In an instant, he moved so fast it looked as though he were cloning himself across multiple positions at once. His attacks rained down continuously, coming from every possible angle, creating a tightening cage of rapid movements. Yet the instructor, with unshakable calm, evaded them with remarkable ease. Each dodge was economical—a slight twist of the hips or a sidestep—revealing an overwhelming gap in skill.
"Ha! Hahaha! Very good, eh?" the instructor exclaimed, clearly amused by the effort. "But your time is up," he added cheerfully, signaling the end of the round.
At that precise moment, with almost cruel timing, the instructor placed his foot directly in his opponent's path. It was a minimal gesture, but more than enough to make her stumble. She completely lost her balance, her body pitching forward as she was launched several meters through the air before crashing into the dojo floor, knocked unconscious instantly.
"Well now… what I'm seeing," the instructor murmured as he observed the fallen student and then glanced at the rest of the class, which remained in respectful silence, "this room is going to be interesting. Let's continue with the evaluation," he announced, immediately restoring the pace of the test.
Thus, he proceeded to fight the remaining students, one by one. He did so with crushing superiority, none of them able to gain even the slightest edge in a one-on-one. Each confrontation was brief, a clear demonstration of absolute control.
Finally, it was Isabella's turn. She waited steadfastly.
"Well, it's your turn, Isabella. Let's see what you've got," the instructor said, inviting her into the center.
Isabella attacked without hesitation. Speed was not her strength; instead, she possessed raw, concentrated power. Her first strike, solid as iron, managed to throw the instructor off balance, forcing him to retreat. It was a notable blow.
Even so, despite his surprise, the instructor quickly began his counterattack, this time employing a similarly overwhelming force. Isabella endured the first strike, then the second, with great effort. However, the third blow was decisive. Upon receiving it, a metallic crack rang out—her sword shattered under the sheer power of the impact.
Unable to endure any longer, she collapsed instantly, falling heavily to the ground.
"You really are strong, Isabella," the instructor acknowledged, slightly out of breath as he regained his composure. "Let's move on to the next," he added, sounding somewhat pleased by the challenge.
The evaluation continued until it was finally the protagonist's turn.
Azrael began to stretch calmly, focusing his mind.
"Let's begin, instructor," Azrael said, his voice filled with restrained excitement.
"Yes!" the instructor replied enthusiastically, already anticipating a good fight.
Azrael launched his first attack. He did not stand out for brute speed or overwhelming strength, but rather for refined, calculating technique. This approach caught the instructor off guard, forcing him to adjust his defense.
Azrael then focused even more deeply and attacked with greater precision, unleashing a sequence of movements that compelled the instructor to elevate his own technical level to avoid a potentially critical strike.
"Kid, your technique is quite impressive," the instructor admitted, already somewhat fatigued by the mental strain of the duel.
Then, Azrael began to move with even greater fluidity. His mind slipped into a trance, a state of hyper-awareness in which everything around him seemed to slow down.
Within this expanded perception, he could see the instructor moving in slow motion, analyzing and visualizing the exact vertices, the blind spots where an attack would be unavoidable.
And at that very moment, on the other side, the seasoned instructor felt a cold, familiar stab in his instincts—
—the unmistakable presence of killing intent awakening before him.