austin," he said, his tone polite.
Professor Beaumont tilted his head slightly, studying him with a keen eye. "Ah, yes. Austin Scharf," he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I assure you, all of the professors are quite familiar with you and your brother's name."
He let the statement linger in the air, his pause deliberate, as though weighing its significance.
"He has a brother?"
"Who cares about two unlucky Saintlings?"
"A duel? Before your official first day?" the professor cut through the murmurs, his tone exhausted, as though this was the last thing he needed.
"I apologi..."
"A duel is within the academy rules, is it not?" Aidan intruded, his smirk practically daring the professor to refuse. "As a von Brandt, I insist that the academy uphold its traditions."
The professor sighed.