After all that mess, the class finally came to an end.

Before leaving, Elisa gave me a long lecture—

But who cares?

It’s not like I’m worried about my grades.

I came to the academy to enjoy my life the way I want.

Next was spellcasting class.

I slept through the entire lecture.

As always.

Then came Professor Alex’s class.

And more importantly—

Time to challenge Rank 10.

I’m pretty sure no one in this year can defeat me in a one-on-one fight.

As for multiple opponents...

I’d probably lose unless I go all out.

While I was thinking this, Alex arrived at the training ground.

Soon, we were handed the weapons we had requested.

They were of excellent quality.

As expected of the best academy on the continent.

These would be the weapons we’d use for all tests and duels.

Most nobles owned better ones, of course.

But they weren’t allowed to use them during academy matches—it wouldn’t be fair.

Those were only for emergencies.

Today’s class was simple.

"Get used to your weapons," Alex instructed.

So we trained with them for the entire session.

As the class was about to end, I spoke up.

"Professor, I want to challenge someone to a duel for a change in rankings."

Alex turned toward me, a faint smile forming.

"Oh? And who do you want to challenge?" he asked, clearly amused.

"Rank 10."

Alex nodded and then said,

"I meant his name."

...

Now that I think about it

Who is Rank 10?

I only know the top four.

Seeing me go silent, Alex raised a brow.

"You don’t know his name?"

I could only nod

.

A few students chuckled.

Alex sighed lightly.

"Alright then... Rank 10—Adam Windrake. Do you accept the challenge?"

"I accept."

The voice came sharp and immediate.

An orange-haired boy stepped forward.

Adam Windrake.

Heir of the Windrake family—a count-rank house known for wind magic.

He looked...

Angry.

I tilted my head slightly. "Why are you so angry?"

The entire training ground went quiet.

Everyone—even Alex—looked at me as if I had just said something absurd.

Adam’s grip on his sword tightened.

"Even if you are a Duke’s son... I cannot accept this humiliation," he said, barely holding back his anger. "Prepare to lose."

...

But seriously

Why is he this mad?

Because I don’t know his name?

There’s no way he’s that petty, right?

Why would it even matter?

...Whatever.

Not my problem.

We both stepped onto the stage at the center of the ground.

Alex’s voice echoed across the field.

"The duel ends when one side surrenders or is unable to continue."

A brief pause.

"You can not kill each other."

Adam stood before me, holding his sword firmly with both hands.

His stance was steady.

Focused.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"Where is your sword?"

"I don’t need one," I replied calmly.

That only made him angrier.

His expression twisted.

...

What is wrong with this guy?

.

.

.

Adam, without wasting a second, lunged forward toward Asher, sword in hand, and slashed at his left arm.

Asher did not even try to dodge the strike.

But the next second, Adam’s expression turned to shock as he looked at Asher’s left hand.

There was no wound.

His sword had not even touched his skin—it had been stopped by a thin layer of mana that appeared at the last moment.

Before Adam could make sense of it, Asher swung his right hand at him as if holding a sword.

Sensing the danger, Adam quickly retreated backward, but he was not unscathed. Blood dripped from his shoulder.

How? I’m sure his hand didn’t even touch me, Adam thought, staring at Asher, who still stood in the same place.

Then he noticed it—Asher had shaped his mana into the form of a sword and solidified it, using it as a weapon.

So this is what he meant when he said he didn’t need a sword.

What kind of absurd mana control is this?

Before he could think anything else.

Asher vanished from his position and appeared right beside him, his fist already in motion.

Adam barely had time to react.

The punch struck his guard with crushing force, sending a shock through his arms as he was pushed back across the stone floor.

He soon came to a halt, boots carving shallow lines into the ground. Before he could regain balance, Asher was already there again—relentless, precise.

Adam gritted his teeth and swung his sword in a wide arc.

The blade cut through empty air.

A ripple distorted the space beside him—then pain exploded across his side. Another invisible strike. Adam staggered, his breathing growing uneven as he forced himself to focus.

Not invisible... too fast.

He tightened his grip. This time, he didn’t attack immediately. His eyes followed every subtle movement—every shift in Asher’s stance, every flicker of mana gathering around him.

There.

A faint distortion near Asher’s arm.

Adam moved before the attack fully formed. He twisted his body and brought his blade down with all his strength.

Clang—

The strike met resistance.

For the first time, Adam saw it clearly—a blade of condensed mana, solid and sharp, clashing against his sword. The impact sent a burst of energy outward, scattering dust and loose stone.

Asher’s expression didn’t change.

But Adam’s did.

He pushed forward, refusing to give him space. Their weapons collided again and again—steel against pure mana. Each clash rang louder, faster, more violent than the last.

Then suddenly

Asher stepped in.

Too close.

Adam’s eyes widened.

A second blade formed in Asher’s free hand.

It slashed downward.

Adam raised his sword just in time, but the force drove him to one knee. The ground beneath him cracked. He could feel the pressure—overwhelming, controlled, absolute.

Asher leaned slightly closer, his voice calm.

"You’re starting to see it."

Adam’s grip tightened, blood dripping from his shoulder onto the broken stone.

"...Yeah," he muttered, a faint smile forming despite the situation. "But that just means I can fight it."

With a sudden burst of strength, he twisted his blade and forced Asher back. The moment of distance was enough.

Adam inhaled sharply.

The air around him shifted.