Teaching a lesson

Who was this man standing in front of Ray? He was sure they had never met before, yet something about him felt familiar.

The man gave a slight bow.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself first? My name is Harry Delbert, first and eldest son of the Delbert family. The person you defeated today was my younger brother."

Now that he mentioned it, the resemblance was obvious. His features, his demeanor—it was clear he was related to Sebastian and their father.

"So you're here for revenge?" Ray asked.

"Revenge? No, not for something so petty," Harry said. "In fact, I should be thanking you. My brother was arrogant. He never took his training seriously because he was always at the top of his class. Someone needed to humble him eventually."

"Then why are you here?" Ray asked.

Harry's words were calm, but the pressure and aura radiating from him told a different story.

Without answering, Harry drew his training sword.

Ray immediately did the same.

"As I said," Harry continued, "I'm here to teach you a lesson. This year's first-year students were the weakest we've ever had. I can't let you get ahead of yourselves, now can I? At the same time, I might as well get a bit of revenge for my family name."

Ray's eyes narrowed as he noticed something on Harry's blue sash—a gold ribbon.

That single ribbon meant he was a second-year student.

At Avrion, the ranking matches were separated by year. First-years weren't allowed to challenge upperclassmen, which meant if they fought now, this wouldn't be an official match.

Harry smirked and gestured for him to attack.

"Come on. Show me what you got."

Ray usually wasn't the type to strike first, but he wanted to get this over with.

He charged forward, putting all his strength into his first attack. Swinging from above, he brought his sword down hard.

Harry raised his sword to block—but Ray wasn't worried.

From his training, he knew that with this much force, his attack should break straight through Harry's weapon.

But when their swords clashed, both weapons came to a standstill in midair.

Ray's eyes widened. How?

What shocked him even more was that it felt like his own sword was about to break, not Harry's.

Realizing the danger, he quickly pulled back, jumping away to create distance.

Harry tilted his head. "Oh? I'm surprised you made the right decision. I guess this is the first time you've fought a Ki user?"

Ki.

That had to be the force Ray felt in Harry's sword.

It was something he hadn't learned yet—the academy hadn't even taught it to them.

Ray knew his raw power wouldn't work, so he decided to rely on skill instead.

He switched into Black Sash footwork, moving in an unpredictable pattern toward his opponent.

Swordsmanship was about anticipation—predicting your opponent's next move and countering. The Black Sash techniques focused on being unreadable, making it nearly impossible for an enemy to guess where the next attack would come from.

Left. Right. Above. Behind. Below.

Damn.

It wasn't working.

Every strike Ray made was blocked instantly. It wasn't that Harry was following his movements—it was as if he could sense exactly where and when the attack would come.

Ray stopped attacking. This wasn't working.

"Is that all you've got?" Harry asked.

Ray clenched his fists. He hadn't felt like this in a long time.

It reminded him of training with his father.

As much as he hated to admit it, Harry was stronger than him. Even if he used his beast form, it wouldn't make much of a difference.

There was one last thing he wanted to try.

Loosening his grip on the sword hilt, he leapt forward again.

This time, he swung upward from below—just like his strike against Sebastian.

Harry raised his sword to block, but that was exactly what Ray wanted.

At the last moment, the sword in Ray's hands seemed to disappear, phasing through Harry's weapon and reappearing behind it.

Phantom Strike.

It had worked.

Just as the blade was about to connect, Harry suddenly moved backward, dodging the strike by an inch.

Ray gritted his teeth. Even that didn't work?

Sweat dripped from Harry's forehead.

"Phew. That was a close one," he said, exhaling. "You actually made me move."

Ray's heart sank.

That was when he fully realized the gap between them.

Up until now, he had been the only one attacking—and Harry hadn't even moved once.

Until now.

"I'm guessing that was everything," Harry said.

He shifted his grip on his sword, raising it above his right shoulder as if he were holding a spear.

Then, without warning—

He threw it.

The sword shot through the air at an incredible speed.

Ray barely had time to react.

Too fast to dodge.

The blade aimed for his stomach.

He lifted his sword to block, but it was useless.

The force behind the throw snapped Ray's sword in two, and the momentum carried into his body.

Blood dripped from his lips.

Harry's sword clattered to the ground.

Ray wanted to move, but his body wouldn't respond.

The impact was too powerful.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.

Harry walked over, picked up his sword, and turned to leave.

Ray gritted his teeth.

"Wait!" he shouted.

Harry stopped.

"Just tell me one thing," Ray said, struggling to speak. "You're rank one, right?"

Harry didn't turn around.

Raising his arm, he activated his communicator.

The screen displayed the number.

50.