"This way, you can put more strength into your blows. Do you understand?"
Vikel Robert's voice rang out with crisp authority as he finished the demonstration. His stance was firm, his movements sharp—every motion carrying the weight of years of discipline. He straightened, eyes sweeping across the rows of students until his gaze locked with each of them in turn, daring them to say they hadn't understood.
A chorus of nods followed, some eager, some hesitant. The young trainees murmured among themselves, their faces alight with the satisfaction of learning something useful, believing they could now replicate the technique with ease.
"Good." Vikel gave a curt nod. "Then today's class ends here."
He scanned the room with the piercing eyes of a hawk surveying its prey. His expression barely shifted, but he noticed everything—the stiff posture of the nervous, the faint smirk of the overconfident, and above all, the subtle disinterest of two particular students. Vern and Edward had watched his demonstration with arms folded, their gazes cool, as if the lesson were something they had already outgrown. To them, it wasn't revelation—it was repetition.
It wasn't out of his expectations as they were truly exceptional that even the students of third year would have difficulty competing against them.
"Vern. Edward," his voice cut through the classroom like steel, "you two stay behind. The rest of you may take your leave."
"Yes, sir!" the students echoed in unison, chairs scraping and boots scuffing against the wooden floor as they hurried out.
Only Vern and Edward remained, unmoving. They glanced at one another, a silent exchange of unspoken words flickering between them. Neither protested, neither obeyed immediately. They simply stood there, waiting—for what, even they weren't sure.
But one thing was certain: Vikel Robert's eyes never left them.
As the last of the students filed out, chatter echoing faintly down the corridor, silence settled over the room. Vikel didn't speak. Instead, he turned on his heel with deliberate calm and strode toward the door. His heavy boots struck the wooden floor with a steady rhythm, each step carrying an unspoken command. Just before leaving, he raised one hand and gave a sharp gesture, signaling Vern and Edward to follow.
The two boys exchanged puzzled glances. Edward tilted his head slightly, as if to ask what this was about, but Vern merely gave a small shrug. Neither voiced their questions. Wordlessly, they fell in line behind their instructor.
The walk was quiet, broken only by the echo of their footsteps in the wide stone corridors. Vikel's pace was brisk but not rushed, his back straight, his presence radiating authority even in silence. The boys trailed him like shadows, their curiosity simmering but contained.
After several turns, the air shifted. The faint smell of parchment and ink gave way to something sharper, tinged with the metallic tang of mana in the air. They had passed through the wrought-iron gates of the Magic Department. Beyond it stretched a wide, open field—a training ground designed for spell practice. The earth bore scars of past lessons: scorch marks, gouges from stray spells, patches of grass burned to ash. A faint hum of energy lingered in the air, as though the very ground remembered every incantation that had been cast upon it.
Vern's brow furrowed. Edward narrowed his eyes. Whatever Vikel intended for them, it clearly wouldn't be a routine lecture.
As they stepped into the heart of the training field, Vern's sharp eyes immediately caught sight of two figures waiting there. One was a girl with flowing green hair that shimmered faintly under the sunlight—Eliza Skywod. Her poise alone spoke of her noble upbringing, her presence commanding without effort. Beside her stood another girl with a simpler air, her brown hair tied neatly back and her black eyes keen with focus—Reeta Baek, a commoner whose talent in magic had already made her name circulate throughout the academy. Both were third-years, already seasoned compared to Vern and Edward.
Vern's gaze narrowed slightly, mind racing. The pieces fell into place quickly. This wasn't a coincidence—Vikel had brought them here for something more than words. A test, perhaps… or a measure of their strength.
Edward, however, did not share his composure. The instant his eyes landed on Eliza, his entire demeanor shifted. His steps faltered, his posture stiffened, and for a fleeting moment, his usual sharpness melted into something softer, almost vulnerable. She was beautiful—strikingly so—and from the very first day he had seen her, she had occupied a quiet, persistent place in his thoughts. Now, standing in the same field as her, his imagination betrayed him, pulling him into daydreams he could hardly suppress.
Vern noticed, of course. He always did. But for now, he kept silent, his own focus fixed on the unspoken trial that awaited them.
"Hey, Vern… what should I do?" Edward stammered, his voice cracking as he leaned toward his friend, panic flashing in his eyes.
Vern exhaled through his nose, a long, weary sigh. His gaze slid toward Edward—who was clearly drowning in thoughts of Eliza rather than the reality before them—and he raised a hand, sharply gesturing for him to shut it without uttering a word.
Before Edward could sputter again, Vikel's voice cut across the field like a blade.
"Today, you will block every spell cast by these two."
He gave a curt nod to Eliza and Reeta, who straightened in acknowledgment, mana already stirring faintly in the air around them. Then, without another word, Vikel turned his back on the boys, arms crossed, as if daring them to prove him wrong.
"What?!"
"What?!"
Vern and Edward shouted together, disbelief bursting from their throats. The order was absurd. Facing a mage in combat was one thing, but standing still and weathering their spells? That was madness.
Vern clenched his fists, jaw tightening as the reality sank in. Unlike magicians, who could draw mana freely from the atmosphere, warriors had to painstakingly refine it within their bodies before shaping it into strength. To demand that they block spells head-on—without striking back—was like asking them to stop a storm with bare hands.
And yet, the challenge had been set.
"I won't stand for excuses," Vikel declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You will block every spell they cast at you. Now—introduce yourselves."
"Yes, sir." Vern and Edward responded in unison.
They walked forward across the field, the air heavy with expectation. Standing before the two third-years, they squared their shoulders and spoke.
"I'm Vern Kael," Vern said evenly, his calm gaze steady.
"I'm Edward von Zenithara," Edward followed, his voice firm this time, free of the nervous stutter that usually betrayed him.
The girls inclined their heads politely. Eliza's green hair shimmered faintly under the light as she offered a graceful smile. "Hello. It is nice meeting you. My name is Eliza Skywod, and she is Reeta Baek."
"H-Hello," Reeta added, her voice catching slightly as she spoke, betraying a shy edge beneath her composed exterior.
Eliza's smile deepened, the confidence in her bearing almost dazzling. "We will be in your care," she said warmly. Then, with a fluid motion, she extended her hand. From the shimmering fold of her subspace, a staff materialized—sleek and silver, its crystal head glowing faintly with gathered mana.
Beside her, Reeta did the same, retrieving her own staff. Though simpler in design, its surface pulsed with a raw, unrefined energy that marked her as someone who wielded natural talent rather than noble refinement.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The casual introductions dissolved into the tense silence of impending combat, the hum of mana filling the air like the static before a storm.
Edward and Vern unsheathed their swords in unison, steel glinting under the afternoon light. With practiced precision, they settled into their stances—shoulders squared, blades angled just right, every muscle coiled in readiness.
Across from them, Eliza and Reeta raised their staffs. Their lips moved almost silently, no lengthy chants, just a single word whispered in perfect sync: "Fireball."
Twin spheres of flame burst to life at the tips of their staffs, their heat distorting the air. The spell was basic, yes—but the pressure rolling off the compressed mana was anything but trivial. The orbs shot forward, streaking across the field with a hiss, their glow painting the grass in shades of orange and red.
To any normal warrior, the sight would have been daunting. But Vern and Edward didn't flinch. They didn't even bother channeling their mana. Instead, their blades flashed—two arcs of steel, swift and sure.
Boom!
The fireballs detonated mid-swing, bursting into a spray of sparks and smoke. The explosion cracked through the field, but when the haze cleared, the two boys stood firm, not a singe mark upon them.
Eliza and Reeta froze, wide-eyed.
They didn't even use mana…
Cutting through a spell like that was no simple feat. Their minds raced, disbelief knotting in their chests. Are they really more skilled with the sword than the third-years?
"Don't go easy on them!" Vikel's sharp voice snapped them from their thoughts. "You don't need to worry about injuries—use your full strength."
The air seemed to thrum with tension once more, as though the real duel had only just begun.
With a curt nod, the two girls began to chant. Their voices rose in steady cadence, words of power weaving through the air. Mana gathered thickly around them, the atmosphere vibrating with raw energy.
Eliza's staff flared a brilliant crimson as heat rippled outward in waves. "Inferno," she intoned, her voice carrying the authority of a noble-born mage.
At the same time, Reeta's staff glowed an icy blue, frost spiraling from its tip and biting at the air around her. "Ice Spike."
Twin forces surged forth—searing flames roaring like a beast set loose, and jagged spears of ice whistling through the air with lethal precision. The spells tore across the training ground, converging on Vern and Edward with devastating force.
In response, the boys finally let their mana flow. Energy pulsed down their arms, racing into their swords until the steel seemed to hum with life. Their movements were sharp, controlled, unwavering.
"—Haaah!"
Blades slashed, arcs of steel colliding with elemental fury.
BOOM!
The ground shook. Fire and ice shattered upon the edge of their swords, exploding into a chaotic storm of sparks, smoke, and shards of frozen mana. Heat and frost clashed in the aftermath, the very air around them hissing in protest.
And yet—when the dust began to settle—Vern and Edward still stood firm, blades lowered but steady, their silhouettes cutting through the dissipating haze.