Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Control and First Strike

Control and First Strike​The bell's echo faded as Ethan leaned against a cold stone pillar, pressing a hand to his chest. The burn from the Cursed Blade lingered like a coiled snake—duller than last night, but still a reminder that his new "power" was as likely to kill him as save him. He'd spent the night huddled in a forgotten storage closet (the Academy's dorms were for "ranked students" only, and F-ranks didn't qualify), clutching the sword until his fingers ached. The rusted metal now hummed faintly, as if it knew he was afraid.​Footsteps clicked across the courtyard. Ethan tensed, half-expecting Kael's sneer—but it was Lira. She walked with a stack of leather-bound books tucked under one arm, her silver hair catching the pale purple sunlight. When she saw him, she slowed, but her expression stayed cool. "You're still here," she said, as if surprised he hadn't fled or died.​Ethan straightened. "Where else would I go?" He nodded at the books. "Looking for something about… the Blade?"​Lira's jaw tightened. She glanced around, then stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The Cursed Blades are banned. Most records were burned a century ago—after the Great Betrayal." She paused, her ice-blue eyes locked on his. "Your grandfather. Did he ever talk about magic? About this world?"​Ethan frowned. Grandfather had only ever said the sword was "a family heirloom," nothing more. "No. Just that it was important."​Lira's lips pressed into a thin line. She pulled a small, folded piece of parchment from her robe and slipped it to him. "This is a map to the forbidden section of the library. Don't get caught—Headmaster Voss hates rule-breakers. Especially F-ranks." She turned to leave, then hesitated. "And stop trying to swing the Blade like a brute. It feeds on rage. Control your fear, and you might control it."​Before Ethan could thank her, she was gone. He unfolded the parchment: a scribbled path through twisting corridors, marked with a tiny sword symbol. Forbidden section. Finally, a clue.​He stuffed the map in his pocket and headed for the library—only to be blocked by Kael and two of his friends at the courtyard gate. Kael's shoulder was wrapped in bandages, but his smirk was sharper than ever. "Running to hide, F-rank?" he said, flicking a finger at the sword hanging from Ethan's belt (he'd finally worked up the nerve to wear it, instead of hiding it). "Heard you got lucky yesterday. Let's see if luck's on your side today."​One of Kael's friends— a stocky boy with earth-brown hair—stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Academy rules: any student can challenge another to a duel. Winner gets the loser's 'assets.'" He nodded at the Cursed Blade. "We want that toy."​Ethan's throat went dry. He'd seen the stocky boy—Gareth—wield earth magic yesterday, raising boulders like they were pebbles. If Kael's fire was bad, Gareth's brute strength would be worse. But running would only confirm he was a coward. He thought of Lira's words: Control your fear.​"Fine," he said. His voice shook, but he forced it steady. "Duel. But not here." He nodded at the old training ground— the one with ivy-choked pillars and a sunken pit in the center. "There. No teachers around to stop us."​Kael raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "Afraid of getting caught? Smart. But it won't save you."​The training ground was empty when they arrived. Gareth stepped into the pit, cracking his neck, and summoned a chunk of stone the size of a backpack. "Last chance to beg," he said.​Ethan gripped the Cursed Blade's hilt. The hum grew louder, and the burn in his chest flared. He closed his eyes for a second, focusing not on the pain, but on the ivy wrapped around the pillars—thick, strong, coiled like ropes. On the way here, he'd noticed Gareth's magic took a breath between casts. A pause. That was his opening.​"Come on, loser!" Gareth shouted, hurling the stone at Ethan.​Ethan didn't swing the sword. He ran—ducking under the stone, which crashed into a pillar and shattered—then grabbed a vine, yanking it hard. The ivy tore free, and he whipped it at Gareth's legs. Gareth stumbled, and his next stone fizzled out mid-air.​"Cheating!" Kael yelled from the sidelines.​Ethan ignored him. He circled Gareth, watching for the breath. There—Gareth's shoulders rose, ready to summon another stone. Ethan lunged, not with the sword, but with his shoulder, slamming into Gareth's chest. Gareth grunted, falling back into the pit's dirt.​But Gareth wasn't done. He slammed his fist into the ground, and spikes of rock shot up around Ethan—trapping him. "Got you," Gareth snarled, summoning a boulder twice as big as before.​Ethan's heart raced. He couldn't dodge. He had to use the Blade. But if he swung hard, the backlash would burn through him. Control it, Lira had said. He gripped the hilt, focusing on the smallest part of the power—just a spark.​The Blade's hum turned into a growl. A thin black arc sliced from the blade, not enough to destroy the boulder, but enough to crack it. The rock split in two, crashing to the ground beside him.​Gareth stared, stunned. Ethan didn't waste the chance. He jumped over the rock spikes, tackled Gareth to the dirt, and pressed the Blade's flat edge to his throat. "Yield," he said. His chest burned, and he tasted blood, but his hand didn't shake.​Gareth's face turned red. "I—"​"Yield!" Ethan shouted.​Gareth spat. "Fine! I yield!"​Ethan pulled the sword away, staggering to his feet. Kael's face was purple with rage. "This isn't over," he snarled, helping Gareth up. "You and that sword—you're both dead."​They left, and Ethan collapsed against a pillar, coughing. The burn in his chest was worse now, like someone had poured acid on his ribs. But he'd won. Not with brute strength, but by watching, waiting—by being smart.​A shadow fell over him. Lira stood there, her books gone, her expression unreadable. "You listened," she said. She knelt, pressing her palm to his chest again. The blue light returned, and the burn faded. "The Blade's power isn't just destruction. It's a mirror. It shows what you're made of—fear, or focus."​Ethan looked at the sword. Its black runes were glowing faintly, like they approved. "Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You said Cursed Blade wielders die fast. Why not let me?"​Lira stood, brushing dirt from her robe. "Because your grandfather was a friend of my family," she said, her voice softening for a second. "And if he gave you that Blade… there's more to this than just a useless F-rank." She turned to leave, then looked over her shoulder. "The forbidden section. Go tonight. Look for a book called The Blades of the Fallen. It might tell you why the Blade chose you."​The sun dipped below the pillars, painting the sky pink. Ethan tightened his grip on the sword, its warmth now feeling less like malice, more like a challenge. He was still an F-rank. Kael was still out for blood. The Blade still wanted to burn him. But for the first time since he'd fallen into this world, he didn't feel like a loser. He felt like he had a chance.​That night, he snuck into the library. The forbidden section was a dark, dusty room, filled with books bound in leather that looked too old to touch. He found The Blades of the Fallen on the top shelf, its cover carved with a sword that matched his own. He pulled it down, and as he opened it, the Cursed Blade's runes flared—bright, black, and alive.​The first page had a single sentence, written in ink that seemed to glow: The Blade does not choose the strong. It chooses the one who can bear its truth.​Ethan leaned in, reading. And somewhere in the darkness, a clock ticked. His time was running out. But for the first time, he was ready to fight.