Chapter 44 - Lessons in losing 2

Arthur woke early the next day.

Not because of Frost's teasing—no, this time, the blue-eyed lieutenant was still fast asleep, sprawled across his bed like a corpse.

Arthur was awake for one reason only.

The arena.

He dressed quickly, eager for another chance.

The arena was already occupied, fighters scattered around, but like yesterday, there were no battles this early. Just people watching, waiting.

Arthur wasted no time. He hopped down onto the sand, his voice cutting through the low murmurs.

"I would like to challenge Ace."

A ripple went through the crowd. Heads turned. Up in the stands, lounging beside a pretty girl, Ace flicked his gaze toward him. His deep blue eyes met Arthur's, and for a moment, there was silence.

Arthur smiled and gestured for him to come down.

Ace sighed, rolling his eyes. "Nothing's going to change, kid."

Arthur's grip tightened around his spear. "Of course it is."

Ace jumped down, picking up the short sword. "When you're ready kid."

Arthur moved.

Mana surged through his limbs. His blood roared. His world narrowed to a single point.

'Mana Surge. Shooting Star.'

He didn't force the mana this time—he let it flow, like water rushing through an open dam. Speed. Power. Acceleration.

The air ripped apart as Arthur shot forward in a blur, spear flashing like a silver comet. The ground cracked beneath his step.

Ace's form shimmered—

And then vanished.

Arthur barely hesitated, continuing onwards despite his instincts screaming.

'He could still be there—just invisible.'

His spear struck the ground like a meteor impact. A wave of mana rolled outwards from the spear which Arthur channelled into fire, causing it to turn into a rolling wave of exploding fire.

The air burned and shimmered from the intensity of the move.

Still—nothing.

Arthur's heart pounded. 'He's fast. Too fast.'

A sound. A breath—to the right.

Arthur lunged, twisting mid-motion. His spear spun in his hands, a blur of steel and death.

'7th Form.'

The tip of his spear hit nothing.

A sharp crack—something slammed into his back.

Arthur's world flipped. His vision tilted. His body smashed into the ground with a heavy thud.

His mind reacted before his body could register the pain. 'Earthstep.'

The ground beneath him softened, almost becoming liquid, losing its friction.

Arthur pushed, sliding out the way just in time.

A blade came down exactly where his skull had been.

Arthur pushed up, his heart pounding. 'I'm close.'

'Fireclaw!'

Four burning arcs slashed forward, curving toward Ace like flaming talons—

And then—

They vanished.

Arthur froze. His attack—erased. Gone.

His mind stuttered, the impossibility of it breaking his focus for half a second.

Half a second too long.

Ace was already there.

A blur of motion. A flash of silver.

Arthur saw the gleam—his mind screamed—

And then—

Impact.

A sharp, brutal force slammed into his head. The world tilted. His skull rang with pain.

Something clattered onto the ground beside him.

A sword.

Ace had thrown his sword at him.

If it hadn't been for the arena's barrier, Arthur would have been dead.

Again.

The silence was deafening. The crowd watched, frozen.

Ace exhaled, rubbing the back of his head, his expression amused.

"That's two for me, kid."

 ...…

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

Arthur barely noticed it. Frost tried teasing him a couple times, but he wasn't listening.

His mind was elsewhere, focusing on the battle, as he completed the administrative work almost unconsciously.

He had realised something after fighting against Ace. It was always in battle, Arthur's mind would become clearer. And suddenly, he'd connect dots that he should've noticed immediately.

The moment he had stepped into this fortress, it had all been a farce. A charade. He was not here to do administrative work. He was not here to assist Frost.

He was here to be watched. His placement with Frost, a Lieutenant of the Murder Squad, was no coincidence.

Frost was a psychopath, that much Arthur had already gathered. He hid his nature behind easy laughter and a charming smile, but Arthur could see through it, in those rare moments of cold sharpness.

 Beneath the act was apathy. A cold amusement toward life and death alike.

Frost wasn't his childlike bumbling boss. He was his executioner.

They were vetting him. Deciding if he was trustworthy.

'But for what?'

Arthur didn't know. And for now, it didn't matter.

'I'll keep doing what I'm doing. The arena is my best path forward. To grow stronger. It'll also help me become known to the other soldiers and integrate myself.'

Right now, there was nothing he could do against the rebellion. But that would only be for now at least.

That night, Arthur trained.

Hard.

Ace had demolished him. Outclassed him completely.

His magic hadn't been dispelled.

It had been made invisible.

A subtle, insidious trick. One designed to make Arthur doubt himself into thinking his skill had failed.

Ace wasn't just skilled. He was lethal. Precise. Calculated.

Arthur needed to close the gap.

So he fought.

He pushed his body beyond exhaustion. Forced himself past his limits.

The night stretched on, cold and unyielding.

And still, he trained.

Because if not next time. There would be a day where he would not lose.

And that day would need to happen, if he ever planned to destroy this place from the inside out.

Arthur woke early. Again.

The arena. Again.

Ace. Again.

He fought, not for victory, but for insight—for something beyond the clash of weapons and the sting of defeat.

And he lost.

Ace had grown impatient, more aggressive. His movements sharpened, his attacks aimed to end things swiftly. He was done humoring Arthur.

Arthur lost.

So, that night, he trained.

And then the next day, he challenged again.

And he lost.

So he trained.

And he lost again.

So he trained.

And then—he lost.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He trained harder.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He lost.

Again.

And again.

And again.

But the routine never changed. He rose. He fought. He bled. He lost. He trained.

He kept going.

Until something changed.

He forced another training session into his schedule. Lunch hour. He sat in the barracks, alone, breathing deeply, focusing on the flow of mana within him.

'Like blood.'

That was how the MC had done it. Mana, like blood, circulating through his veins.

There were other interpretations. Some saw it as fire. Others as gas. A force to be willed rather than felt. But for Arthur—

Blood.

It had to flow, not be forced. That was the concept he chose for himself. 'If it was good enough for the MC, it's good enough for me.'

And when he fought Ace again—

Something changed.

The blonde-haired swordsman had been playing with him at first, but now, for the first time, Arthur saw something different in his opponent's expression.

Focus. No amusement. No grin.

And then Arthur learned the hard way—Ace could use wind magic.

(3rd person POV - ACE)

Ace exhaled, standing opposite Arthur.

What had once been a game had now become something else.

At first, the fights were amusing. The kid—Arthur—challenged him every day, improved every day. But he never stopped. It didn't matter how many times he lost. It didn't matter how much he got beaten into the dirt.

He kept coming. It was insane.

And now?

Now it wasn't easy.

Ace's grin was gone. His fingers curled around his sword tighter than before.

He had to take this seriously.

'Skydance.'

The wind caught him, and he moved—not just forward, but up.

Arthur's eyes widened.

Ace grinned. 'There it is. That moment of hesitation.'

He ran upward, stepping on thin air, before twisting and diving downward. Unnatural angles. Sudden strikes.

Arthur struggled, retreating—he wasn't used to having to fight and defend like this. Ace could attack him from any angle.

But then Ace felt it.

That surge of mana. That move.

His instincts screamed—GET AWAY.

Ace immediately broke off, flipping back, rising higher.

'Shit, he's doing it again.'

Then—CRACK.

Arthur shot toward him, spear leading, his entire body like a rising bullet

Ace's heart lurched.

"Wind Blast!"

A cocoon of wind burst outward in all directions, the sheer force hurling Arthur back.

Ace exhaled. 'That was too close. It'd be embarrassing losing to an E rank.'

And then—he made a mistake.

He looked down. It was only for a moment. For a fraction of a second.

He felt a sudden spike of mana.

Ace's eyes snapped up.

Arthur—midair—his body fixed in the same stance.

'Again?'

'It's a bluff. He has no foothold. He can't launch off anything.'

Then—

The spear moved.

Like a bullet.

Ace barely had time to react.

A streak of silver.

Pain.

The spear clipped his arm—Ace's body twisted from the force, the impact sending him spiraling toward the ground.

"Fuck!" 'The bastard had thrown the spear instead.'

His training immediately kicked in.

'Shroud.'

Ace vanished.

Invisibility wrapped around him like a second skin, and without hesitation, he grabbed Arthur's spear—willing it to be invisible too.

He threw it first causing it to smash into the ground and throw up dust, making it seem as if he landed there.

Arthur took the bait, rushing forward.

Ace grinned.

'Skydance.'

He caught himself midair, stopping inches before he hit the ground. Arthur was already moving, already committed to the fake—

Ace struck.

His sword's edge kissed Arthur's neck.

A heartbeat of silence.

Arthur sighed. "Fuck me, you're a smart one."

Ace smiled grimly. "I win."

Arthur grinned back.

"Yeah, but this time? I managed to hurt you."

Ace's smile vanished.

 .......

That night, Arthur descended into the Arena ready to continue his training. He flowed between his forms, enjoying as the spear became more and more familiar to him. It no longer felt like training. He could've done this all day, and felt nothing but a soft satisfaction.

"Hahhh", "Fuck this is tiring. Status." 'He was eager to see if there were any improvements. 

NAME: ARTHUR GRAVEWALKER

AGE: 14 YEARS OLD

RACE: HUMAN

CLASS:

SPEARMAN: *LVL1 (Adept) (Imperial ***) (8.7%)LVL1 (Basic) (Falling Sun style) (12.0%)

SKILLS:

Mana Boost (Lvl 3) (8.0%)Fireclaw (Lvl 2) (37%)Earthstep (Lv1) (13.0%)

AURA: LOCKED

BLESSINGS:

Hades' Will - Possession (Lvl1 3.0%)Sun's Concept - Regenerative Blood (Lvl2 5.0%)

AFFINITIES:

Blood (Locked)

Earth (Lvl1) (8%)

Fire (Lvl 2) (31%)

STATS: RANK E-

Speed: E

Strength: E-

Agility: E

Stamina: E-

Intelligence: E

Mana Capacity: E-

Charm: F+

[ Falling Sun Style (****) (LVL 1 – ?????) ]

First Move – Shooting Star (Lvl 1) Proficiency (30.0%)

Second Move ???

?????

'Huh, not bad. Still E- though. It's getting harder to increase. The only time I increased so much was because I was in battle for an extended amount of time.'

"How's it going then my little training maniac" called a female voice from the shadows.

Arthur spun around to see a descending figure with white hair leap down gracefully to the arena floor.

"Officer Reftia" Arthur called, smiling despite himself. "I was wondering when you'd turn up."

She tilted her head, though she too was smiling. "And why's that."

"Well, because you transferred me out here."

Reftia froze, frowning. "No I didn't. I respected what you told me."

This time it was Arthur's turn to frown. "So then…why was I transferred?"