The Eye-Opening Defeat
Training Ground Alpha - Morning
Carsel was engaged in solo sword practice when a familiar voice called out to him from the training ground entrance. He turned and saw Revan Silverlake approaching with confident and relaxed strides.
"Nightshade," Revan greeted with a respectful nod. "Impressive display yesterday. Mind if I join your training?"
Carsel lowered his sword, studying Revan with wary but interested eyes. Since the Vincent incident, most students had avoided him. But Revan... Revan was different. He emanated an aura that suggested he wasn't afraid, just curious.
"Join for what?" Carsel asked cautiously.
"Sparring," Revan replied straightforwardly. "You've proven that you're capable of real combat. I'm curious to see how you perform against a more... prepared opponent."
Prepared, Carsel thought with amusement. He thinks he's prepared for what I can do.
Since absorbing the essence of the three dire wolves, Carsel had felt invincible. Enhanced speed, strength, reflexes, plus the combat instincts of apex predators—who could stand against that combination?
"Alright," he said with confidence born from recent victories. "But don't complain when you end up like Vincent."
Revan smiled, and there was something in that expression that should have warned Carsel. "I'll take my chances."
Word that Revan Silverlake—a 6th-grade prodigy and the Duke's son—would be sparring with Carsel Nightshade spread with lightning speed throughout the academy. Within thirty minutes, the training ground was surrounded by curious students and even a few faculty members.
In the VIP observation area, the four royal students took their seats with expressions that ranged from amused anticipation to genuine concern.
"This should be educational," murmured Prince Aldric. "Either Nightshade proves he's truly dangerous, or Silverlake puts him in his place."
"My money's on Revan," said Princess Lyanna with confidence. "Class 6 versus class 3, plus he's an actual genius with proper training."
On the opposite side of the arena, Rion sat with a thoughtful and slightly worried expression. He respected Revan's abilities, but after witnessing Carsel's brutality...
Be careful, Revan, he thought. Don't underestimate what darkness can do.
Carsel and Revan faced each other in the center of the arena, separated by roughly fifteen feet. Both used standard academy training swords, but the similarities ended there.
Carsel held his weapon with a grip that was slightly too tight, a stance that was aggressive but unstable. Confidence from recent victories radiated from every line of his body. He looked like a predator expecting an easy meal.
Revan, in contrast, held his blade with a relaxed proficiency that spoke of thousands of hours of training. His stance was textbook perfect—balanced, flexible, ready for either offense or defense. Most tellingly, he looked calm. Not arrogant, not overconfident, just... ready.
"Standard sparring rules," announced Professor Hendricks, who was serving as referee with obvious reluctance. "First blood, unconsciousness, or yield. And Nightshade—" His tone carried a warning. "This is sparring, not an execution. Keep that in mind."
Carsel nodded with mock solemnity. Inside, he was already planning how to demonstrate his superiority without killing Revan outright.
Let's see how the Duke's precious son handles real power.
"Begin!"
Carsel moved immediately, channeling his dark enhancement and launching into an aggressive attack sequence. His blade became wreathed in shadows, and his speed increased beyond normal human capability.
A thrust toward the center mass, followed by a wide slash aimed at the ribs, finished with a pommel strike toward the head. A classic combination that had overwhelmed Vincent and countless practice opponents.
For a moment, it looked like Revan would be caught off guard. Carsel's enhanced speed was impressive, and the dark enhancement made his attacks genuinely dangerous.
But Revan moved with a fluidity that was almost casual. A step back to avoid the thrust, a blade deflection to redirect the slash, and a simple lean to let the pommel strike pass harmlessly by his ear.
Too easy, thought Carsel with growing frustration. He's just lucky.
He pressed the attack, increasing intensity and calling upon more dark enhancement. Shadows around his blade deepened, and his strikes became faster, more unpredictable.
Revan continued to defend with an economy of motion that was almost insulting. Every parry was minimal, every dodge was precise, every counter-attack was perfectly timed to disrupt Carsel's rhythm without causing serious damage.
"Is that all?" Revan asked in a tone that was curious rather than mocking. "I thought you'd be more... aggressive."
Anger flared in Carsel's chest. He's toying with me. ME!
He stepped back, drawing upon deeper reserves of dark magic. Shadows erupted around him, and his enhancement reached levels that would have terrified normal opponents. His blade became an extension of darkness itself, and his movements gained a predatory grace that borrowed from dire wolf instincts.
This time, his attack was a series of strikes that flowed into each other with perfect timing. A high slash, a low thrust, a spinning cut, a reverse grip stab—a combination that should have overwhelmed any defense.
Revan's response was a revelation.
Lightning began to crackle around his blade.
Not a dramatic display or show of power, just practical enhancement that increased his speed and striking power to match Carsel's dark magic boost. Suddenly, Revan was moving with a speed that matched Carsel's enhanced capabilities.
More importantly, his technique was flawless. Every movement was economical, every strike was perfectly placed, every defense was minimal but absolute.
Carsel found himself being pushed back for the first time since gaining power from the dire wolves. His aggressive combinations were being not just defended against, but systematically dismantled.
This isn't possible, he thought with growing panic. I have the power of apex predators! I should be unstoppable!
The Real Fight Begins
"Now we're getting somewhere," Revan said with satisfaction as his lightning enhancement reached full power. His blade sang with electrical energy, and his movements became a blur of controlled violence.
What followed was a masterclass in advanced swordplay.
Revan launched into a combination that demonstrated years of elite training. Not wild swings or desperate attacks, but surgical precision strikes that targeted specific openings in Carsel's guard.
A thrust aimed at a weak point in his shoulder defense, deflected by a desperate parry. Immediate follow-up with a slice toward exposed ribs, blocked by hasty blade work. A lightning-fast pommel strike that Carsel barely ducked, followed by a knee aimed at the solar plexus that Carsel twisted away from with inches to spare.
Each attack flowed seamlessly into the next, creating pressure that was relentless but controlled. Revan wasn't trying to seriously injure—he was demonstrating complete superiority in technical skill.
Carsel found himself retreating, his dark enhancement pushed to its limits just to keep up with Revan's assault. Worse, he realized that his opponent wasn't even breathing hard.
He's not even trying his hardest, Carsel thought with horror. This is what he considers a warmup.
Desperate, Carsel called upon the dire wolf combat instincts that had served him so well in the forest. Predator tactics, pack hunting strategies, ambush techniques—everything he had absorbed from his victims.
He feinted left, dropped low, and lunged for Revan's legs in a move that had brought down the alpha wolf. Perfect predator technique, executed with supernatural speed and precision.
Revan simply stepped aside and brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of Carsel's neck with a force that was perfectly calculated. Enough to stun, not enough to cause permanent damage.
Carsel hit the ground face-first, tasting dirt and blood from a bitten tongue. Above him, Revan's voice was clinical.
"Interesting technique. Very... feral. But you're fighting a human with superior training, not an injured animal in the forest."
How did he know about the forest? Carsel thought with shock. How could he possibly—
"Get up," Revan continued in a tone that was encouragement rather than command. "We're not finished yet."
Carsel struggled back to his feet, spitting blood and fighting down a surge of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Never, not once since gaining his powers, had he been so completely outclassed.
This can't be happening. I'm supposed to be an apex predator. I'm supposed to be unstoppable.
He raised his blade with hands that were beginning to shake—not from exhaustion, but from the growing realization that he might actually lose this fight.
"Having second thoughts?" Revan asked, but his tone was neither cruel nor mocking. If anything, he sounded... hopeful? As if he wanted Carsel to continue fighting despite the clear disadvantage.
He's enjoying this, Carsel realized. Not my suffering, but the challenge. He actually wants me to be stronger.
The realization should have been encouraging. Instead, it made Carsel's humiliation complete. Even in defeat, Revan was treating him with more respect than anyone had shown in months.
I don't want his respect, Carsel thought with bitter anger. I want his fear.
He launched into a final, desperate assault. Every technique he knew, every enhancement he could summon, every dirty trick the dire wolf instincts suggested. Feints, grappling attempts, strikes aimed at pressure points—everything thrown into a last-ditch effort to salvage some victory from inevitable defeat.
Revan handled it all with the same calm competence. Block, parry, redirect, counter. Like a master swordsman dealing with an enthusiastic but ultimately outmatched student.
The final exchange lasted barely ten seconds.
Carsel overextended in a desperate lunge, putting everything behind a strike that should have been devastating. Dark enhancement, wolf instincts, pure desperate fury—all of it focused into a single attack.
Revan sidestepped with minimal movement, grabbed Carsel's extended wrist, and used his own momentum to throw him across the arena in a perfect demonstration of superior technique defeating superior power.
Carsel hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and came to rest on his back with Revan's blade pointed at his throat. Lightning still crackled along its edge, close enough to feel an electrical tingle on his skin.
"Yield?" Revan asked in a tone that was polite but left no doubt about the outcome if Carsel continued fighting.
For a long moment, Carsel stared up at the lightning-wreathed blade and the face of the young man who had just systematically dismantled every assumption about his own invincibility.
"I yield," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Revan stepped back and offered a hand to help Carsel stand. After a moment of hesitation, Carsel accepted the assistance, though his pride stung worse than any physical injury.
"Good fight," Revan said with a sincerity that was somehow worse than mockery would have been. "Your power enhancement is impressive, and those instinctual techniques are genuinely dangerous. With proper training and refinement, you could become a formidable opponent."
Carsel stared at him with an expression that mixed gratitude with resentment. "You were toying with me."
"Not toying," Revan corrected with gentle firmness. "Teaching. There's a difference between showing off and demonstrating technique. I wanted to see what you could do, and I wanted you to see what superior training looks like."
"Superior training," Carsel repeated with bitterness.
"Raw power is impressive," Revan continued, clearly oblivious to the growing storm in Carsel's emotions. "But technique, strategy, and experience will always triumph over power alone. You have the foundation—now you need to build a proper structure on top of it."
Around the arena, a murmur of conversations gradually resumed as the crowd realized the fight was over. Most seemed satisfied with the outcome—the Class 6 genius had put the upstart Class 3 in his place, as expected.
But in the royal section, expressions were more thoughtful.
"Interesting," murmured Prince Aldric. "Nightshade has power, but lacks refinement. Silverlake has both power and technique."
"The question is," added Princess Seraphina, "will Nightshade learn from this experience, or will it drive him to more desperate measures?"
Carsel's Internal Crisis
That evening, alone in his dormitory room, Carsel sat on the edge of his bed and stared at hands that still trembled slightly from the afternoon's humiliation.
Everything I thought I knew was wrong, he admitted to himself with painful honesty. All that power from the dire wolves, all that enhancement, all that confidence... and I was defeated by someone who wasn't even trying his hardest.
What does that say about me? What does that say about everything I've become?
For months, ever since gaining the Soul Devourer ability, Carsel had built an identity around being an apex predator. Someone who took what he wanted, who commanded fear and respect through superior capability.
Today had shattered that illusion completely.
Revan didn't fear me. He respected my effort, but he never saw me as a genuine threat. I was a curiosity to him, a training partner who might provide an interesting challenge.
Even in defeat, he treated me with more consideration than I've treated anyone since... since Vincent.
The comparison hit him like a physical blow. Vincent, who had begged for mercy. Vincent, whom he had tortured for entertainment. Vincent, who had been helpless and afraid.
Is that who I've become? Someone who only feels powerful when facing victims who can't fight back?
Revan showed me what real strength looks like. Not cruelty or domination, but excellence. Mastery. The kind of capability that doesn't need to prove itself through violence.
Carsel lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and grappling with thoughts that threatened to undermine everything he thought he knew about himself.
I have a choice to make, he realized. I can learn from this experience, accept that I have much to learn, and try to become better. Or I can let the humiliation drive me to more desperate measures, more dangerous power, more... feeding.
Already, he could feel the familiar hunger stirring. The Soul Devourer ability was whispering that the solution to his weakness was simple: find more victims, absorb more essence, gain more power until no one could stand against him.
But what if more power isn't the answer? What if Revan's right, and technique matters more than raw capability?
What if I've been going about this all wrong?
The questions had no easy answers. But for the first time in months, Carsel found himself considering the possibility that the path he had chosen—the path of darkness, violence, and predation—might not lead where he wanted to go.
Tomorrow, I'll have to face Revan again in classes. Face everyone who watched me lose. Face the reality that I'm not as strong as I thought I was.
The question is: what do I do with that knowledge?
Outside his window, storm clouds were gathering again. But this time, Carsel wasn't sure whether the coming tempest represented a threat or an opportunity.
Change was coming, one way or another.
And for the first time in a very long time, Carsel wasn't certain which direction that change would take him.
To be continued...