[Ardyn’s POV]

Ardyn’s breathing came in short, too shallow to carry anything but disbelief. Each breath required more effort from him. The humiliation settled across his shoulders.

His gaze remained fixed on the ground, where the cracked stone bore the aftermath of the last few seconds. His blood was spattered near the fractures. The sight of it didn't make any sense to him.

Pain rippled through his limbs as all he could do was stand there, disoriented and bleeding, trying to claw back the scene of how this had gone so wrong so quickly.

‘What the hell was that…? Did he move? No, I–I didn’t see him move. We were just– I had him, I thought I had him for sure!’

They had come at him in the same formation. The same rhythm, the same steps. He remembered noting it as they moved, already preparing the counter in his head.

He had seen it before, memorized it, read it like a book, predictable enough to insult him, and yet somehow, it had worked.

Noelle’s twin daggers had struck low, just under the joint, sliding into the gap behind the knee plate where his footwork relied on flexibility, enough to slow him and stain the ground red.

Jareth’s spear had arrived next, less refined, but brutally timed. It slammed into the space beneath his shoulder guard, crushing the joint rather than piercing it, and now he couldn’t lift that arm without pain crawling up his neck.

He was still upright, technically, though even that felt tenuous. Had they aimed an inch to the side—the vital parts, he would be face down, unconscious, and publicly broken.

It wasn’t mercy that spared him but the academy’s policy.

He lifted his head with effort, and the light caught the edge of his vision. Dust still lingered in the air, hovered by the earlier impact. His eyes scanned the space ahead.

‘They had regrouped again.’

And in the middle, between them, stood him.

‘That black-haired boy…’

Ardyn didn’t care to recall his name and it no longer mattered. Because what mattered was that he had been the one to pull the trigger on that coordinated attack. He was the one who had orchestrated it, laid the bait, and watched Ardyn walk straight into it like a fool.

Then, came the soft whispers, wrapped with disbelief and judgment. It wasn't awe but disappointment. And Ardyn didn't need to hear the word to know what they were whispering about.

“He fumbled against Class E?”

“Wow. He really got hit. Did you see how his body went flying just now? Even my grandma can dodge that.”

“Can’t believe he lost his ground to Class E.”

Out of eight matches so far, not once had Class A ever been pushed back, let alone struck in a way that demanded recovery. Ardyn could feel their gazes on him. They no longer looked at him as a standard but as a cautionary tale.

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Slowly, he straightened his back. Each vertebra felt like a protest, but he ignored it. He let the pain settle into his body like armor, something to wear, something to remind himself of what had been taken.

He didn’t spare his sword a glance. It lay between him and them now, closer to the hands that had knocked it loose than to his own.

But it wasn’t the blade he wanted anymore.

‘That little bastard…’

The thought surfaced like smoke, deepened, spread, and caught fire.

‘I’ll kill him!! I’ll kill him for sure!!!!’

He could taste the fury behind his teeth.

‘How dare he. That damn nobody. From Class E, no less. How dare he look at me like that. How dare he make me look this way!!’

His fingers twitched, the phantom weight of the sword still imprinted in his palm. He would break the boy with his bare hands if that was what it took.

‘I swear that I’ll tear him apart, shatter every piece of him and feed it back to him one breath at a time!!’

Ardyn’s mouth curled into something meaner, unshaped by charm or pride.

His eyes never left the boy.

“You’re dead.”

And then he moved.

Lightning gathered in his palm, crackling faintly at first before it coalesced into something more volatile.

There was not a single thought in his mind except for only the sharp clarity of rage. His foot struck the ground, and then again, faster now, momentum building as he dashed forward with the unmistakable intention of ending the fight, consequences be damned!

The spell in his hand surged brighter, casting sparks that lit his face in flickers of purple-white.

And yet he never reached them.

Mid-dash, just as his body leaned into the movement with total commitment, something invisible caught him.

His eyes rolled back in an instant, white overtaking the iris, and all the tension in his muscles vanished as though his strings had been severed. His momentum carried him forward a heartbeat longer before he crashed face-first into the stone floor with a brutal thud.

The impact sent his body sliding across the arena in an awkward sprawl like a marionette flung aside. He came to a stop several feet away, utterly still.

A stunned silence followed the arena.

Noelle’s daggers remained in her hands, halfway lifted. Jareth took an unconscious step forward, confusion etched across his face.

Even Ruvian frowned not in triumph, but in perplexity.

***

[Ruvian’s POV]

‘What the hell just happened?’

Ruvian’s eyes moved quickly, searching for the variable. A scan of the battlefield confirmed that none of them had struck the blow.

His gaze flicked toward Delila, who had remained composed through the entire duel, but now… now her expression had fractured. Her smile was gone, replaced by a feeling far more jarring.

She looked stunned.

But not at Ardyn.

She was not watching him at all.

Her gaze had shifted forward, toward the front of the hall, where the heavy doors had been left half-open.

Then came the footsteps, entering the hall.

A woman dressed in the silver-and-black of a senior instructor's attire. Even without the uniform, no one could have mistaken her for anything but authority made flesh.

Ruvian recognised her vividly.

Class A Chief Instructor, the woman that was assigned to Hall A meanwhile her assistant, Delila was assigned by her to monitor Hall B.

‘Instructor Veliana Kareth.’

Her gaze swept the room with a narrowed disapproval, eyes like polished glass that reflected only irritation and a distinct lack of patience. She paused, letting the silence settle fully in her presence before she spoke.

“Still at it here? Honestly,” she said, her voice cool, and clipped.

“I completed the full sparring course from my side and reviewed their post-duel assessments, and yet, I still find this room active.” ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel⦿fire.net

Her eyes landed on Delila at last.

Delila, still stunned, had the expression of someone who had both forgotten the time and known, deep down, that this was coming. Her composure faltered further beneath that gaze.

Instructor Veliana exhaled quietly.

“The allotted session time has passed its limit. End the match. Retrieve your wounded. Prepare your class for transition to the next subject block,” she said.

Then, without softening her glare, she added, “And you, Delila. Did I not instruct you to trace your time boundaries precisely? This is an academic institution, not an amateur arena. When I say 1 hour. It's 1 hour.’

She turned away before Delila could answer.

“So, end the session… now!”

PP= 940

ME= 180