"No."
"Pardon?"
"I refuse to spar with you."
His resolve was as immovable as the earth he stood on; yet with the right person, his stance would sway as his red hair would when a gust of wind blew.
Why is he making it so difficult? The restless frenetic thought. His partner yesterday was completely sent out of commission after their fight, so he has no other choice of partner than me.
Tap-tap.
The students moved like clockwork.
How can it be that after being exposed just once to this sound, that they managed to fully grasp the pattern, and make it their own?
"It has been made known to me," Clive said, "that several of the students in this class have been injured last session."
The frenetic in the middle row developed a positive delight in his eyes.
"Keep up the good work."
"However, with the absence of the injured, many are left without partners."
"Rank Nine with Rank Two."
"Rank Seven with Rank Five."
"Rank Four with Rank Six."
"And lastly, Rank Sixteen with Rank One."
The one who sought to injure his partners with intent had the smile ripped off of him with the last utterance.
And among the twenty-three pairs of eyes that stared at him, reminding him of the pact they made, the frenetic was forced to look into the eyes of the subject of that pact.
Rank Sixteen? I have no idea who they are; I intended to lose to someone in the Top 10.
From his appearance, he doesn't seem like much; yet despite that, he injured his partner to such an extent that they aren't even present here?
The majority of the ones who injured their partners were monsters in the Top 10, and all of their partners are still healthy enough to show up.
It is probable that he intentionally broke his partner. No, I shouldn't judge too quickly.
But if it so happens that he does intend to do the same with me, I need to be careful and cushion damage as much as possible.
"Everyone, to the desert terrain."
Arthur swept his right foot across the fine golden sand, changed each year with a fresh batch when the Academy passed through the Dustlands.
What is that—a sword? The frenetic who held Rank Sixteen thought from the other side of the arena.
It's nice to know he's going easy on me; I would have been instantly annihilated if he used magic.
An image of himself, burnt black from fire, appeared in his mind, and he shivered at the thought.
He might be more skilled than me, but as a mage, he can't use Sword Aura.
If I can manage to distract him or blind him–
He lowered his center of mass.
Or buy myself one second of time in any way, I might be able to trade hits with him, and achieve a tie!
His mind raced at all the possibilities that could come from accomplishing such a great achievement, and his body filled with hope, as all previous challengers of Rank One had.
But when his eyes met the demonic monster across him, he was sent plummeting back to Geenna.
There are three uniquities of the Honor Class, Arthur analyzed. First, all magic classes are taught by a Head Instructor, the most powerful and experienced staff at the Academy.
Secondly, they have access to the highest quality training facilities and equipment, as well as the largest dorms.
And lastly, perhaps the largest difference–that contradicts the Academy's philosophy–classes are mixed, filled with nobles and commoners; both swordsmen and mages.
And because mages are allowed to use mana in their spells, swordsmen are allowed to use mana in their swords.
He looked below the shaky eyes of his opponent, and saw the pale-yellow lightning current create vectors that would snap and crackle continuously until they disappeared.
Meanwhile, I am unable to do either.
Still, I must do what I can; losing to him would be too suspicious!
If I push the weakling act to save my reputation, that might work, but because all duels are assessments, if I throw this match, I won't be able to fulfill the conditions of getting 95% or higher on every assignment!
My sword is slow; if I were to lose, Clive would definitely grade me harshly.
But the winners of duels always get a 100%, and the instructors can't change the grade of that.
I have no choice but to win this duel.
Arthur released his left hand from the sword, allowing the sword to fall down with his hand to his right side.
He didn't take a stance. He simply walked.
I am an Intermediate-rank swordsman in the Mirror God Style–the highest rank a mage or non-awakener can achieve. This is because people not in the path of the sword either don't have the mana, or don't have the Mana Circuit specialization to form Sword Aura and Body Aura.
Despite the fact that the schools of swordsmanship are only taught in the second school year, he has already reached the intermediate-rank in the War God Style.
Further, he has already unlocked Sword and Body Aura.
Arthur watched the electricity arc around his opponent's blade.
I cannot match his speed. If I try to fence him, I lose. I have no Aura to accelerate my muscles. To him, I must look like a statue.
But a statue is terrifying if you believe it is a god.
Rank Sixteen watched him approach. His breath hitched.
He's just walking? Against my Lightning Aura?
He's mocking me. He knows he can end this at any second.
The distance closed. Ten meters. Five. Two.
Rank Sixteen's eyes were locked onto Arthur's sword. The terror in his mind narrowed his vision until the rest of the world dissolved into a blur of sand. He didn't notice Arthur's left hand hanging free. He didn't notice the lack of tension in Arthur's shoulders. He only saw the steel that had surely cut down opponents far greater than himself.
Here it comes!
Arthur swung.
To Arthur, it was a full-strength strike. But to a swordsman pulsing with the accelerated perception of Body Aura, the blade moved through the air with agonizing, almost comical slowness.
It's so slow! Rank Sixteen thought, panic surging. Why is it so slow? Is it a feint? Is he waiting for me to move?
Reflex took over. Rank Sixteen raised his blade and caught Arthur's sword in a perfect, rigid block. Steel clashed against steel, adding to the chaos of the arena.
They stood there, locked close. Rank Sixteen's eyes bulged, waiting for the follow-up, waiting for the hidden strike.
Arthur released his grip on the hilt just enough to let the sword rest against the opponent's block. He raised his free left hand—the hand Rank Sixteen had completely ignored—and gently placed it on the boy's trembling shoulder.
He leaned in, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of an executioner.
"Boom."
Rank Sixteen flinched as if he'd been impaled.