Combat class 2
The training arena hummed with tension, the stone beneath their feet glowing faintly under the enchantments etched into every inch. Students from Class S-1 stood in formation, eyes forward as the instructor—Varek Kaelthorn—stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing with finality.
He raised a single hand.
Snap.
The sound rang clear, unnatural in its sharpness. A split second later, the solid floor of the arena shimmered—and became a slick, translucent surface. Like oiled glass.
Several students slipped instantly, their balance lost in a blink. Cries of surprise rang out as some crashed to the ground in ungainly heaps. Others reacted swiftly, channeling mana into their legs to anchor themselves. A ripple of blue and white runes lit up along the soles of their boots.
But three figures stood utterly still, unaffected—Arthur Valerian, Jullian Reinhart, and Saryn Bhumari.
Arthur didn't even blink. Jullian glanced to his side and grinned.
"Impressive start. We haven't even gotten to the good part yet," he muttered.
Saryn cracked his neck. "Hope they didn't break anything. We're just getting warmed up."
Varek's voice boomed across the arena. "Before you spar with each other, you'll face an easier opponent. Your foundation needs stress, not glory. So… we begin with practice battles."
He pointed toward a series of runic circles, and within moments, training golems began emerging. Each crafted of reinforced obsidian and mithril, their eyes glowed faintly with combat protocols.
"Those at Peak Rank 1 will fight Peak Rank 2 Golems. Those at Beginner Rank 2, face Beginner Rank 3 Golems. Simple scaling."
Then he turned, facing Arthur directly.
"…Arthur Valerian. You will face an enchanted anti-mana golem."
The arena quieted. Whispers passed between students.
"Anti-mana?" someone muttered.
"Good luck with that…"
Jullian leaned closer to Arthur and snorted. "Poor boy. Hope you signed your will."
Saryn crossed his arms, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Don't cry if it punches your soul out of your body."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Just fuck off."
But internally, he was already assessing the situation.
Anti-mana golems… He knew the type. Any magical output would be nullified or reflected. Which meant only pure aura and physical techniques would work.
I'll use this to improve my aura control. No crutches.
Then he roared:
"Now—Fight!"
Chaos erupted.
Dozens of students clashed with their assigned golems. The screech of steel, the whoosh of wind spells, the heat of flame and lightning danced across the arena like a chaotic symphony.
Some used elemental techniques—fire-imbued spears, water whips, bolts of compressed wind. Others relied on pure aura techniques, weapons glowing with their inner strength as they struck and defended.
Arthur stood still as the anti-mana golem approached—twice his height, its limbs humming with null-energy fields. It moved with brutal precision, each footstep a minor quake.
Its glowing arm lashed forward.
BOOM.
Arthur dodged sideways effortlessly, aura flickering around his frame. He didn't summon his sword—not yet. He raised his hand and pressed his aura into the space around him like a blade.
Ripples.
His aura condensed—a dull silver sheen wrapped around his arm like a phantom gauntlet.
The golem turned sharply and lunged again. Arthur met the blow with his forearm—and held.
The impact shuddered through the ground, cracking the slippery surface. Aura sparked from the collision as Arthur's body slid back half a step, but he held firm.
He grinned. Alright… let's test this thing properly.
Behind him, Jullian parried a golem's heavy strike with a flourish of his radiant longsword, laughing. "Show it who's boss, Yearlord!"
Saryn's halberd spun like a comet, cleaving through his opponent's knee joint with an explosion of golden aura. "Better not disappoint, Arthur. Or I'll laugh."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. The anti-mana golem roared again, its core pulsing as it drew more power.
And this time, Arthur moved.
His footwork shifted—elegant, precise. He darted forward, slipped under the golem's swing, and with a single controlled breath, struck upward with a palm laced in compressed aura.
CRACK.
The golem's arm twisted unnaturally, its shoulder joint erupting in sparks. It stumbled back, gears whining.
Arthur exhaled. "Round one."
Then he advanced.
The anti-mana golem reared up, blades extending from both of its arms—jagged, black-forged, and rippling with nullifying energy. Its chest pulsed a deep violet, drawing in ambient magic and dispersing it harmlessly.
But Arthur didn't flinch.
He extended his right hand to the side, and with a whisper of silver light, his sword appeared—simple in design, yet unmistakably deadly. No ornate runes, no flashy inscriptions. Just cold, forged precision and the aura of a man who didn't need to boast.
Arthur stepped forward. His foot touched the ice-slick ground.
Instead of slipping—he glided.
A ripple passed through his boots as Internal Mana, not external aura, surged through his muscles and tendons. Every step clung to the frictionless surface with flawless precision.
Advanced Control Technique: Internal Channeling.
He activated his footwork skill – [Windrift Pattern, Rank C+], and suddenly he moved like flowing air, ungraspable, untouchable.
The golem lunged with terrifying speed, twin blades descending in an arc that would've bisected a normal student.
Arthur met it head-on.
CLANG!
His sword met the golem's. Sparks exploded like a miniature sun. The sheer force of the collision split the ice beneath their feet, casting chunks of it skyward. Mana discharged violently—but Arthur's inner control kept him grounded.
The spectators gasped. Even the upper-year assistants watching from the arena edges narrowed their eyes.
"That wasn't brute strength," murmured one. "That was precise output matching."
They clashed again.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Arthur weaved under one slash, spun left, stepped over a sweeping kick by momentarily standing on a floating shard of ice midair, then dropped behind the golem—and struck at its spine.
But the golem twisted unnaturally, its torso rotating a full 180 degrees, and met his blade with its own.
BOOM.
Shockwaves rolled out from the impact. Jullian turned briefly from his own fight, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
"Oh? He's actually putting on a show now."
Saryn, now leaning on his halberd after disabling his opponent, scoffed with a smirk. "Not bad. For someone who was supposed to cry."
Back on the field, Arthur's breathing deepened—not from exhaustion, but focus.
It's adapting. Good. I'll just push harder.
He vanished forward with a short blink of speed, reappearing beside the golem's leg. His blade flashed in a flurry—five consecutive slashes.
But the golem blocked each one. Not because of programming. But because it had learned his rhythm.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
"Fine then…"
He shifted footwork—slightly off-beat. He hesitated for one-third of a second on the next approach. The golem misread the rhythm—and Arthur struck.
CRASH.
Its left shoulder flew off in a burst of shattered metal and magical steam.
The golem retaliated instantly, its right blade detaching and spinning like a saw before hurtling at Arthur.
He ducked, lifted his hand—and with internal aura compressed to a needle—parried the spinning weapon mid-air with a sharp upward flick.
It embedded into the arena wall behind him.
Arthur surged forward.
Final clash.
Both opponents raised their swords—Arthur's glowing with aura-rich internal energy, the golem's humming with null-energy built to erase it.
They met.
BOOOOOOM.
A blinding light. The air distorted around them. The ice cracked beneath their clash. Their blades pressed against one another, refusing to yield.
Neither won immediately.
But only one of them smiled.
Arthur leaned in and whispered to the golem like it could hear him.
"Is that all?"
With a roar of compressed aura from his feet, he spun midair, brought his blade around—and cleaved downward.
The golem's core split in half.
It froze.
Then collapsed into pieces.
⸻
The arena fell silent.
Even Varek Kaelthorn's usual stoic face shifted—only slightly—but enough to register approval.
Arthur exhaled once, lowered his sword, and turned back toward the others.
Jullian clapped slowly. "I take it back. You might be a monster."
Saryn shrugged. "Still ugly though."
Arthur smirked faintly. "Still standing."
Arthur, you did well. One thousand points to Arthur Valerian!" Varek Kaelthorn's voice echoed across the training field, stern yet oddly pleased. A faint blue pulse shimmered on the bracelet on Arthur's wrist — a visual confirmation of the awarded points.
Bracelet glow detected. +1000 points registered.
A hushed silence followed. Dozens of students had stopped mid-swing or chant, stunned by the praise. Their eyes locked onto Arthur, who stood with his sword resting on his shoulder, unfazed.
Varek's voice snapped through the tension like a blade. "What are you all staring at? Resume your training!"
At once, the spell was broken. Students jolted back into motion, their drills clumsy at first, then sharpening with nervous energy.
Arthur turned and walked toward the instructor. The air around them subtly warped, muffling the sounds — no wind, no clashing steel, no voices from the others. Just silence.
"He's controlling space itself so precisely," Elaris whispered within Arthur's mind. "This isn't just silence. It's complete sound nullification."
Arthur studied Varek's unreadable expression and asked calmly, "Why did you call me over, teacher?"
Varek gave a rare, almost grudging smile. "Arthur, you're too skilled. Some students take years to master a single form — you've already achieved extreme mastery in swordsmanship. You're far beyond where a first-year should be."
Arthur's gaze drifted across the field. "I'm not the only one. Jullian is progressing fast. Saryn's adapting well. And Nyssara—" his voice slowed, "she's just about to defeat her opponent."
Varek nodded, following Arthur's gaze. "True. They're gifted. But they can still be taught in the standard curriculum. You, however… you've outgrown it. That's why I'm giving you a different offer."
Arthur tilted his head. "An offer?"
"Yes," Varek said. "In the past, if a child reached peak Rank 1 at your age, they were called a prodigy. A monster. But now… your generation has broken that ceiling. The world is changing — and with it, the threats. Rank 9 used to be the pinnacle of defense. Soon, even that won't be enough."
He leaned forward, his voice low. "I want to prepare you — and those like you — to fight multiple ranks above your stage. Real combat. Real risk. Real growth. You don't have to accept. But know this… I already teach one such student personally."
Arthur's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
"Nyx. Nyx Akers."
Arthur's heart skipped. The name struck something deep.
"I'll join," he said immediately, without hesitation.
Varek chuckled. "Good. You can bring friends if you want."
Arthur's expression darkened slightly. "I don't have any."
Varek's brow furrowed, then softened. "Don't say that. Friends are part of life here. Make them. Trust me — you'll need them in the battles ahead."
He stepped back. "Now go. Train."
Arthur nodded and returned to the field, drawing his blade once more.