Raiden Alaric

  I stepped up onto the training platform, rolling my shoulders as I took in the arena-like setup. The floor was reinforced stone, lightly scarred from past battles, the space wide enough for high-speed movement and aerial techniques.

  Illya twirled her practice spear, testing its weight before resting it against her shoulder.

  She eyed me for a moment, her curiosity obvious, “You’re going to spar with those on?” she asked, nodding at my wrists.

  I glanced down at my anchors, the metallic bands still sitting snugly against my skin, as they always did.

  “Can’t take them off,” I said simply.

  Illya arched a brow, “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Can’t,” I repeated. “My mentor told me strictly, he won’t remove them until he says so.”

  That caught her interest. Her purple eyes flickered with intrigue, like she had just uncovered another layer to the mystery that was me.

  Ella, however, had other priorities, “Okay, hold on,” she said, hands on her hips, giving me a look like I was about to commit a serious crime.

  I frowned, “What?”

  She gestured at my outfit, “You are not about to ruin that after I just let you have a perfectly good glow-up. Go change.”

  I blinked, “You brought me to a training hall.”

  “Yes, and I didn’t bring you here to turn your new outfit into a rag.”

  Illya chuckled under her breath, clearly entertained.

  Ella sighed, pointing toward a side entrance near the edge of the arena, “The changing room is over there. There should be something you can wear.”

  I sighed but headed toward the door anyway.

  Stepping inside, the temperature noticeably dropped. The room was larger than I’d expected, smooth stone floors, built-in benches, and storage compartments lining the walls. Neatly folded on polished wooden shelves were sets of martial arts robes, clearly crafted for function: lightweight, breathable, and tailored for combat.

  I ran my fingers along the sleeve of one, noticing the subtle embroidered crest of the Skyhaven Sect. So this was their training gear.

  So this is what they wore in training.

  I grabbed a set, holding it up as I glanced at myself in the mirror across the room. Time to steal everything they had to give.

  I stepped out of the changing room, adjusting the training robes as I rolled my shoulders. The fabric was light, surprisingly comfortable, and allowed for full range of motion, definitely an upgrade from ruining my actual clothes.

  But as I walked back toward the platform, feeling the cold floor against my bare feet, something caught my attention.

  Illya had changed too, and I had no idea how she did it so fast.

  Before I made my way to the changing room, she had been dressed like a high-powered businesswoman, complete with her maroon dress pants and ridiculous alligator-skin stilettos.

  Now her platinum blonde hair, which had been down before, was now tied up high, sleek and secured with a thin silver band.

  She was wearing Skyhaven training robes, similar to mine but far more refined, tailored to fit perfectly against her frame. Unlike Ella’s form-fitting attire during the contest, Illya’s robes still had a level of dignity and control to them, flowing with just enough looseness to allow fluid movement but still structured enough to emphasize her presence.

  I frowned slightly, crossing my arms, “…How the hell did you change so fast?”

  Illya smirked, flicking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m efficient.”

  Ella scoffed from the sidelines, arms crossed as she leaned against one of the stone pillars, “She cheats.”

  Illya gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest, “How dare you!”

  I squinted at her, “You have some kind of ability that lets you do it, don’t you?”

  She grinned, twirling her spear between her fingers, “Wouldn’t you like to know what happens?”

  Ella just said casually, "The ring on her finger is a personal storage space where she keeps her clothes. Makes it easier for her to change in and out of clothes."

  I clicked my tongue, shaking my head, “Of course.” Illya just pouted while crossing her arms.

  Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before waving toward the platform, “Are you two done? Or are we going to stand here talking about wardrobe changes all day?”

  Illya gave her a cheeky wink before turning back to me, gripping her spear properly now, “Alright, Raiden. Let’s see if you live up to your confidence.”

  I grinned, stepping onto the platform, “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll see soon enough.”

  Illya twirled her spear once more, then paused, tilting her head at me, “…You’re not using a weapon?”

  I shrugged, “Didn’t bring one.”

  She hummed, her sharp purple eyes studying me, then, with zero hesitation, she spun the spear in her hand and tossed it to the side.

  I watched as it clattered against the stone floor, my eye twitching slightly.

  “So you just decided you don’t need one either?” I asked, voice flat.

  She gave me an easy smile, stretching her arms over her head, “Of course.”

  I let out a slow breath, pushing down the mild offense creeping into my chest.

  Alright. Fine. Whatever.

  She was strong, I knew that much. But throwing away her weapon like I wasn’t even worth the effort? Yeah, that was a little irritating. Still, I wasn’t going to let it bother me too much. I was getting the chance to fight her either way.

  Then, to my surprise, she walked over to the wall of shelves lining the training hall and casually pulled down two familiar-looking objects. A bind and an anchor. She strapped them on without hesitation, testing the weight with a few casual flexes of her hands.

  I crossed my arms, “Really?”

  Ella, from the sidelines, also raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving him a handicap?”

  Illya laughed, rolling her shoulders. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, this is for your sake, not mine.”

  I frowned, “What, so you don’t accidentally use your aura?”

  She smirked, tilting her head slightly, “That’s part of it.”

  Then she stretched out one leg, loosening up her stance as she continued, “But mainly, it’s because once you reach Blue Rank, your body changes. You become physically stronger and more durable. Even more so at Violet. My body is stronger than a Green Rank using their aura to reinforce themselves.”

  I stared at her, “…You’re serious?”

  She nodded, “Completely.”

  I blinked, processing that.

  “So what you’re saying is…” I started slowly, flexing my fingers. “…I can go all out and not have to worry about seriously harming you?”

  Illya grinned, “Exactly.”

  I felt my smile stretch slowly across my face.

  Oh, this just got a lot more fun~

  Just as I was gearing up, Illya squeezed in one last detail, “Oh, right. Before we begin, madela tech is built into this hall, after you stop fighting for a full minute, your body will slowly start healing. So don’t think I’ll hurt you and leave you that way.”

  I paused.

  Then my grin grew into a full-on smile. That was all I needed to hear. I didn’t even try to hide my excitement as I turned my focus to Illya, my blood already pumping.

  “Ella,” I said, my gaze never leaving Illya. “Start the match.”

  Ella let out a quiet sigh, probably already predicting how this was going to go, but raised a hand nonetheless.

  Pressing my fist into my open palm, I bowed to Illya, "Proelium."

  She gave me a surprising look. She also bowed and returned the gesture.

  "Let this contest sharpen us both,” I declared.

  Then, Ella dropped her hand, “Begin.”

  The moment Ella’s voice cut through the air, I was already moving, no hesitation, no delay.

  I closed the distance in a blink, my body shifting naturally into the first strike. A sharp, direct jab to the center of her chest, a move meant to force her to react immediately, but she was already gone.

  The moment my fist should have connected, Illya’s body twisted effortlessly to the side, her movement so fluid it barely seemed like she had moved at all. And before I could adjust, she was already countering.

  I barely caught the blur of her hand before a powerful palm strike snapped toward my ribs.

  I threw my forearm downward, blocking it just in time, but the force behind it still sent a dull shock up my arm.

  Strong.

  Illya let out a hum of approval as she smoothly stepped back, giving me just enough space to recover, but not enough to reset.

  She wanted me to keep pushing forward.

  I grinned.

  Fine, let’s see how fast she really is.

  I launched forward again, this time leading with a sharp low kick aimed for her calf—

  Illya’s foot lifted just slightly, letting my kick graze past her before stomping back down, and in the same instant, she went for a hook toward my jaw.

  I ducked under it, feeling the air shift just above my head, and immediately countered with a sharp rising elbow.

  She twisted just enough to avoid it, then stepped in closer—

  Her knee snapped upward, aiming for my gut. I caught it with both hands, but the force still sent me skidding back a few inches.

  Illya laughed softly, rolling her shoulders, "Good reflexes."

  I exhaled sharply, my heart pounding. I wasn’t just fighting her for the sake of fighting her. No, no, no my dear friend. I was learning from her. The longer this fight went on, the more I was going to take from her.

  My smile widened, "Not bad yourself."

  I have to admit it. I was getting absolutely outclassed, and I mean outclassed. It might look like I was holding my own from an outsider’s perspective.

  But in reality, I was working my ass off, over-exerting myself, and pushing my limits just to keep up. Illya was too damn fast.

  Every movement I made felt slower than it should have been, my reactions dulled by the constant weight of my anchors.

  Each attack I avoided was taking everything in me to just barely get out of the way, and she knew it. Illya wasn’t just dodging or blocking my attacks, she was toying with me.

  She moved fluidly, evading me like she had all the time in the world, her expression calm, unbothered, even a little amused.

  Every counter she threw was perfectly measured. Every opening I thought I had was immediately shut down.

  I threw a sharp feint to the right, hoping to bait a reaction—

  She didn’t even blink. Instead, she smoothly shifted her weight and drove a palm strike into my ribs with enough force to rattle my entire frame. I barely managed to step back before she swept forward, her knee snapping toward my gut.

  I caught it with both hands, gritting my teeth as I dug my heels into the platform to stop myself from sliding back.

  She just smiled. “Struggling?” she teased.

  I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders as I reset my stance.

  Yeah, this wasn’t working.

  I adjusted my footing, watching her more closely as she effortlessly shifted back into position.

  Something about her fighting style felt off. Not in a way that made her sloppy, far from it. She was ridiculously precise, her movements were sharp, refined, and almost too clean for hand-to-hand combat. And then I realized—

  She was too precise.

  She wasn’t used to fighting like this. My mind flashed back to the start of the match. She had been prepared to use a spear. That’s what she was comfortable with. This wasn’t her domain.

  Her movements were still rooted in weapon combat, but she was adapting it to hand-to-hand, and while that was impressive, it also meant she had gaps. Gaps I could exploit.

  I grinned, shaking out my arms. "Alright," I muttered to myself.

  Time to up the pace.

  I launched forward again, but this time, I changed the rhythm. Illya expected structure. I gave her unpredictability.

  I started weaving in Hidden Leaf School footwork, shifting angles rapidly, forcing her to adjust her stance constantly rather than comfortably intercepting my attacks.

  She still kept up, but I could see it now, the subtle shift in her footing, the way she had to think a little more before reacting.

  I smirked.

  That’s right. Keep adapting for me.

  I forced her to show me more. She started countering with sharper, more distinct techniques, techniques I recognized. Some of them Ella had used before, but others were completely new. Those were the ones I needed.

  I let several attacks land. A sharp heel kicked to my thigh. A forearm strike rattling my jaw. A fluid Skyhaven counter slamming into my ribs.

  I heard Ella suck in a sharp breath from the sidelines, probably wondering why I wasn’t dodging.

  But I wasn’t losing. I was memorizing. Every movement. Every transition. Every single motion of her body that preceded a technique. And then, after I had seen enough, I moved.

  I adjusted my stance mid-motion, taking a technique I had just stolen from both Illya and Ella.

  And used it against her. The moment I executed the move, Illya’s eyes widened. Ella, who had been watching closely, suddenly straightened.

  I had seen one second of hesitation, and that was all I needed.

  I shifted into a Skyhaven evasive step, closing the distance in an instant, then transitioned into a spear-hand counter, one I had only just witnessed her perform. Perfectly replicated and for the first time since we started, Illya was caught off guard.

  Illya’s footwork faltered. Only slightly, a tiny shift in balance, a fraction of a second delay, but I saw it.

  I grinned.

  I shifted my pace again, pressing forward relentlessly, my attacks rapid and precise, leaving her less and less time to adjust. She wasn’t used to fighting like this, not in close-quarters, not without a weapon in her hand, and it showed. The moment I forced her to backpedal, I knew I had her.

  I feinted a jab, forcing her to react. Then twisted my weight and slammed a heel kick toward her midsection. She barely blocked in time, my foot colliding with her forearms, but the impact still forced her back another step. Then another, and another. Her confident smirk had shifted, it wasn’t gone, not yet, but I could see the flicker of aggravation in her expression.

  She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was losing ground. I, on the other hand, was loving every second of it.

  My maniacal grin stretched wider across my face. This was my favorite part. The moment when my opponent realizes they’re not in control anymore. The moment when they struggle to keep up. The moment when I get to see more. I needed to see more. More of her techniques. More of what she could do.

  I threw another series of rapid strikes, transitioning between Skyhaven evasive steps, weaving through her counters effortlessly. She swung a palm strike for my ribs, I slipped past it. A sharp low kick to slow me down, I dodged and punished her with a knee to the stomach. She was on the defensive now, forced to keep moving back. Her brows furrowed, her patience thinning as she struggled to retake control. I was having too much fun.

  “Come on,” I grinned, eyes sharp and hungry. “Show me more, Illya.”

  She gritted her teeth. I saw it, that split-second flash of frustration.

  "Enough." Her voice cut through the air like a blade.

  I blinked.

  She had stopped moving. Her hand was raised, signaling a halt to the match.

  I skidded to a stop, breathing heavy, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Illya was still standing, but her shoulders were tense, her calm demeanor cracked just slightly. She wasn’t happy.

  I let out a breath, disappointed but exhilarated all the same. I wiped a bit of sweat from my forehead, my grin still plastered on my face. I won that round, and she knew it. Illya let out a slow breath, her expression unreadable as she rolled her shoulders, shaking out the tension.

  Then, to my absolute surprise, she gave me a small bow. Not exaggerated or mocking, but a real gesture of respect.

  "I owe you an apology," she said smoothly, her violet eyes meeting mine without hesitation.

  Ella’s brows shot up, clearly caught off guard.

  I tilted my head, my grin never fading. "For what?"

  Illya exhaled. “I severely underestimated you.” She straightened, reaching for the bind on her wrist. "I assumed too much," she admitted. "I let myself get irritated when I should have been learning from the match instead."

  Ella stiffened beside us, watching very carefully as Illya unlocked her bind and let it fall to the ground with a soft clink. I felt it instantly, the slight shift in the air. Then, she strode toward the weapons rack, retrieving her spear, spinning it effortlessly in her hand before letting it settle against her palm.

  "I misjudged you," she said, rolling her wrist to test the weight of her weapon. "As both your superior and your senior."

  Ella’s posture snapped upright. "Illya," she hissed, already stepping forward.

  Illya raised a hand, stopping her, "Don't move."

  Ella looked between us, eyes flickering with something dangerously close to horror. Illya ignored her, her focus returning entirely to me. Her stance had changed. Her presence had changed. She wasn’t aggravated anymore.

  "I'll be taking you seriously now, Raiden," she said evenly. "No more games."

  I grinned, practically vibrating with excitement, "Finally."

  Ella groaned in absolute agony, "You two are insufferable."

  Illya just smirked, planting the butt of her spear against the stone floor, "Since I owe you proper recognition, I’ll make you a deal," she said. "As a way of making up for my misjudgment."

  I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

  "If you manage to force me to use my aura or any Esoteric Art in this fight," she continued, "I'll grant you any request within my power, whenever you need it."

  I blinked. Then blinked again.

  Who in their right mind would say no to that?

  “And if I don't?” I asked.

  She smiled, “Then you must come here and spar with Ella at least once a day.”

  “When did I agree to this?” Ella protested.

  I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head as I cracked my knuckles, "You're really just giving me free motivation at this point."

  Illya twirled her spear once, her grin sharp, challenging, "Then let's see if you can claim it."

  She stepped forward, her movements fluid, controlled, like a leaf caught in the wind but never at its mercy. Her left foot planted firmly, toes angled slightly outward for balance, while her right foot hovered for just a breath before tapping down, light but brimming with intent. Her stance was wide, solid, yet carrying the kind of readiness that made it clear, at any moment, she could explode into action. Her hands moved with precise, practiced ease, guiding the spear into position.

  One gripped the base, steady, unshakable, while the other slid up the shaft in a single, smooth motion, adjusting her hold. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort. The weapon didn’t so much as tremble. It wasn’t just something she held, it was an extension of her. An unyielding promise of force, finesse, and the absolute confidence that she was in control. Her eyes sharpened, their violet depths gleaming with something unreadable. She wasn’t only watching me. She was measuring me, dissecting, anticipating.

  A flicker of amusement danced at the corners of her lips.

  Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

  I barely had time to process the thought before she moved. The moment she did I knew I was in trouble.

  Her spear was a blur, snapping forward like a silver streak tearing through the air.

  Time felt like it slowed. I could track every motion, the precise angle, the way her wrist flexed, the minute shift in her stance that dictated the force behind the strike. And yet, I couldn’t move in time.

  The butt of her spear slammed into my ribs, a thunderous shock ripping through my torso. I barely managed to twist my body to lessen the blow, but the force still sent me skidding back, my heels scraping against the stone platform.

  I gasped out, pushing through the pain, but she wasn’t done.

  Not even close. Illya’s footwork was masterful, and I hated to admit it. She never gave me room to breathe.

  Every time I tried to reset, to find a window, she was already in motion, keeping the pressure on, keeping me reacting instead of attacking.

  I swung a sharp hook, testing if she’d dodge or block.

  She did neither. Instead, she simply twisted her spear mid-motion, redirecting my momentum and forcing me off balance before driving a knee toward my gut.

  I barely managed to block, but the force still knocked me back again. She was dictating the pace of the fight.

  I hated it. I needed to get in close. I needed to break past her range. Because as long as she controlled the spacing, I’d never be able to land a clean hit.

  I feinted left, pivoting into a low sweep kick—

  The moment my leg moved, she adjusted instantly, stepping back just far enough that my foot missed completely.

  Then she retaliated, a downward strike, blunt-end first, straight for my collarbone. I barely dodged, tilting my body at the last second—

  The moment I evaded, she redirected her stance, flowing into a spinning follow-up strike. The shaft of her spear smashed against my side, knocking me back hard. Pain bloomed through my ribs, but I forced my body to keep moving, rolling across the stone and springing back to my feet.

  I exhaled sharply, adjusting my stance again.

  She still wasn’t using her aura or Esoteric Arts, but her range advantage and sheer speed were making it impossible for me to close in. I rushed forward again, weaving through her attacks, trying to read her rhythm, but she wasn’t following a pattern.

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  She was adapting to my close quarters fighting style. I saw the incoming strike, twisting my torso to avoid it—

  Her adjustment was instantaneous, catching my movement and switching into a side-sweep that nearly took my legs out. I jumped back, just barely avoiding the worst of it, but the tip of her spear still clipped my shin.

  I gritted my teeth, frustration mounting. Then the next strike landed. A sharp jab to my ribs. I barely recovered before she twisted, pivoting into a spinning strike that I barely ducked under—

  Her leg shot out the moment I lowered my head, her knee catching me in the shoulder and knocking me off balance again.

  I stumbled, and in that single second of instability.

  Another hit, then another, bruises, and scrapes. Her spear shaft raked across my ribs, another sharp jab found my thigh, a final glancing blow struck my shoulder.

  It was adding up. I was getting picked apart, and I knew it.

  I was getting angry. Not at her, at myself.

  Each hit I took, each moment I couldn’t react in time, I blamed it on my own weakness. If I were awakened, I’d be able to handle this fight better. I probably wouldn’t even have these damn anchors.

  Another strike landed, the spear catching me across the ribs again, and I snarled, biting down on the rage bubbling up inside me.

  Why am I so weak?

  I pushed forward, swinging my leg for a low kick, but she saw through it instantly, lifting her spear just slightly, redirecting my momentum and shoving me off balance.

  I staggered back, breathing hard.

  If I was stronger, this wouldn’t be happening.

  If I was stronger, I’d already be awakened.

  If I was stronger—

  Why… why do I want to be strong?

  The thought hit me like a strike to the chest. I wanted to be strong. That much, I knew, but why?

  I told myself it was because I wanted to awaken. Because I wanted to reach the top. Because I wanted to prove myself. But each time I tried to focus on the reason, my mind cut off the thought. It was like trying to grab hold of something that wasn’t there.

  Why do I want to be strong?

  I tried again. The thought flickered, then faltered. Like my brain was forcing me not to think about it.

  My vision blurred slightly as I barely managed to twist away from another precise strike, the spearhead cutting a thin line across my arm. My breath was ragged, my heart pounding, my frustration building.

  I pushed forward again, trying to focus. Trying to answer the question clawing at the back of my mind.

  Why…Why am I doing this? Why…Why can’t I answer?

  I dodged slower than before. Her spear caught me again, a blunt jab to my side that sent another shock of pain through my torso. I tried to close the gap, but her range was too much, the moment I stepped in, she had already readjusted, pushing me back again.

  I wasn’t winning. I wasn’t even keeping up anymore. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t excited. I was angry, at myself, at my limits. At the fact that no matter how much I fought, learned, stole techniques, I still wasn’t enough.

  I clenched my fists, my breath ragged, my body aching. Yet still, that question gnawed at the back of my mind.

  Why do I want to be strong… why can’t I answer?

  Something shifted, not in the fight, not in the air, but in me.

  It was subtle, but it was there, a feeling like something was restraining my thoughts, something just out of reach, like an itch I couldn’t scratch, like a chain pulling tight around my mind.

  My body moved on instinct, barely ducking under another sharp thrust of Illya’s spear, but my focus was split now.

  I wasn’t just fighting her anymore. I was fighting something inside myself.

  A question, a feeling. Something that had been pushing me forward this whole time, something I had never fully put into words.

  I want to be strong. That was obvious. That was always the answer I gave myself. However, that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t complete.

  I weaved past another strike, my breath coming out sharp, my mind racing even as my body fought.

  I like to fight. No, more than that. I enjoy the feeling of combat.

  Every clash, every moment where my body and mind were forced to adapt and overcome, I lived for it.

  I want to reach the top. I want to be better. I want to be the strongest.

  I dodged, barely managing to avoid a spinning counter, my ribs screaming in protest from the earlier strikes.

  My thoughts were getting closer. Like I was right there, like the answer was at the tip of my tongue.

  I… I thrive in the challenge.

  My heart kicked into a new rhythm. The thought was so clear, so precise that my mind blanked, cutting me off mid-stream, as if I had touched something deeper than I was allowed to. My entire focus snapped back to the fight. No more thoughts, no more self-reflection, just the battle.

  I had been right there. So close to something, but my mind had stopped me, and I didn’t know why.

  Illya’s spear came at me again, and I was forced to react, forced to push my thoughts aside.

  My irritation was at an all-time high. It wasn’t just the fight. It wasn’t just that Illya was stronger, faster, better. It was the damn seal.

  For the first time, I felt it. I had experienced it, what it did to me when I got close to something real. When I got close to a revelation, and it ripped it away. I was so close.

  So. Damn. Close.

  Yet, it felt like my own mind was pulling me back, chaining me down.

  The anger boiled over, my breath coming out sharper, my movements becoming more reckless.

  Fine.

  If my own body was going to hold me back, then I’d force my way forward. And if I had to break myself to do it?

  So be it… I'm gonna get healed anyways.

  I launched at Illya again, this time not caring if I took a hit in the process. I forced my way past her spear’s reach, stepping in too close for comfort, her only option now was to fall back or engage.

  She took the second option. Her knee snapped up toward my stomach, I let it land.

  The impact stole my breath, but I grabbed hold of her arm, using her own movement against her as I yanked her forward.

  She recovered instantly, twisting her body in a way that should have knocked me off, but I wouldn’t let go. If I couldn’t match her speed, I’d force her to fight on my terms.

  Close. Relentless. Brutal.

  Her spear was still in her hand, but it wasn’t at the right angle to strike.

  I took advantage of it, shoving forward, forcing her back as I threw a sharp elbow toward her ribs.

  She deflected it, but I wasn’t done. I followed up with a knee to the side, then a hook toward her jaw. She avoided it, barely, her expression shifting for the first time.

  I wasn’t fighting with the same precision as before. I wasn’t thinking about how to outmaneuver her. I was hunting her down. Somewhere in the storm of frustration, I remembered what Chronos had told me.

  “Weapons are great, but you can always be in a situation where you don’t have them. So it’s always best to be superior with your hands first, then go up the ladder. Use your hands, then use the environment. Use the environment to take away their weapon. Then use their weapons against them.”

  I wasn’t winning, not yet, but I was making her work for it now.

  Illya’s movements were still controlled, still calculated, but she was actively adjusting. She wasn’t toying with me anymore. She was fighting me, and that meant I had a chance.

  So I kept pushing forward, even if it meant taking more hits. Even if it meant risking injuries. Because I had already decided, I was going to win. Even if I had to break myself to do it.

  I… I don’t want to lose. I can’t lose. I won’t lose.

  The thoughts that had clouded my mind during the fight against Yuki in the contest came rushing back, but this time, I didn’t push them away.

  I let them in.

  I lunged forward, my body burning, my muscles screaming, but I didn’t care. Illya’s spear shot toward me again, but I didn’t dodge. I stepped through it.

  The shaft of the weapon slammed into my side, a flash of pain exploding through my ribs, but I reached for her anyway, grabbed hold of her wrist, and yanked her forward.

  She barely twisted out of it, her stance shifting into another counter-strike, her foot snapping toward my jaw.

  I took it. It rocked my head to the side, my vision blurring for a second, but I still moved. I wrapped my arm around her extended leg, throwing off her balance, forcing her to retreat further.

  She tried to reposition, but I wouldn’t let her.

  I wasn’t thinking anymore. Not in words, not in logic. Just instinct, drive.

  I want to win.

  The words weren’t just thoughts anymore. They were etched into me. A raw, burning desire, the kind that couldn’t be denied.

  I was sick of these chains.

  Sick of being held back.

  Sick of being denied.

  I want to win.

  If I could just break through, just reach beyond this feeling—

  Something shifted, not in my body, not in the fight, but in me.

  A pulse, something deep, something buried. I felt the weight of something unseen, something that had been there all along. Holding me back.

  I will win.

  The seal… I felt it. For the first time, I felt it. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel it as if trying to run in a deep hole of mud.

  Illya’s next strike came in fast, but now it felt different.

  I could see the flow of her movements clearer, the rhythm of how she adjusted, the way her stance subtly changed with every step. A wound opened on the top of my head where the spear grazed and began bleeding.

  I recognized it now, because I was learning again. And as it felt like time slowed, I felt it again, that feeling. That pull toward something greater.

  I was one step away. I could feel it just beyond my reach. So close. So damn close. I just had to push past this last barrier. I just had to shatter it.

  I just had to— WIN!

  Illya Vel’areis

  Hand-to-hand combat had always been my weakest point. Not because I was bad at it, no, I had trained in it plenty, but because I had spent my entire life with a spear in my hands.

  A spear was an extension of myself, a part of me as natural as breathing. Without it, I was still dangerous, but I lacked the same fluidity, the same instinctive perfection I had with a weapon, and I knew it.

  I tried picking up a dagger, but close quarters is just not for me.

  That was why I had been aggravated earlier. Because even when I wasn’t at my best, Raiden had pushed me back. It stung more than I cared to admit.

  So I had decided to make up for it, not by asking for a rematch, not by demanding a redo, but by giving him something instead.

  If he could push me to my limits, I would do him a favor. That way, it wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of my position as his superior.

  It was a way to save face, and yet, I still felt guilty.

  I had removed my bind. I still kept the anchor on, though, set to roughly 300 pounds, heavy enough to restrict my movements down to at least Green Rank speed, keeping my strength to around an average unawakened beastkin.

  It was still fair, but it wasn’t the same as fighting him as I was before. I told myself that it was necessary, that I had misjudged him, and this was the best way to balance it out.

  The moment I swung my spear, I knew it was over. Raiden had never fought against someone who was wielding a weapon before. That much was obvious.

  Every time he tried to close the distance, I punished him. A quick strike to the ribs, sharp jab to his thigh, blunt edge sweep toward his side, it was effortless.

  He was fighting well, but it wasn’t enough.

  Each time I pushed him back, each time he barely managed to recover, I could see it, he was thinking too much.

  Trying to analyze, trying to adapt. But the thing about fighting someone with a spear? It didn’t matter how good you were at hand-to-hand combat. If you couldn’t get past the range, you lost.

  He was learning that now and he was learning it the hard way. Then, something changed.

  At first, I barely noticed it. A small shift in the way his aura pulsed, a ripple in the air around him. It was weak, flickering, but it was there.

  He was close, on the verge of something.

  I pressed forward, keeping the pressure on him. If he was going to awaken, then he needed to feel it in the fight. It seemed like this fight is giving him the proper insight. He needed to be pushed past his limit.

  But then, his aura faltered. Like a candle snuffed out, as if something had been ripped away.

  I watched as his expression changed. The frustration I had seen before? It wasn’t just frustration anymore. It was anger.

  He stopped dodging. He stopped caring about getting hit. The moment he stepped forward again, he let my spear shaft slam into his ribs, didn’t even try to avoid it, just took the hit and kept moving.

  I pivoted, swinging the blunt end toward his thigh, he tanked it, using the momentum to launch forward and throw a wild hook at me.

  I twisted away, the fist grazing past my jaw, but he was already following up, too aggressive, too reckless, moving like someone who didn’t care what happened to his body anymore.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  What the hell was he doing?

  I struck again, this time going for a full-force sweep to his legs. He should’ve jumped, stepped back, or at the very least, checked the hit to lessen the impact, but he didn’t.

  He took it, let himself be knocked off his feet, hitting the ground hard, but instead of staying down. He rolled with it, bounced up, and lunged right back in.

  He wasn’t thinking anymore, wasn’t calculating, was throwing himself into the fight, no hesitation, no restraint.

  This wasn’t the same Raiden I had been fighting earlier. This was something else. And for the first time since we started. I wasn’t sure if he was fighting to win…

  Something was wrong. Raiden wasn’t fighting the same way anymore. At first, he had been reckless, but calculated, taking hits intentionally to create openings, forcing his way into my range no matter the cost.

  But now? Now, there was no calculation, no restraint.

  His movements were raw, fueled by something deeper than just the fight itself, and that was when I saw it.

  His aura flickered again. Not just a pulse like before. This time, it cracked,like something was trying to break through, only to be yanked back.

  Then after it happened, Raiden became even more aggressive.

  I moved to strike again, my spear whipping toward his side—

  He caught it. Caught it.

  Not just deflected, not redirected, he grabbed it with both hands and ripped it downward, forcing me to follow the motion.

  I let go at the last second, allowing my weapon to clatter against the stone floor, stepping back to reset my stance—

  His foot slammed against my shin, not hard enough to break anything, but just enough to throw me off balance. I began to stumble to my sid—

  A sharp knee to my stomach, an elbow crashing toward my shoulder. I twisted, blocking just in time, but he followed through without pause.

  A punch aimed at my ribs. I stepped back—

  His fist connected, sending a dull, jarring impact through my side.

  He was hitting me now. My mind raced to catch up. How had this shifted so suddenly?

  A moment ago, I had complete control. And now? Now I was on defense.

  I barely avoided a low kick, twisting to create space, but he didn’t let me. He was relentless, his attacks no longer following any rhythm, any pattern.

  I side stepped a roundhouse kick and rolled forward retrieving my spear. I struck toward his shoulder, trying to slow him down, he didn’t even flinch. My next attack, he slipped past it.

  Then, his aura flickered again. And the moment it did, he became even faster. Even stronger, more violent.

  A chill ran down my spine. I had misjudged him before. I had underestimated him. But this wasn’t about skill anymore. This was something else. Something I didn’t understand. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  And for the first time, I wasn’t just fighting to test him anymore. I was fighting to keep him at bay.

  Is it bad that I think this is kind of attractive?

  I put those thoughts away, now is not the time to drool over someone.

  I made a mistake, a big one. I had underestimated him once before, and now I was doing it again.

  But this wasn’t about his technique, nor was it about his ability to fight.

  This was about something deeper, something I hadn’t accounted for.

  I moved to counter, twisting my spear into a sharp, sweeping arc—

  I received a punch to my ribs, a knee to my thigh, and an elbow striking toward my shoulder.

  I blocked, but I felt the force behind it, even through my enhanced durability, he was hitting harder than before.

  I needed to push him back. I had to reset the pace. I thrust my spear forward, aiming to force distance—

  The moment my spear shot forward, his hands moved faster than I could react. He redirected the shaft downward, the weapon slamming into the stone platform with a sharp crack.

  My eyes widened, I tried to pull it back, to reclaim control—

  His foot came down hard on the spear, pinning it to the ground. My grip tightened instinctively.

  I tried to yank it free—

  A powerful kick to my chest sent me reeling backward, my bare feet skidding against the stone as I fought to stay upright.

  When I looked up, he was holding my spear. My breath hitched.

  Raiden had never wielded a weapon before. Not once throughout our entire spar. He had fought with his fists alone, but now he was holding my spear.

  Then, my heart stopped. He slowly took a stance. Not just any stance… my stance.

  His footwork, his grip, his posture, everything. There was no way he knew of the Skyhaven Sect’s martial arts.

  The Moonpiercer Form was developed by my great-grandfather, passed down exclusively within our family. There was no way he could know how to use—

  No… not an imitation.

  A perfect replication. Everything, the way his feet were positioned, the way he angled the spear, the subtle shift in weight ready to respond at a moment’s notice. It was identical. As if he had been using a spear his entire life.

  I finally understood. This fight had never been about me testing him. It was about him testing me. Because Raiden wasn’t just learning my movements. He was stealing them. However, that wasn’t what sent a chill down my spine. It was the state of him.

  He was bloodied, battered, and bruised. Yet he still grinned.

  Thin streaks of crimson painted his training robes, cuts lining his arms and shoulders, his knuckles raw, his skin blooming with bruises in deep shades of blue and purple.

  His cheek was swollen, a thin cut trailing from his jaw down to his collarbone, a trickle of blood running down the side of his face from an open wound on his head.

  His breathing was ragged, uneven, but there was no weakness in it.

  Because his eyes burned. Not with rage, not with desperation, but something else entirely. Something I didn’t understand, and it terrified me.

  Because no matter how battered he looked, Raiden wasn’t broken. Not even close.

  I swallowed, my mind racing to catch up. I had been beating him down this entire time. I had kept him at bay, outmaneuvered him, and controlled the fight.

  Yet somehow, after everything, he was still standing. Not just standing, smiling. As if this was exactly what he wanted. As if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

  I clenched my fists, trying to mask my unease.

  What the hell was he? Who trained this boy?

  Raiden closed his eyes for a moment and lifted the spear slightly, testing the weight. The moment his grip adjusted, my breath hitched.

  The way he moved was natural, far too natural.

  His stance, the slight angling of his feet, the way his fingers curled effortlessly around the shaft of the spear. It wasn’t random, it wasn’t him messing around, testing the waters. This was calculated.

  He had stolen my technique. Now he was about to use it against me.

  The moment his stance settled, he launched forward. Faster than before, faster than I was ready for. I barely raised my weapon in time to block, my forearms catching the impact, but something was off.

  Then I realized something, Raiden wasn’t attacking randomly. He wasn’t just trying to win trades, he was aiming for something specific. Each strike was precise, the tip of the spear slamming into my abdomen over and over again.

  At first, it was nothing, I could take this much. My Violet Rank physique made it so that his hits felt like someone slapping me with a stick.

  They stung, sure, but they didn’t hurt.

  Thank the Celestial that I have a Violet Rank body or else this would have gone differently.

  But as the fight continued, as he kept landing those same precise hits, something was… changing.

  The pain was slowly increasing. Each impact lingered a little longer and each strike left a deeper sting. I didn’t understand it. I shouldn’t be feeling this much from attacks like these, but I was.

  I don’t know why, but for the first time in the fight, I was starting to feel real damage.

  He wasn’t just attacking me anymore. He was dissecting me, just as I was trying to do to him. Each strike was calculated, not to overwhelm but to disrupt, to weaken, to exploit.

  The worst part? He was still learning… adapting. I see that now.

  He had been testing my reactions, feeling for the spots where I tensed just slightly, where I shifted my footing faster than normal. Once he found them, he never stopped attacking them.

  My abdomen, my ankles, and my overall coordination was being attacked. He feinted high, spear snapping upward. I lifted my arms to intercept—

  His grip shifted, the spear’s blunt end whipping low toward my ankle. I barely moved in time. However, even as I adjusted, even as I tried to counter, he already knew what I was going to do.

  Another strike to my abdomen. Then, in the same motion, he swept my leg. I staggered, barely keeping myself upright. Until he did it again, again, and again.

  Every time I tried to regain control, he took it away. I was being played with.

  No… I wasn’t being played with.

  I’m being hunted.

  I exhaled sharply, resetting my stance. I had to find an opening. And then, there it was. He slipped up. A small gap in his form, an unguarded space on his left side, I could see the opportunity, clear as day.

  I moved instantly, seizing my chance, driving forward with a direct strike—

  Only to feel my left leg get taken out from under me. He had baited me.

  He placed the spear down in front of my right foot using my own momentum to trip me forward. It was so perfectly calculated that he was holding the spear behind him with his left arm leaving his right arm free. I was falling and he was waiting.

  The moment my body lurched forward, he moved. His legs spread, his stance shifting into something I had never seen before.

  A half squat, but controlled, precise. His right forearm lowered slowly, his fingers just barely grazing my abdomen. The same spot he had been attacking over and over again.

  Then the air shifted. I froze as something thick wrapped around my lungs, pressing against my skin like a vice grip. The weight of it was overwhelming, suffocating me. My body screamed at me, my instincts kicked in hard, a primal, gut-wrenching fear surging through me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

  This… feeling I felt before. This was killing intent. I was choking on it. It was real, far too real. I knew… I knew if I didn’t move now, something terrible was about to happen.

  It felt as if time slowed around me, my instincts and fight or flight all happening at once. His fingers flexed, his body coiling like a spring, about to unleash something devastating.

  No…

  I reacted on pure instinct. My aura flared before I even made the decision. I tapped into my Esoteric Art, my body igniting with a rush of energy.

  Using my Aura to strengthen my body, the anchors became weightless, allowing me to move at full speed. I flicked my hand, knocking his away with barely any effort. My other hand shot forward, positioning it between us.

  With a quick surge of my Esoteric Arts, a burst of wind exploded from my palm, creating just enough force to send me rocketing backward. As soon as my feet touched the ground again, I poured the full strength of my Aura-enhanced Violet body into my legs and vanished from sight, escaping in an instant.

  All my mind was saying was, run. The force of my movements caused a small shockwave shaking the room with a crack. The burst of wind I created launched Raiden backwards against the wall.

  I landed off the platform, breath ragged, my hands trembling as I tried to process what had just happened. Clutching at my throat as if I had a noose tied around my neck that had been slowly tightening in place. Finally catching y breathe I looked at my trembling hands.

  I had used my aura. I had used my Esoteric Arts. I hadn’t even thought about it. My survival instincts had taken over.

  Because in that single moment, standing before him… I was afraid.

  Wait… Rai—

  “Raiden!”

  Ella’s voice cut through the air, sharp with panic. She was already moving before I could react, rushing over to where he lay face-down on the stone floor.

  I stood there, frozen for just a second. Then the weight of what I had done hit me.

  I’m such a damn fool.

  Why would I make such a challenge to a kid who hasn’t even awakened yet? Why the hell did I think this was a good idea? This blunder is going to haunt me for a decade or two now.

  I forced my body into motion, rushing over as Ella and I carefully flipped him onto his back. The moment I saw his face, my stomach dropped.

  His jaw was dislocated, hanging at an unnatural angle. His breathing was shallow, his chest barely rising and falling, his entire body limp, unmoving. I placed my hand against his chest, inhaling sharply as I pushed my aura into him, scanning his body for injuries.

  What I found made my blood go cold. Multiple broken ribs. A dislocated jaw, his right knee was broken, twisted at an angle that made my stomach churn. His right hand was basically crushed and unrecognizable because I smacked it away with my full strength.

  I’m just happy it didn’t get torn off.

  His left quad was torn, the muscle damaged so badly that it would take weeks to heal properly without external help. His shoulder blade was fractured, cracks running through the bone like splintering glass.

  His skull thankfully had no fractures or cracks. Truly a miracle he didn’t get anything serious, but he definitely had a concussion.

  I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. I had done this. I had pushed him too far. I had been so focused on proving myself, so caught up in my own pride, that I ignored the signs.

  And now, because of me, Raiden might not wake up.

  I pulled my hand back, my breath steadying, though the weight of what I had just done still settled heavily in my chest.

  I took a sharp breath, closing my eyes for a split second, reaching out with my aura.

  <áine.>

  My mental voice was urgent but controlled.

  

  A pause, then a response.

  

  

  

  I severed the link and turned back to Ella, who was hovering over Raiden, her hands trembling slightly as she watched his chest barely rise and fall.

  “I need you to give it a minute,” I said, my voice low but firm. “The sigils and Madela tech should kick in soon and start stabilizing his body.”

  Ella barely moved, her eyes still locked onto him as his head rested in her lap. “Did you call áine?” she whispered, as if afraid to believe me.

  I answered her with a nod. A long, tense silence settled between us before I finally spoke again.

  “Ella,” I murmured, glancing at her. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”

  Her golden-green eyes flickered, but she didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. I already knew the answer. She had felt it. Raiden’s killing intent.

  I swallowed, glancing down at him, at his bruised, broken body, the faintest flickers of sigil light beginning to pulse beneath his skin as the healing process began.

  I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve stopped the fight before it got this far. Because I’ve only ever felt that kind of killing intent once before. I closed my eyes, the memory flashing through my mind.

  That time… the first and last time I had ever met our patriarch. I had been young, barely able to stand in his presence, my aura crushing in on itself under the sheer weight of his gaze.

  I had watched him discipline a traitor in the sect.Not an ounce of hesitation nor mercy.

  His killing intent had been absolute. An execution before the blade even fell.

  Today, I felt that same suffocating pressure. Not from my patriarch. Not from a veteran of war. Instead, it was from Raiden. A boy who hadn’t even awakened yet. A boy who had been fighting me just minutes ago, smiling.

  What… what the hell is he?

  How could someone be capable of emitting such killing intent at such a young age.

  The moment I felt áine’s aura approaching, I exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension in my chest ease, but only slightly.

  Then, in an instant, she was there. A rush of air and light, a blur of graceful movement, and áine landed in the training hall without a sound, her feet barely making contact with the ground before she was already moving toward us.

  Her long, pale blue hair trailed behind her, illuminated by the soft glow of the sigils in the room. Her emerald robes shifted like water, embroidered with the sigils of our sect’s medical division.

  But it was her aura that caught my attention most. The moment she laid eyes on Raiden’s broken body, it expanded. A Violet Rank healer’s aura wasn’t like a warrior’s. It wasn’t crushing, oppressive, or violent.

  It was deep, rich, and encompassing, like standing at the bottom of the ocean and feeling the full weight of its vastness. Her hands moved before she even spoke, gently pressing against his chest.

  Then, her power flowed into him. Violet light flooded through his body, seeping into his wounds, into his bones, into the very fibers of his muscles.

  I watched, my eyes trained on the intricate dance of aura as it pulsed through him. It wasn’t chaotic, nor forceful, it was precise and controlled.

  Every stream of energy flowed exactly where it needed to go, following paths that had been honed through decades of mastery. His bruises began to shrink.

  The purple and blue hues of torn flesh lightened, fading as if being pulled away by the tides of her power.

  His ribs, the ones I had broken, I saw the fractures mend themselves, the bones knitting back together beneath her hands. His twisted knee jerked slightly, the joint resetting with a faint glow, the ligaments weaving back together like they had never been torn apart. Even his dislocated jaw slowly shifted back into place, his breathing becoming less shallow, more even. His crushed hand readjusted itself slower but eventually it began to resemble a hand again.

  The cuts lining his skin sealed shut, leaving nothing but faint, silvery marks that would be gone in minutes.

  Every motion, every breath from áine was fluid, like she was guiding the very essence of life itself through his body. Ella, who had been watching in tense silence, finally let out a shaky breath.

  I hadn’t realized I had been holding mine, too.

  áine didn’t speak as she worked. She didn’t need to, because she already knew. She knew what I had done. What I had let happen.

  She wouldn’t say it aloud, but I could feel it in the way her aura moved, how much of her own energy she had to use to undo the damage.

  I glanced down at my hands. They were steady, but I could still feel the ghost of my last strike. I had been so caught up in my own pride, in testing him, in proving something that never needed to be proven. As a result, I had pushed too far.

  I swallowed hard, watching as Raiden’s wounds faded under áine’s touch. I had nearly killed him. What terrified me more than that, was knowing that I might not have been able to if he was at my rank.