Chapter 4: Duel in the Sunlight
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Three weeks had passed since Bell began training under Black Scythe.
Gone were the trembling hands and hesitant steps. Replaced instead with steady breath, sharpened reflexes, and a new gleam in his eyes.
He wasn't perfect—not yet. But he moved differently. Thought differently.
He no longer feared the Dungeon. He respected it.
He no longer worshipped heroes. He studied them.
But Orario wasn't blind. Rumors had begun to spread—of a boy with white hair training in the back alleys by moonlight, fighting shadow-figures and slashing illusions out of thin air.
And eventually, someone took notice.
---
The courtyard of the Guild was packed by midday, tension hanging in the air like storm clouds.
Bell stood in the center, his dagger at his side, his face calm.
Across from him stood a tall, arrogant man with golden hair and a smirk that gleamed like a polished blade—Hyakinthos Clio, Captain of the Apollo Familia.
"Bell Cranel," he said, voice ringing with theatrical flair. "Your days of hiding under your Goddess's skirts are over."
Bell didn't flinch.
The crowd murmured. Adventurers from all ranks had gathered. Hestia watched from the edge, worry gripping her chest. Even Eina Tulle stood among the spectators, biting her lip.
Apollo's Familia lined the court's edges, pride swelling in their ranks.
Hyakinthos chuckled.
"Word is you've taken a mysterious new mentor. A man with no affiliation and a weapon fit for a god of death. An outsider."
He pointed his sword at Bell.
"I challenge you, in the name of Apollo Familia. Win, and we leave you alone. Lose, and you join us."
A gasp.
Hestia stepped forward. "You can't—!"
But Bell raised his hand.
"I accept."
The court fell silent.
Hyakinthos blinked, then laughed.
"So eager to be beaten?"
Bell's eyes narrowed.
"No. Just eager to end this."
---
The bell rang.
Hyakinthos rushed in, blade gleaming.
Bell didn't move.
At the last second, he stepped into the attack, twisting past the sword, ducking low, and slashing across Hyakinthos's thigh.
The captain stumbled.
The crowd gasped.
Bell pivoted, blade in reverse grip, stance low. His breathing was steady, his focus sharp.
"You're not fast enough," he said.
Hyakinthos snarled.
He came again, feinting high and spinning low. Bell leapt, foot landing on the flat of the sword, pushing off and flipping behind him. In one swift motion, he pressed his blade against the back of the captain's neck.
"I win."
Silence.
Hyakinthos froze.
Slowly, he dropped his weapon.
The judge raised a flag.
"Victor: Bell Cranel."
The crowd erupted.
Gasps, shouts, disbelief.
Hestia covered her mouth, eyes wide.
And in the distance, on a rooftop cloaked in shadow, Black Scythe watched without expression.
Then he turned and vanished into the wind.
The pupil had taken the first step.
The world would never see Bell Cranel the same way again.