Royal Knights Academy—The Grand Marshal of Training’s office

Two directors sat in silence in the office. Director Glenn, the owner of this room, scrutinized the paper she held in her hands, eyeing every word and line.

Director Randolph sat opposite her, his hands idly tapping against his armrest.

“So?” Randolph broke the silence, his voice gravelly. “How about it? A headline like that ought to bring in the crowds, don’t you think?”

Glenn gave a slight nod. She laid the paper onto the desk, aligning its edges perfectly with the desk before sliding it back toward him. “I believe it’s fine. Though, as you know, public relations is hardly my field of expertise.”

“Didn’t need your opinion, just your signature,” Randolph grunted. He pushed himself up from the cushioned chair, snatching the document. “Business is concluded. I’ll take my leave.”

“Please, stay here for a moment.”

Randolph paused, hovering over his chair.

“Would you grace me with a bit of small talk, perhaps? It has been quite some time since we spoke outside of business.”

Randolph stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “You aren’t the type for idle chatter, Glenn.” He sank back into the chair with a heavy sigh. “Fine. What is it?”

“I heard you disciplined a group of students the other day. You made quite an example out of them, didn't you?”

Randolph scoffed. “Idiots, the whole lot of them. They had the gall to try to defame a Duke’s daughter's name with a report.”

“I suspected as much. The thing is, one of them has been visiting my office incessantly, demanding that I bring her to you.”

Randolph sighed. “To be honest, if Mayarre hadn’t ordered us to handle things… this way, I might have actually taken their report at face value. I’d have suspended that attendant and washed my hands of the whole mess.”

Glenn let out a chuckle before she took a sip of her coffee. She placed the cup with a sharp clink. “I’ve even had to shuffle the curriculum to create a hybrid class just to accommodate them. It was an awful headache to manage the papers.”

“It’s a bother, isn’t it?” Randolph admitted. “Well, at least Mayarre’s decision was right. I haven’t heard a single whisper about their proximity to the Royal Family in over a week. Mostly rumors about them disciplining each other or such.”

“A necessary evil, indeed,” Glenn murmured. “Though, I wouldn’t go so far as to say the entire ordeal has been a burden.”

Randolph blinked, shifting in his seat. “How so?”

Glenn paused, her fingers tapping the rim of her cup rhythmically. “It’s… nothing. Just a thought.” She cleared her throat. “Is there anything you want to ask me, Randolph?”

“I didn't come here to ask for anything,” he grumbled, though he didn't move to leave. He remained silent for a long beat, his gaze drifting to the sheets of paper sorted neatly on Glenn’s desk. “Actually… how is the preparation for the tournament coming along?”

Glenn’s expression lit up for a moment. “Oh, are you interested as well?”

“I’m not. I’m just worried it’ll be a disaster like last year,” Randolph said, his voice dropping an octave in remembered second-hand embarrassment. “If we’re inviting the public to watch a tournament, they expect a proper show, not a pair of children poking at each other with sticks.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Glenn let out a sharp, dry scoff. The memory of last year’s opening match was a permanent stain on her record. Two students standing frozen in the center of the arena, swords trembling, for sixty agonizing seconds of silence after the bell had rung. Even if publicity wasn’t her forte, she knew it was a catastrophe.

Even beyond that, many of the early matches proceeded like a snail swimming through mud.

“There’s no need to worry,” Glenn said, her voice regaining its authoritative edge. “Mayarre has approved of my revised format. We won’t be wasting the arena’s time on every new student. The preliminary rounds will be held in the private chambers to weed out the unwilling.”

“Just do whatever you have to so we avoid a repeat of last year,” Randolph sighed. “Well then, I have other business to attend to. I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Of course, sorry for taking your time.”

Randolph grunted as he rose from his seat. He made his way to the door, and Glenn made no effort to stop him this time.

The door closed with a sharp click. The office returned to its oppressive silence, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

Glenn leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup.

“The hybrid class,” she murmured to the empty room. “May that class stoke the flames for the tournament even higher. Especially that outlier…” She took a sip of her coffee. “I wonder if those two have crossed blades by now?”

— 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

I stood before Lechter. Our swords held firm.

He held what seemed to be a custom blade. Though it looked sturdy, it didn't have any outlying designs or even any family insignias on it. Could he have commissioned it personally?

I closed Feyt’s eyes to give my whole focus to Carine. However, Feyt’s ears… they don’t really have lids to close, do they? No matter what I do, as long as the both of me were in the room, I would have the advantage of Feyt’s hearing alongside Carine’s eyes.

The sound of the crowd cheering or talking didn’t help mask the sound in the ring; this was Feyt’s ears after all.

But perhaps, I might need that advantage.

I wouldn’t want to overthink this, but the person standing before me was Lechter, ranked second on the entrance exam, and word on the halls said that he did the whole practical exam solo.

The last time I saw his swordplay last week, I found it to be nothing special. Especially compared to his results in the entrance exam or his aptitude test. But what if it was all a feint? A play to make me underestimate him? All that to lead me to this very moment.

Okay… Maybe I am overthinking this a bit.

But it was true that I couldn’t afford to waste any focus when facing him. I would just do my best to tune out Feyt’s ears from my mind. Any attempt at socialising would have to be ignored for now, even though I just decided I needed to train that part of me.

I studied his face once more. He was looking at me with sheer focus in his eyes. But there was more to it. His chin was held down, his eyes were tilted upward ever so slightly just to look at me. The sheer intensity of it just confirmed to me that he, somehow, hated my guts.

I always assumed that he hated me because I took first place in the entrance exam. But this… seemed like more than that.

I doubt he would answer me directly if I asked him. But, as fellow swordsmen, perhaps his answers lie in his swings.

As the crowd continued to sing their cacophony of voices, Instructor Liz cleared her throat.

“You two ready?” she asked, turning her head to each of us.

I nodded.

He nodded.

She raised her hand high up.

Then…

"Begin!"

The moment Instructor Liz’s hand dropped, the air in the room exploded.

He lunged forward in a straight line, his hair blurring against the wind. His stance was about as basic as it gets, but man, was it fast.

With Carine’s eyes locked on his every movement, even though he was as fast as a speeding train, I could anticipate what he was planning.

I brought my sword up just in time to intercept, thinking I’d test the waters and see what he was made of.

I realized I fucked up almost immediately.

The moment his blade slammed into mine, I realized why he’d prioritized durability for his weapon. It didn't feel like blocking a sword; it felt like trying to parry a damn cannonball. The vibration travelled up my arms, rattling my teeth and making my bones hum like a choir.

Thankfully, my blade held up fine, so no scolding from Mother any time soon, I hoped.

He’s fast, and he’s strong… How blessed in Talents is this guy?

He didn’t seem to want to follow up. Using the momentum of his own attack, I shoved outward, digging my boots’ heels into the floor and pushing him back, giving me some space to work with.

As I quickly adjusted to regain my balance, he didn’t look like he was affected by my push at all, as he already recovered his stance like he never moved.

So far, his physical capabilities had matched his aptitude test results. Absolutely ridiculous.

I let out a silent chuckle, which leaked through Feyt.

I kept my focus on Lechter. His eyes were still narrowed, still burning with that same intensity. But at the very least, I had found an answer in his swings.

He didn't just want to win a spar.

He wanted to destroy me.