CHAPTER 169: SPARS

The bench creaked a little under their weight, sun warming the back of Merlin’s neck. Nathan was still nursing his bruised pride, turning the water bottle in his hands like it had answers.

"So," Nathan said, squinting up at him. "Be honest. When you knocked me flat the first time—did you use mana?"

Merlin stretched his arms over his head. "Nope."

Nathan groaned and flopped back like a corpse. "That makes it worse."

’He’s not wrong.’

The training field had mostly emptied. A couple of younger students still lingered at the far end, tossing half-hearted spells at a scarecrow target. An instructor sat under a tree nearby, chewing a sandwich and not paying much attention.

Nathan kicked at a clump of grass. "You ever think you’re gonna outgrow everyone else? Like, actually be alone at the top?"

’Already there, man.’

"I think I’m still catching up," Merlin said instead. "It’s not a race."

"Bullshit. Everything’s a race when you’re stuck in a world where people rank your worth by how shiny your stats are."

Merlin didn’t argue. Nathan wasn’t wrong.

A faint pulse vibrated through his wrist. His system. Silent, invisible to everyone else.

[Rathan Integration Rate: 21%]

[Warning: Physical Strain Threshold Approaching – Rest Recommended]

’Yeah, yeah.’

He rubbed at his forearm. The ache wasn’t bad. Not yet. But it was constant now. The weight of power building inside a container that wasn’t quite made for it. Like filling a leather pouch with molten steel.

"Hey," Nathan said suddenly. "You hungry now or hungry in an hour?"

Merlin blinked. "Now, I guess."

"Cool. Let’s get out of here. I swear, if I smell that academy stew one more time I’ll throw hands."

Merlin stood, rolling out his shoulders. "Where?"

"Street carts, man. Real food. Fried, greasy, with at least a 30% chance of stomach trauma. That’s how you know it’s legit."

Merlin actually laughed.

As they headed toward the edge of the field, a familiar voice called out.

"You two done flirting or should I come back later?"

Elara stood at the gate, arms crossed. Her braid was pulled back tight, a bead of sweat still rolling down her temple.

"Hey," Nathan said. "Merlin’s the one tossing me around like a ragdoll. I’m just trying to survive."

"Mm-hmm." She raised an eyebrow at Merlin. "And here I thought you’d gone soft since the whole... coma thing."

Merlin shrugged. "Still kicking."

"Barely," Nathan muttered.

Elara stepped closer, her eyes flicking between them. "You guys sparring seriously?"

Nathan nodded. "Serious-ish. He’s holding back. Like, a lot."

"Of course he is," she said. "He’s been different since coming back."

Merlin stiffened. Just slightly.

"Different how?"

"More focused. More... I don’t know. Sharp. It’s like you’ve got answers the rest of us don’t."

’I’ve got memories I didn’t earn and powers I didn’t ask for.’

"I’ve just been thinking more," Merlin said. "That’s all."

Elara tilted her head. "That new thinking include teaching your friends some of those crazy moves?"

Nathan brightened. "Yes. Thank you. Say it louder for the people in the back."

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. "You want to learn?"

"Maybe," Elara said. "But not here. Somewhere quiet."

Nathan pointed at her dramatically. "You two better not ditch me."

"No promises," Elara said.

They laughed. Merlin managed a smile.

They started walking again, the three of them weaving toward the exit of the academy grounds, their steps slow, lazy, comfortable. Like nothing had changed.

And maybe for them, it hadn’t.

But Merlin could feel it every time he moved, like something else was walking just behind his shadow.

Waiting.

Preparing.

Watching.

[Rathan Legacy Archive – 23% Accessed]

[Next Memory Trigger: Proximity to Tier-3 Combatant Detected]

His jaw tightened.

’It never ends, does it?’

He glanced at Nathan and Elara, both laughing now about something dumb, something real.

And for a second, he let himself laugh too.

Because if the pain was always coming?

At least he wasn’t alone. Not yet.

—

Nathan stumbled back, dragging the flat of his blade to keep balance. His breathing was already off, too quick on the inhale, clipped on the exhale. He shook out his left arm, which was starting to twitch from blocked mana flow.

Merlin didn’t move. Just stood there, sword down, shoulders relaxed.

"You’re still overthinking your footwork," Merlin said, eyes flicking to Nathan’s rear heel. "You pivot with your hips, but your weight’s stuck on your back leg."

Nathan grunted. "You sound like the instructors."

"I’m worse," Merlin said. "I don’t get paid to be patient."

Nathan managed a crooked grin. "You’ve never been patient."

Merlin rolled his wrist, resetting his stance. ’He’s not wrong.’

[Notice: Passive enhancement—Mana Pressure Suppression—active.]

’I didn’t even turn it on fully.’

He moved forward again, slow steps, letting Nathan brace.

They’d been at it for over an hour. The sun was starting to creep through the high glass, pooling across the floor in long stripes. Dust caught in the light, drifting like it had nowhere better to be.

Nathan raised his sword. "Alright. No more excuses."

Merlin didn’t wait.

He darted in, low angle, feinted left then spun hard to Nathan’s blind side. The strike came fast—just enough force to sting without breaking anything. Blade tapped shoulder.

Nathan hissed. "Gods, you weren’t this annoying before."

Merlin lowered the blade again. "I was. You just caught up."

Nathan turned, shaking out his arms again. "You’re stronger. Way stronger."

Merlin shrugged. "Bit of training. Bit of luck."

He didn’t mention the system. Or the hell Labyrinth. Or Rathan. Or carrying centuries of rage in his bones.

"Luck my ass," Nathan muttered. "You disappear for days, come back, and you’re folding me in half every five minutes."

"Ten," Merlin corrected.

Nathan snorted.

Merlin took a few steps back, giving him space. ’He’s still trying. That’s the part that gets me.’

Nathan had talent. He’d been one of the best back in the old rotation. Solid instincts. A little wild, a little slow to adjust, but sharp.

But not this sharp.

Not anymore.

’Twelve stars,’ Merlin thought, glancing down at his own palm. ’I’m not even using a third of it.’

[Your current output is capped at 2.6% to preserve muscle integrity.]

’Right. Thanks for the reminder, system.’

Nathan stepped forward again. "One more round."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Nathan said, rolling his neck. "Unless you’re scared."

Merlin snorted. "I’ve seen things that make your hair look good."

Nathan scowled. "That doesn’t even make sense."

"It doesn’t have to."

They reset again. The sun had moved higher, and the air inside the hall was warming fast. Merlin let his breathing settle. He could go faster. Stronger. He could push his mana higher, let the passive boosts run wild.

But that wasn’t the point.

’He’s still trying to catch up,’ Merlin thought. ’And I’m just trying to not leave everyone behind.’

Nathan lunged again, sharper this time. A better step. Tighter guard.

Merlin met it cleanly. No force, just deflection. Like brushing dust off his coat.

’At least he learns.’

He countered. Not fast. Just enough. And this time, he let Nathan block.

The blades screeched, edge to edge, mana flaring briefly.

Nathan grinned. "Got it—!"

Then Merlin dropped low and swept his leg.

Nathan crashed to the floor.

"...Bastard," Nathan wheezed.

Merlin offered a hand. "You left your front knee open. Again."

"Why are we even friends."

"Because I’m fun at parties."

Nathan took the hand. Merlin pulled him up.

They stood in the middle of the hall, breathing, the fight paused but not done.

And for a moment, Merlin let himself relax.

Just a little.

Just enough to pretend things were simple again.

—

Elara rolled her shoulders, shaking out her arms.

"You sure about this?" she asked, glancing at Merlin, then at Nathan. "Both of us?"

Nathan shrugged. "He asked for it."

She turned to Merlin, raising one eyebrow. "I don’t want to break anything. You just woke up."

Merlin stretched one arm over his chest, feeling the pull across his back. ’They still think I’m the same as before. That I need to prove something.’

"I’m fine," he said. "Just try to land a hit."

Nathan grinned. "Cocky."

"Confident," Merlin said. "There’s a difference."

Elara cracked her knuckles. "Guess we’ll find out."

Nathan charged first. His form was clean—footwork solid, shoulders tight. Merlin stepped back once, let him close the gap, then pivoted. Nathan’s strike came in from the left, sharp and fast. Elara followed right after, coming low, palm open.

Merlin dropped.

Literally dropped, legs folding, body horizontal for a second as he slid between both of them. Dirt kicked up around him.

’Timing’s better. They’re syncing now.’

He kicked off the ground, twisting back to his feet just as Nathan turned, eyes narrowing.

"You weren’t this fast before."

"I’m not the same."

They came again. This time together, Elara leading with a feint, Nathan circling to flank. Merlin let them come. Waited until the last half-second, then flicked a barrier out with one hand.

Just enough force to knock Nathan’s blade off-course. Elara ducked under it, a faint grin curling on her lips.

"Don’t get smug," she said.

"Wouldn’t dream of it."