Gamble - III

The torches flickered around the training area, casting shadows on the sand-covered ground. Clay stood in the center, gripping the short sword he picked for the exam.

It wasn't Clay's preferred weapon—his handler requested it.

Her words echoed in his head:

'Choose a sword in your exam—it'll raise your chances of getting acquainted with the guild's veterans.'

Clay understood the task.

He didn't need to win. He only needed to show.

The red-haired examiner sighed, scanning the notes before calling out, raising her voice. "Viktor Bailey, correct? An alumnus of Beckett Academy. Have experience with the sword. No mana-affinity. Well then—let's see how you fare against my guild veterans. David, you're up!"

Murmurs ripped through the audience. Even the veteran adventurers watching from the sidelines leaned forward, their eyes sharp with anticipation.

The name struck Clay immediately.

David Luxeval.

He was the only son of Eredir's Defense Minister, the esteemed sword general who oversaw the nation's military and territorial defenses. David's father was the king's right hand, a war hero revered across the kingdom.

'No wonder the handler insisted on the sword...'

Across the arena, David stepped forward, his polished boots barely disturbing the sand. He was tall and slim, his dark blue hair neatly tied back. His expression was unreadable, but his stance spoke volumes—confidence, ambition, and experience.

The A-ranked veteran gave a short nod. "I am David Luxeval. Let's not waste time."

Clay forced a smile. "Viktor Bailey. I'll try to keep up."

The examiner's voice cut through the tension. "Begin!"

David moved first.

His force nearly caught Clay off guard. His sword whistled through the air, aimed straight at Clay's ribs. Clay barely pivoted in time, deflecting the attack with a clang. The impact vibrated through his arms, and before he could regain his stance, David pressed forward again.

Rapid, precise thrusts followed, each aiming for a weak spot in Clay's form. The rhythm was relentless, like a storm bearing down.

'Damn. This guy reminds me of the handler's sword training.'

Clay dodged and parried, his movements instinctive. His usual fights were against hired thugs and assassins, where unpredictability won over technique. But David fought like a soldier—every move disciplined, every strike calculated.

Still, Clay had no intention of simply defending.

If he wanted to give a show, he needed to push back.

Their blades locked, clouds of sand forming on their feet.

"You're fast," David noted. "But speed alone won't win."

Clay grinned despite the pressure. "Then I'll just have to be clever."

Clay feigned a stumble, baiting David into lunging forward.

At the last second, Clay twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blade and slipping beside David. He aimed a quick strike at David's side, but his opponent twisted mid-motion, blocking the attack effortlessly.

"Not bad," David admitted. "But predictable."

From the sidelines, Tobias whistled along with the crowd. He leaned against the arena's stone railing, watching with amusement. "Hey, now. Your owner's not too bad, little guy—he's got the speed."

Perched on Tobias' messy hair, Cedric hooted, unimpressed.

Clay exhaled, recalibrating.

As expected, David was no amateur. His technique was as refined as his reputation. Clay only met a few who could match his speed, but he couldn't reveal too much. After all, his cover as a son of a humble baron had to stay intact.

Yet, if he wanted to leave a mark, Clay had to gamble.

Instead of dodging, he met David head-on.

Clay held firm, weaving around David's strikes, testing openings. He aimed for a high sweep to David's sides, trying to redo his attempt.

David smirked. "That's not going to work twice."

Then, in a blink, David swerved as he countered with a feint before slamming all his force against Clay's weapon.

Pain shot up Clay's arm, his sword slipping from his grasp as he fell on his back, landing in the sand with a soft thud.

"Disarmed," the examiner announced. "David Luxeval wins."

Clay stood and exhaled, flexing his fingers. His wrists ached, but he couldn't deny it—David was strong.

David studied him for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead. He sheathed his sword, his tone even. "You still need to train for years to beat me."

Clay dusted himself off. "I'll take that in mind."

Tobias let out a loud laugh from the stands. "Not bad, not bad!" He grinned, scratching Cedric's neck. "He can evenly match someone like David! Heh, what do you think, bird?"

In one corner, the red-haired examiner discussed the result with David. But there was something in David's expression—surprise and unease. He scowled at his tunic, gritting his teeth.

A subtle tear ran along the fabric—a clean swipe.

He hadn't even noticed it during the fight.

The examiner smirked, crossing her arms. "Alright. Still, it's rare to see you struggle in a spar, David. Are you getting rusty or—"

"Shut the hell up, Claire," David scoffed. His jaw tightened, but he tried to calm himself. He turned slightly, glancing at the red-eyed young man approach Claire for his results.

As he stepped away, David cast one last glance at Clay—not just as an opponent, but as something else. His fists clenched at his sides, and then, without a word, he turned and exited the site.

The red-haired examiner, Claire, let out a chuckle. "Impressive. You're fast, but speed alone won't carry you far. You got the skill, but work on your stance, rookie. You might surprise even the guild's veterans if you improve." She gave a satisfied nod, her tone carrying a hint of approval. "Anyway, David and I have decided on your rank."

She scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Clay, giving an affirming tap on his shoulder. "Congratulations. You earned it." With that, she stepped away to call the next examinee.

Clay unfurled the results without hesitation.

'B-tier, huh? The handler would be proud.'