Garrick Drakar
Two weeks had passed since Fenix set foot in Lux Aeterna Academy.
Every day was the same—training, testing himself, pushing his limits alongside Dante and Mira. He had grown stronger, but the question lingered in his mind:
How much stronger?
It was that curiosity that led him to the Grand Arena, the Academy's largest battleground, where Awakened dueled for honor, pride, and experience.
He entered through the spectator entrance, but the moment he stepped inside, he froze.
The arena was packed.
Thousands of students filled the seats, their voices merging into a roaring sea of noise. In the very center, under the glaring lights, stood a lone figure.
Garrick Drakar.
The name alone was enough to send a ripple of anticipation through the crowd.
A Legacy. A noble from a powerful bloodline. A warrior who had inherited one of the Five Fragments of the Gods—the Fragment of War.
Fenix found a seat and observed as yet another challenger stood before him.
The challenger was no weakling—an elite student from another noble house, wielding twin swords with practiced ease.
The moment the battle began, he charged forward, his attacks swift, measured, and relentless.
And yet…
Garrick barely moved.
He deflected every strike with casual elegance, his twin blades moving like extensions of his will.
His expression never changed.
Not even when he disarmed his opponent in a single counterattack—one fluid motion that sent the challenger's weapons spinning across the ground.
The fight had ended in seconds.
Silence.
Then, the eruption of cheers.
Garrick stood over his fallen opponent, completely unscathed, adjusting his gloves as if he had barely exerted himself.
Then, he turned to the crowd.
His voice rang out clear and commanding.
"Is there no one else?"
The arena fell silent.
No one dared to step forward.
No one but Fenix.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the silence.
Fenix walked through the entrance to the arena, his hand raised.
A challenge.
A direct confrontation with a Legacy.
The moment he stepped onto the battlefield, whispers spread through the audience.
Who was he?
Why would someone unknown challenge Garrick Drakar?
Fenix wasn't thinking about them.
He had one thought.
'How many chances does someone like me get to fight a Legacy?'
The answer was simple—almost none.
That was enough reason for him.
Garrick's icy gaze locked onto him.
"Name?" His voice held no emotion—only impatience.
"Fenix."
A scoff. A flicker of disinterest.
"Fine. Try not to waste my time."
Fenix grabbed one wooden training sword from the weapon rack and took his stance.
This was a pure combat duel.
No abilities.
No chaos.
Just raw skill.
The signal was given.
Fenix moved first.
With a powerful lunge, he aimed a strike at Garrick's left side, attempting to pressure his defenses.
Garrick didn't even flinch.
His parry was flawless, redirecting Fenix's sword with a flick of his wrist before delivering a sharp kick to the ribs.
Fenix staggered backward, barely staying on his feet.
But he didn't stop.
He attacked again—swinging low, twisting mid-motion, feinting before pivoting into a real strike.
It didn't matter.
Garrick read every move before it even happened.
Every attack was either deflected, countered, or dodged.
And then…
The real beating began.
Garrick stopped dodging.
He started attacking.
A slash to the ribs.
A strike to the legs.
A stab to the shoulder.
Every hit landed.
Every movement carried precision and weight.
Fenix felt his world spinning.
At some point, he couldn't even lift his swors properly.
And yet, he kept moving forward.
It didn't matter if he was losing.
It didn't matter if he was being humiliated.
The fact that he was still standing meant something.
Even if Garrick disagreed.
The noble's expression darkened. He took a single step forward—
And then Fenix was on the ground.
The final hit came so fast, he didn't even process what happened.
Pain exploded through his chest, his vision blurring as he collapsed.
Garrick stood over him, looking down at him with absolute disappointment.
"Pathetic."
That was all he said.
He turned around and walked away, already forgetting Fenix even existed.
Medics rushed in, carrying Fenix off the battlefield.
His body ached in ways he had never felt before.
His pride was shattered.
But more than anything…
He knew the truth.
He knew just how weak he was.
'I know nothing.'
'I know nothing about swordsmanship.'
'I know nothing about martial arts.'
And that needed to change.
Lying on a hospital bed, Fenix's mind was still replaying the fight.
How effortless Garrick's movements were.
How outclassed he had been.
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't even humiliated.
He was determined.
He needed to learn.
He needed to find a way to grow.
Because if he couldn't even land a hit in a battle of pure skill…
Then how could he ever call himself strong?
The pain in his body was a reminder.
A reminder that he needed to find a way to get stronger.
And now…
He had a goal.
Find a way to learn.
Find a teacher.
Find a path forward.
Because the next time he faced Garrick Drakar…
He would make sure things ended differently.