Chapter 42: The Duel that Never Ended
Climbing the wide spiral staircase to the academy's rooftop, I ran a hand along the pristine stone walls. White marble interlaced with black onyx, polished to a mirror-like gleam. They were studded with golden-framed certificates, photographs, and accolades. Generations of honor, sweat, and ambition lined these halls. Faces stared back—some smiling, others stoic—all once students like me, forged in this very arena.
The rooftop opened to reveal the academy's greatest stage.
The rooftop colosseum.
It was built in the design of an ancient Roman amphitheater, but its heart beat with something older—Indian stonework, Vedic carvings, and modern mana inscribings etched into the seating and boundary pillars. The air shimmered faintly from the mana circuitry embedded into the stones, which regulated the combat space and ensured safety protocols during duels.
A circular dueling arena stood at its center, its sand-covered floor stained by thousands of past training battles. Around it, tiered stone benches rose in steps, built for spectators—students, faculty, and sometimes visiting saints. This place wasn't just a battleground. It was a crucible.
I entered from the northern edge of the colosseum, which gave me a good vantage point. On the duel ground, two first-year girls were engaged in a sparring match. Their mana control was shaky, tentative, but it was clear they were giving it their all. Mana flared from their palms, trailing unevenly in the air. One held twin machetes while the other fought barehanded, using pulses of force to redirect attacks. They were in their raw state—ambitious but unpolished.
I found a seat and sank into the stone, letting the sun warm my back as I watched. Around me, other spectators murmured in hushed tones or chattered away. A few professors sat near the edge of the ring, notebooks in hand, observing the match with clinical precision. Every move, every feint, was evaluated. Everything an awakened student did was measured—used to build portfolios that would later decide their futures.
Guilds, private hunter squads, security corporations, and even international arms dealers scouted students from here. The academy nurtured students to the peak of Rank 1, setting them up for their first Trial of Ascension. It wasn't just a school—it was a forge.
Just as I was about to close my eyes to gather my thoughts, a hand landed gently but firmly on my shoulder. It was soft, but carried undeniable strength.
I didn't need to turn.
"Anaya," I sighed. "You didn't have to come."
"If it weren't for your mother letting it slip, I wouldn't have even known," she replied, taking the seat beside me. Her voice had that faint chiding lilt she always used when she was worried. "You and Ross… always at each other's throats, even back in first year. And now this dramatic duel? Seriously?"
I leaned back, keeping my gaze on the sparring students. "I didn't start it. He challenged me. Said that now we're both awakened and he can finally use mana, he'd prove he's better. I'm confident, but… he's been Rank 1 for a long time. I can't take this lightly."
Anaya sighed again, her gaze fixed on the duel below. "Don't overthink it. He just wants attention. You know how it is. Being heir to the Aditya Trading Company, and still stuck at Rank 1—it eats away at him. He needs a win more than you do."
"Is ranking up really that hard?" I asked, honestly curious.
She nodded, folding her arms. "It's not the difficulty of the trial itself—it's the fear. The moment before you leap off the cliff. The doubt, the what-ifs. It's like standing at the edge of everything. That fear breaks more people than failure ever does."
Her voice faltered slightly at the end, touched by personal memory.
"For me," she continued, "it wasn't about the type of trial. I had options. But I was terrified of failing. I could handle pain, but not disappointment. Not… shame."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. I understood. When I was unawakened, I'd imagined the world of mana-users as one of power and glory. Now I knew the truth. Power came with monsters, blood, and doubt.
A metallic clang snapped my attention to the duel below. One of the girls had been disarmed, her twin machetes skidding across the sand. Her opponent offered a hand, and the match ended. They both bowed and exited the ring, sweat dripping from their foreheads.
I glanced at my watch.
2:00 PM.
If Ross was coming, this would be his time. The midday break drew nearly all students to the colosseum. It was where announcements were made, where performances were showcased. It was the perfect stage.
And like clockwork, I felt it.
A ripple in the mana.
Even amid the bustle and chatter, I could sense him. He entered from the southern gate—opposite mine—and descended the stairs with a measured pace. The air changed. Conversations dropped. Heads turned.
He still walked like royalty.
Ross had always carried himself like a born winner. He was strong. Talented. Dedicated. But I had always been just a bit better. Back in the academy, his excuses came easy—"You're unawakened. I can't use mana. It's not fair."
But now?
Now we were both awakened.
He reached the dueling ring. His uniform was crisp, perfectly pressed. His hair slicked back in his usual style. But this wasn't the arrogant man I'd met at the warehouse. This was the Ross I remembered. The Training Demon. The competitor. The old friend I used to spar with under the setting sun.
He scanned the arena. Students were still entering, taking seats, but most had already noticed him.
Then, without warning, Ross raised both his hands. Mana gathered in his palms. With a thunderous clap, the sound echoed across the stadium, bouncing off the stone and silencing every conversation.
All eyes turned to the center.
"Come on, Vijay," he called out. His voice was steady, commanding. A slight smile played on his lips, but it wasn't mocking. It was challenging. Familiar.
I felt Anaya's eyes on me. "Maybe he's back," she said softly.
I nodded.
Back in our first year, it was the five of us—me, Ross, Anaya, and two others. We trained together. Ate together. Fought side by side. But Ross had changed first. Jealousy, pressure, maybe both. And the group fell apart.
Standing now in that ring, he wasn't the boy who screamed at me four months ago. He was the young warrior I remembered, eyes blazing, waiting for a worthy fight.
I stood up.
My casual clothes shimmered away, replaced by my combat attire—deep purple dhoti, black breastplate, leather bracers. My hair slicked back. Ashratal called to me from the void.
"He's almost back," I murmured.
Anaya looked up at me, smiling faintly.
"I'll make sure he comes all the way back," I said, stepping toward the ring.
This wasn't about pride or victory anymore.
This was about redemption. For both of us.