The cold of dawn faded, and sunlight spilled gently over the academy's training grounds. Two young men stood face to face, weapons in hand — a duel between equals, yet so far from equal.
The one holding the training spear was Bercht Platinum, a noble and skilled student.
The one gripping the dwarven-forged blade was Connor McCloud — me.
Honestly, I didn't know how I kept ending up in situations like this. Maybe it was because of that ridiculous show I put on during the opening ceremony. Either way, I was now facing a prince who wanted a duel, and for some reason, he insisted on using a real weapon while I was stuck with a blunted training sword.
If anyone saw this, they'd probably assume treason and have me executed on the spot.
Bercht, completely calm, asked, "How shall we decide the winner?"
I hesitated, brain racing for a safe answer. "A-as you wish!"
"Then… first to land a touch wins."
Before I could even nod, he lunged.
A green aura flared around his spear — magic power condensed like wind — and it shot toward me at blinding speed.
Ting!
I deflected it just in time, but the spear rebounded, twisting back toward me almost instantly. Bercht's control was precise — every thrust returned like a whip.
Sweat trickled down my neck. His movements had no wasted motion. Each strike carried measured power and accuracy, as if his weapon was part of him.
His magic-enhanced body moved faster than normal humans, and even more impressive — he infused his weapon with that same power. Most mages could barely strengthen themselves, but Bercht's technique elevated that art into something almost noble.
He feinted low. "Down!"
The spear blurred toward my left arm.
I shifted right, narrowly avoiding it, and countered with an upward slash. But he was faster — withdrawing the spear mid-strike and jabbing toward my shoulder with frightening precision.
Metal clashed. The impact numbed my hand, but I twisted the blade just enough to redirect the attack. The spear's tip whistled past my ear.
Bercht stepped back, eyes gleaming. "For someone who claims it's their first time using a weapon like that, your form is flawless. Where did you learn it?"
I didn't answer. My thoughts flicked briefly to Myael, a swordsman from another nation whose talent and gift bordered on monstrous. Compared to that, Bercht's technique felt almost… human.
Still, something about his control intrigued me. When I looked closer, I noticed that as his spear slid through the air, his hand barely moved.
"…You're not even holding it, are you?"
Bercht smirked, his blue eyes cold but amused. "You figured it out already? Impressive."
He relaxed, planted the spear upright in the ground — and it didn't fall.
Blue magical threads shimmered between his hand and the weapon, holding it perfectly steady.
"I use magic to control its weight and motion," he explained. "Like moving a limb."
It was an elegant technique — both weapon and wielder connected by pure will.
He raised his hand again. "Catch your breath. I'm going again!"
The spear flashed toward me once more, faster and sharper than before. But as the rhythm repeated — thrust, block, recoil, thrust — I noticed something important.
He was strong. But not unstoppable.
I could feel the fatigue in his swings, the slight delay when he pulled back. His magic was refined, but his endurance wasn't infinite.
Time to end it.
When the next strike came, I stepped in, grabbed the shaft, and let his magic drag me forward. Our bodies collided hard.
Bercht rolled to the ground, recovering with graceful speed, but it was already too late.
"I win," I said quietly.
He looked down at his hand. A thin red line ran across the back — shallow, but clear. My blade had grazed him first.
Bercht smiled faintly. "…I didn't think you'd actually get me."
I sighed. "Did you set those rules so I wouldn't dare to hit you properly?"
He chuckled. "Maybe. I outrank you, but you are the Highlander, aren't you?"
Despite the difference in status, his tone was casual, almost friendly. For the first time, I saw the prince as more human than royal.
Before either of us could say more, the training hall door slammed open.
"Your Highness!"
A young woman with soft white hair rushed in, her voice full of worry. She froze when she saw the dirt on Bercht's uniform.
"Oh no! You're covered in dust! What happened?!"
She fussed over him like an anxious caretaker, wiping him down as he smiled awkwardly.
Her name was Linea Aurum — third daughter of Marquis Aurum and Bercht's personal attendant, though clearly also a fellow student.
When she noticed me standing there, weapon still in hand, her eyes widened. "The Highlander?!"
Bercht quickly introduced us. "Linea, this is Connor McCloud. Connor, this is Linea Aurum — she assists me."
I bowed politely. "It's an honor."
Linea frowned softly, looking between us. "…You can't return looking like that."
With a short incantation, white light swept over Bercht. In an instant, the dust and sweat vanished — his uniform pristine again.
Bercht turned to me with an easy smile. "Connor, thank you for indulging my stubbornness. Let's do this again sometime."
I forced a laugh. "Ha… anytime, Your Highness."
He clasped my hand and left with Linea, their silhouettes fading into the morning light.
When silence returned, I exhaled deeply, finally lowering my sword.
Out of everyone at this academy, I was somehow the only one catching the attention of powerful figures from three different nations.
Lucky me.