Kael hit the ground hard.
The impact drove the air from his lungs in a single, violent expulsion.
His back screamed.
His ribs felt like they'd collectively decided to retire.
His right arm went numb for half a heartbeat before lighting up with a fire that seemed to burn from the inside out.
He lay there, sprawled across the stone platform, staring up at the vast, unfamiliar sky.
Okay.
'That... definitely hurt.'
He tried to move—just a little, just to confirm his body still worked—and immediately regretted it. A fresh wave of agony bloomed through his side, sharp and insistent.
'Is this what real physical pain feels like?'
The sound of boots echoed nearby, growing closer.
Kael forced his head to turn, his vision swimming slightly, and saw Jarik approaching.
His figure was silhouetted against the arena's harsh light, his sword still held loosely in one hand.
Kael groaned, forcing himself up onto one knee.
His whole body felt like it had been thrown into a meat grinder, then politely asked to stand up and try again.
Every muscle protested. Every joint ached. Even his teeth hurt.
'Yeah, okay.'
'I definitely won't be able to match his combat abilities.'
Jarik stopped a few feet away, looking down at him with an expression that was equal parts impressed and concerned.
"You're tougher than you look. I put a lot of strength into that hit."
Kael managed a half-dead glare, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He wobbled to his feet, using his sword as a makeshift cane.
His legs shook a little.
His arms trembled.
His entire body screamed at him to stay down.
But he didn't.
"You can still stand," Jarik said, sounding genuinely impressed now, his tone carrying real respect.
The punch he landed was a mixture of his entire strength—which he had been honing since childhood—and mana enhancement which would have been enough to keep any Novice down for a very long while.
Kael coughed, one eye twitching involuntarily. "Give it a few more hits, and we'll see."
His stance was even more sloppy now.
His arms shook visibly.
Every line of his body screamed defeat.
Yet he still held the sword.
Still stood.
Still refused to quit.
He honestly doesn't know why, but he doesn't feel like losing today.
Jarik's smile widened slightly—not mocking, but appreciative. Like he'd found something worth his time.
"Alright," Kael muttered, tightening his grip despite the pain shooting through his wrists. "Let's try this again."
Jarik's smile sharpened. "Good."
And then he moved.
◆ ◆ ◆
Kael barely had time to react.
Jarik came in faster this time—much faster—a blur of motion and steel.
His blade danced around Kael like a viper stalking prey, probing for weaknesses, testing his defenses, forcing him to react faster than his body wanted to move.
Kael could only swing back awkwardly, his movements desperate and unrefined.
Block. Parry. Flail.
He got hit.
Again.
And again.
A grazing cut across his shoulder—shallow but stinging.
A downward strike that he barely blocked, the impact nearly shattering his wrists, sending vibrations up his arms that made his fingers go numb.
An elbow to the gut that drove the wind from his lungs and left him gasping.
But he kept going.
He didn't know how.
His body should have given up. His mind should have surrendered by now.
But something inside him—something stubborn, something new—refused to let him fall.
Move.
Block.
Don't stop.
His vision narrowed.
The crowd faded.
The world shrank down to just him, Jarik, and the space between their blades.
And then—
He saw it.
An opening.
Jarik overextended—just slightly, just for a fraction of a second—his weight shifting forward too far, his balance off by the barest margin.
Kael seized it.
He stepped in with everything he had, ignoring the pain, ignoring the exhaustion, and swung low and wide with all his remaining strength.
Clang!
Jarik reacted instantly—impossibly fast—spinning to catch the strike mid-air with a sharp twist of his wrist that sent Kael's blade skidding aside.
And then, in one clean, brutal motion, Jarik brought the hilt of his sword forward and slammed it into Kael's chest.
Thud.
Kael's breath left him.
His vision whited out for a second.
And then he was falling.
Backward.
Down.
He hit the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, his body going limp, his sword clattering from his hand.
This time, he didn't get up.
◆ ◆ ◆
Silence fell across Arena Five.
Heavy. Complete.
The instructor stepped forward, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"Match over. Victory: Jarik Rendel."
Kael lay there, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling in ragged, desperate gasps. His vision swam. His body refused to obey him.
'Well.'
'That's that, I guess.'
A shadow fell over him.
Jarik stood above him, breathing a little bit hard but still composed, his sword lowered.
And then he extended a hand.
Kael stared at it for a long moment, his brain struggling to process the gesture.
Then, slowly—painfully—he reached up and took it.
Jarik pulled him upright with surprising gentleness, steadying him when his legs nearly gave out.
"I'll be looking forward to another match," Jarik said, his tone sincere. "Once you figure out how to aim that strength."
Kael, barely upright, his vision still blurry, managed a weak nod.
"...Yeah. Sure. Can't wait."
His voice was hoarse.
Jarik smiled and stepped back, offering a short bow before turning to leave the platform.
Kael stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, before limping toward the edge of the arena.
Each step felt like a fresh betrayal from his battered body. His ribs ached with every breath. His legs were boiled noodles. His arms might as well have been dead weight.
'I liked it better when I just had to smile at people.'
◆ ◆ ◆
Theo was waiting for him just off the dueling floor, arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Kael dragged his feet the final few meters before collapsing onto the nearest bench with a dramatic, soul-deep groan.
"Don't say anything," he wheezed, closing his eyes.
Silence.
For five whole seconds.
Then: "You lasted longer than I thought."
Kael pried one eye open to glare at him. "Was that supposed to be comforting?"
"It was meant to be honest."
Kael let his head fall back against the stone wall, staring at the sky. "Do I still pass?"
Theo adjusted his glasses. "Probably. They weren't looking for winners. They were looking for fighters."
"Cool." Kael exhaled slowly, every breath a small victory. "I fought. I bled. Now I want to sleep for a week."
Theo was quiet for a moment, then his voice took on a slightly more serious tone.
"You know... you could get really good if you actually tried."
Kael cracked one eye open. "Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it."
Theo glanced up at the floating screens displaying match assignments.
"Looks like it's my turn."
Kael managed a crooked, pain-filled smile. "Good luck. I really hope you don't get beat up like I did."
Theo's lips twitched—the faintest hint of a smirk.
"That would require someone on your level."
He turned and walked toward his assigned arena, his movements calm and unhurried.
Kael watched him go, his expression flat.
'What a heartless bastard.'
He slumped lower into the bench, closing his eyes.
'Yep, smiling was definitely better.'
◆ ◆ ◆
Kael sat there alone, sore and confused and—strangely—feeling good inside.
He'd held his own.
Not well. Not skillfully.
But he'd held his own against someone with years of training, someone who'd been preparing for this his entire life.
He'd lost. Badly.
But it had been his first fight.
No strategy. No technique. No special moves.
Just raw instinct and stubborn refusal to quit.
And if he was being honest...
He'd enjoyed it a little.
The adrenaline. The pressure. The sharp, visceral pain.
The feeling of his body moving, reacting, fighting.
He'd felt more in those last thirty minutes than he had in thirty years.
"What are you thinking about?"
Kael's eyes snapped open.
Theo stood in front of him, calm and composed, his uniform still spotless, his hair perfectly smooth.
Not a scratch. Not a wrinkle. Not a trace of combat.
Kael blinked. "...Did they cancel your fight?"
"What do you mean?" Theo adjusted his glasses. "I'm done already."
Kael's face went perfectly flat.
A long, painful silence stretched between them.
Finally, Kael sighed. "And let me guess. You won."
"Wow," Theo said, his tone utterly deadpan. "You actually have brains."
"..."
Kael glared at him. "You're lucky I can't get up from this chair."
"I don't think anything would change even if you could."
"..."
Kael closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose.
"Would you like me to take you to the infirmary?" Theo asked, his tone perfectly polite.
Kael sighed. "Yes. Please."
"Alright. Can you walk?"
"...Barely."
Theo offered a hand.
Kael stared at it for a moment, then took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.
He swayed slightly, and Theo steadied him with surprising ease.
"Thanks," Kael muttered.
"You're welcome."
They started walking—slowly, carefully—toward the medical wing.
Kael limped.
Theo walked at his pace, hands in his pockets, expression neutral.
After a moment, Kael glanced at him.
"...So. Your fight. Was it hard?"
"No."
"How long did it take?"
"Forty-three seconds."
"..."
Kael stared straight ahead, his fingers twitching.
'Monster.'
Theo glanced at him, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
"You'll catch up eventually."
"Eventually," Kael muttered. "Right."