Chapter 19: Combat Evaluation (4)

Like clockwork, the second set spins into motion.

Names flickered across the holographic display, each one met with murmurs and the shuffle of feet as students made their way toward the dueling platforms.

Mine was next.

I stood from my seat in the gallery ...and descended — boots tapping against the stone floor in a slow, even rhythm.

No one stared this time. No pointed glances or half-whispered commentary.

Good.

The first set hadn't exactly been eventful. Nothing worth going into detail over.

Leon won his match, of course. Predictably clean, painfully efficient. He barely moved more than he needed to — like someone just going through the motions.

Kevin… lost.

Unlucky draw. His opponent was strong — definitely above average. Still, I picked up something interesting. Kevin fights with dual daggers. His movement was sharp, his approach clean. Probably some kind of assassin-type class.

Not bad. Just not enough.

And as for our lady of the day — Yelena?

Can I even call that a match?

She strolled in like she owned the platform, let her opponent throw a few meaningless attacks, and then proceeded to toy with him like a cat with a wing-clipped bird.

It wasn't a fight.

It was theater.

She ended it with one clean move, all style, no wasted effort — not even a wrinkle on her uniform. The crowd loved it. Of course they did.

Classic her.

Well, that's all the interesting stuff, really.

I reached the dueling ring.

The ground felt colder this time. Maybe it was the wind brushing over the stone. Or maybe… I was just shifting back into focus.

A soft chime echoed through the arena, and the screen displayed the next match:

Edward Brightwill vs. Daniel.

No last name.

Interesting.

A moment later, my opponent stepped into the ring — and recognition clicked into place.

"We meet again, Mr. Brightwill," he said, flashing a polite smile.

The guy from yesterday's practice session. The one I sparred with.

Small world.

"Well, indeed," I replied. "You know, I almost thought you were a classmate I never bothered remembering."

Daniel let out a laugh. "Your sense of humor's sharp, Mr. Brightwill. Or do you genuinely not recall your own classmates' faces?"

I gave a faint shrug. "Hard to remember the ones who didn't leave a mark."

His smile twitched, ever so slightly. "Then I suppose I'll have to make a stronger impression today."

"Mm," I muttered, adjusting my stance. "Honestly, I thought you were one of Yelena's lackeys. So… did she order you to lose again, or what?"

Daniel's expression stayed calm, posture steady.

"The practice match and the class competition are two different things," he replied. "Miss Yelena's instructions applied to yesterday. Not today."

"I see. Then I expect something different this time." I tilted my head. "Or will it just be a repeat of yesterday?"

He chuckled. "Why don't you find out for yourself, Mr. Brightwill?"

With a smooth motion, he revealed his weapon — not the giant training sword from before, but a massive double-headed axe, polished and heavy-looking.

So… he decided to go all out.

I rolled my shoulders once, feeling my stance sharpen.

No more words.

The second chime rang.

The duel began.

I didn't wait.

The moment the barrier dropped, I launched forward — blade drawn, eyes locked.

There was no room for hesitation. Not against someone like him.

My opening strike came fast and sharp, catching him just slightly off guard. Enough to make him stumble and raise his weapon in defense.

He was a tank of a man — broad, brutal, built like a wall of muscle.

Give a guy like that space, and he'll bulldoze you with it.

That's what I learned last time.

So this time, I stayed on him like a curse.

Too close for him to get a proper swing with that massive axe.

He tried anyway.

A wide horizontal arc tore through the air — raw and brutal — loud enough to make the spectators flinch.

I ducked. Barely.

The wind skimmed past my ear. Close. Too close.

Then — a sting.

A shallow gash bloomed across my forearm. Blood ran down, warm and fast.

The axe hadn't hit me fully. Just a graze.

But even a graze burned like fire.

I clenched my jaw.

His strength was monstrous. The next one would be worse.

I retaliated.

My sword flashed forward in the brief pause — a shallow slash across his shoulder.

He grunted. Clicked his tongue.

Then raised the axe high — like a guillotine.

I dove to the side.

Boom.

The stone floor cracked. Dust scattered.

A second slower and I'd be a smear on the arena floor.

"You're quicker than yesterday," he said, breathing harder now.

"And you're heavier than I remember," I muttered, circling him, blood dripping steadily from my arm.

Another swing.

Sharper. More focused.

He was adapting.

Good.

So was I.

The longer it dragged on, the clearer his rhythm became: wide arcs, overhead slams, short footwork bursts.

But no feints. No misdirection.

Just raw, focused aggression.

He wasn't reckless — just… primal.

Then I caught it.

His left foot shifted. A tell.

I stepped in, fast. Slashed at his ribs.

He blocked with the axe handle, staggered slightly. Almost.

He tried to reset.

I didn't let him.

"What's wrong?" I said coldly. "Yesterday, you were cockier."

"Yesterday, I wasn't trying," he snapped.

"Neither was I."

That got to him.

His eyes flared. Lips curled.

Then — the roar.

He charged forward, axe raised overhead, wild fury in every step.

I stepped back.

That was my mistake.

Space. Momentum. Velocity.

He became a storm.

His swings roared against the floor and air alike, each strike loud and lethal. Dust burst. Stone cracked. My injured arm screamed with every block and parry.

And he didn't stop.

Each strike carried weight. Rage. Precision. Like he'd been waiting for permission to go wild.

I ducked another downward chop. It split the ground beside me.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the platform.

"Hm," I muttered, shifting position. "Finally showing something."

"You didn't see half of it," he growled.

That polite smile from earlier?

Gone.

In its place — a grin full of teeth.

Daniel had become a different person. Unchained. Unhinged.

He wasn't swinging wildly — his strikes were precise. But they were getting faster. Angrier. More dangerous.

I parried a blow. The shock ran up my arm.

Still… I kept calm.

Because this duel?

It was over the moment he stepped into the ring.

That's not arrogance talking — it's certainty.

He wasn't weak. Far from it.

In fact, this was probably him at his best.

But even so…

I had already seen through him.

My trait — Adaption — had started working yesterday.

And today, it stirred again. Subtle at first. Then stronger.

Each clash, each step, each breath he took — it all slotted into place.

His stance.

His weight shifts.

The rhythm behind his blows.

It hadn't changed — not really.

He could switch weapons, change tempo, scream louder…

But I'd already cracked the rhythm beneath his rage.

And once my trait begins to hum like this…

The rest is just formality.

He surged forward again, convinced I was being pushed back.

Let him think that.

He lunged — full speed, axe raised.

I stepped back, baiting the strike.

And he took it.

The axe came down in a vicious arc, howling through the air.

I stepped in.

Steel met steel — a jarring clash that numbed my arm. But I held.

The impact rattled my bones.

His eyes burned. Then he kicked — a powerful shot aimed straight at my chest.

It landed — clean and sharp. Pain exploded through my ribs.

But I didn't fight it. I let it carry me.

Turned with it. Slipped under his guard like smoke.

Spun with it.

I let the force carry me into a spin, turning with his kick — and in one breath, slipped behind his guard. Into the blind spot.

Now I was inside his range. Too close for him to swing. Too late for him to react.

My blade moved.

A clean, bone-jarring strike — the flat slammed into his ribs like a hammer.

He staggered, gasping.

I didn't hesitate.

Swept his leg.

His foot lifted clean off the ground.

Crash.

He hit the stone hard — dust flaring up like smoke around him.

When it cleared, I was already standing over him.

Sword leveled at his throat.

Calm. Centered.

He didn't lift the axe. Just lay there. Grinning up at me through the haze.

"Damn," he breathed, chuckling. "You really are something else, Mr. Brightwill."

The duel-ending chime rang out — soft. Final. Like punctuation.

I stepped back.

Sheathed my sword in one clean motion.

The crowd murmured. Buzzed.

But it felt distant. Hollow.

My shoulder throbbed. My arm stung where blood still trickled down.

And beneath the pain, the crowd, the noise — there it was.

That low, quiet hum beneath my skin.

Adaption.

Not loud. Not roaring.

But steady.

Solid.

This was the only cheat code I had —

and once again, it proved something.

That I'm not some hopeless fool thrown into the deep end.

Not someone who folds and blames the world for being unfair.

I'm not the strongest.

Not the fastest.

But I learn.

And I survive.

And that… is enough.

For now.

---

Author's Fun Fact

Did you notice how most people call Edward by his last name?

There's a reason for that.

Edward comes from one of the Five Great Families of Lumania. Even though he walked away from his household, he was never officially disowned. That's why other students — especially those from commoner backgrounds — still address him as Brightwill. It's a form of formality — the kind that says "I know who you are… even if you pretend otherwise."

As for Yelena?

Yeah, she's also from one of the Great Five. But unlike Edward, she doesn't like using her surname, Valeblanc. Says it sounds too boyish. So she prefers people just call her Miss Yelena.

Let me know if you want more behind-the-scenes about the Great Five Families — there's a lot to dig into.