Kael stood calm and still, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his black training robe, his feet planted with relaxed confidence in the arena's pale sand. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his golden eyes glinting under the morning sun as the duel veil shimmered and dropped. Around him, the cheers and murmurs of first-year students rang out like distant waves.
He wasn't listening to them.
Instead, his gaze flicked to the corner of his vision. A soft golden ring hovered for only a second before expanding into a translucent screen that only he could see. It unfolded smoothly, revealing the status he was interested in:
---
[Status — Garron Drest]
Rank: E
Core Type: Basic Thunder Affinity
Combat Style: Brute Force, Mana Reinforced Melee
Strength: Above Average (First-Year Standard)
Speed: Moderate-High
Weakness: Predictable Attacks, Low Defensive Adaptability
Kael clicked his tongue softly and closed the window with a thought.
"So he's not bad for a beginner," he mused. "But still not enough."
Across the ring, Garron Drest rolled his shoulders, lips curling into a self-assured grin. The noble-born student radiated brute strength—broad-shouldered, thunder magic lacing faintly around his fists like wisps of electricity. His stance was wide and aggressive, his knees bent, aura flaring with the confidence of someone used to crushing lesser opponents.
The match had officially begun. There was nothing holding him back.
Garron moved first.
A thunderous stomp kicked up dust as he surged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The ground seemed to shiver slightly beneath his momentum, his fists clenched, sparks leaping from his arms. A bellow ripped from his throat as he threw a powerful right hook at Kael's head.
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"He's fast!"
"Did you see that acceleration?!"
"Garron's gonna end it in one strike!"
The first-year students leaned forward, eyes wide.
But Kael didn't move until the last second.
And even then, it wasn't much. Just a subtle tilt of the neck.
Garron's fist whooshed past his cheek with only an inch of air between them.
Kael blinked lazily.
Garron growled, twisting into a low, sweeping kick toward Kael's legs. Kael simply shifted his foot, and the blow struck nothing but empty space.
Again, Garron charged. A flurry of blows followed—jabs, backhand swipes, an elbow aimed at the ribs. His fists blurred, enhanced with pulsing thunder mana. But Kael's response was the same.
A step back.
A pivot.
A lean to the side.
Evading each attack by the narrowest of margins, without ever lifting his hands from his pockets.
One minute passed.
Still no strikes from Kael.
From the stands, murmurs began to shift.
"Why isn't he attacking?"
"He's just dodging... maybe he's nervous?"
"He hasn't even tried to block."
"Maybe this is his first real fight."
The tone was skeptical. Doubtful. Some were even pitying him.
But in the higher rows—where seniors and instructors stood—the air was different.
Instructor Maelin, a former battle mage, narrowed her eyes. "No. Look at his balance. His feet never leave the ground unless they have to. He's measuring."
Reon Valtir, standing near the other prodigies, folded his arms. "He hasn't misstepped once. Every dodge is deliberate."
Even Aeris Vynth, usually so flippant, looked focused. "That's not fear. That's restraint."
And standing in shadow against the stone arch, Sylara Ashveil remained silent, her gaze like frost. She hadn't moved since the duel began. But her eyes never left Kael.
Back in the ring, Garron's breath was getting heavier.
Two minutes had passed. His fists were raw from the air, mana beginning to thin around his limbs. He launched a feint and spun into a backfist—a move meant to catch even quick opponents.
Kael leaned back by a fraction.
The strike missed again.
"Stop dodging!" Garron shouted. His face was red with frustration.
Kael's expression didn't change. He turned his body slightly, letting Garron's follow-up punch slide past his shoulder harmlessly.
Three minutes.
A complete exhibition of stillness.
Even the first-years were starting to quiet.
Whispers of uncertainty spread.
"Why hasn't Garron landed a hit?"
"He's swinging like crazy but... Kael's not even breaking a sweat."
"Are we... missing something?"
Then Garron yelled loud enough to shake the ring:
"STOP HIDING! FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!"
Kael finally moved.
Not much. Just his head, tilting ever so slightly.
And he smirked.
"You want me to fight like a man?"
His voice was low, amused.
"You should try hitting one first."
Garron snarled, charging again—but Kael stayed unmoved. For a moment, the world paused as dust swirled around his feet, untouched.
He whispered to himself:
"Three minutes. That's enough."
And for the first time, he shifted his weight forward.
The moment was approaching.
The arena was about to see what he had really come for.
Kael Varian, hands still in his pockets, was done dancing.