Jonah was on his way to the dining hall, his boots making soft, rhythmic taps on the polished stone floor. His mind wasn't on food, however. It was completely focused on the project waiting for him back in his room.
He was mentally turning over the design for his new hammer, trying to solve a problem. The core he had made from the Raging Boar's essence pulsed with a wild, aggressive energy. He had to build a frame around it that was strong enough to contain that power, but also light enough for him to wield effectively.
It was a difficult puzzle
He was so lost in these thoughts that he almost walked right into the figure that stepped out from a shadowy alcove, blocking the corridor.
It was Draven.
His arm was still in a sling, but it was his eyes that looked truly wounded. They were red, filled with a desperate anger. He looked like he hadn't slept since the exam.
"You," he snarled, his voice a low growl.
Jonah stopped. The corridor was empty for now, but he could hear the distant clatter of plates from the dining hall. "Draven," he said, his tone neutral. He wasn't afraid, but he was wary. There was nothing more dangerous than a man who had lost everything, especially his pride.
"I want a rematch," Draven said, stepping closer. The air felt tense with his hidden rage. "A fair duel. Right here, right now. No pets. No tricks. No mages with their fancy light show. Just you and me, one-on-one."
Jonah almost laughed. A fair duel? From the guy who had tried to publicly humiliate him in the training hall? "I don't think—"
"Don't think you can weasel your way out of this, scrapper," Draven spat, his knuckles white. "Are you a coward? Is that it? Can you only fight when you're hiding behind your creations?"
Before Jonah could respond, another voice cut in, laced with amusement.
"A fair duel? Are you sure you want another shot, Draven?"
A tall, sandy-haired student with a Rank two badge and a relaxed smile leaned against the corridor wall. Jonah recognized him; he'd been one of the other examinees in The Preserve.
Draven's head whipped around. "Stay out of this, Marcus."
Marcus just chuckled, pushing himself off the wall and strolling closer. "I don't know, it seems like my business. I had a front-row seat to your last performance, after all." He puffed out his chest in a perfect imitation of Draven's arrogance.
"'I am Draven of House Volkov! My power is absolute!'"
Other students stopped to watch the fight. A quiet laugh went through the small, growing crowd.
Marcus ignored them. He stared at Draven. 'What happened next? Oh, yeah.' He showed how Draven was hit very hard and thrown into the air. 'A boar hit you into a ditch. And if I remember right, the 'scrapper' and his partner beat that boar with just a beetle and a rock"
Loud laughter filled the hall. Draven's face was already red from anger, but now it turned a deep, blotchy red.
"It wasn't a rock!" another student in the crowd called out, grinning. "It was strategy! My partner and I were stuck in the western caves for three hours trying to get past a swarm of Razor-bats. These two were in and out in ten minutes."
"Yeah!" someone else added. "They didn't even fight the Cave-Grizzly! They just… went around it. Who does that?"
What happened in the exam became the clear truth everyone talked about at the Academy. Draven, the strong noble, was the idiot who went against an unbreakable force. Jonah and Vanessa were the clever, unexpected winners who beat the whole forest. This version was far more interesting.
Draven stood frozen, his demand for a duel forgotten. He looked around at the faces of his peers, the nobles and commoners alike – and he didn't see fear or respect. He saw mockery. They were laughing at him. His name as an unstoppable force, which was very important to him, was now ruined. Instead, the talk was about how a 'scrapper's strange pets' and a clever Mage had beaten him easily.
He could manifest his greatsword and threaten Marcus. He could challenge every single person in the corridor. But he couldn't fight public opinion. He couldn't punch a story. His raw power, the core of his identity, was completely useless against mockery.
His anger left his eyes. A burning shame took its place. This shame hurt more than any broken bone. His shoulders slumped. He was defeated.
He said nothing more, just pushed past Jonah. It wasn't with his old aggressive pride, but with the clumsy rush of someone escaping a burning building. He angrily hurried down the corridor and was gone, with the sound of laughter seeming to chase him like a lingering spirit.
The crowd dispersed, still chuckling and rehashing the story, leaving Jonah alone in the quiet hallway. He hadn't said a word. He hadn't had to. The battle had been won for him.
He let out a slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. This was a victory, but it felt strange. Impersonal. He realized then that the nature of his rivalry with Draven had fundamentally changed. It was no longer about a direct fight or a simple challenge.
It was about reputation. It was about results.
In the highly competitive world of the Academy, what people said about you, what you had accomplished, was a form of power all its own.
Draven wasn't just angry anymore; he was humbled. And a humbled enemy could be far more dangerous than an arrogant one.
Jonah thought of the Primordial Beast Skull and the Raging Boar essence waiting for him in his room. His path forward was clearer than ever. He couldn't afford to be seen as a one-hit-wonder who got lucky. He had to keep proving himself, keep delivering results that were too impressive to ignore.
He needed to build his hammer. Not just to protect himself from Draven, but to solidify his own place in this new world, one undeniable victory at a time. The quiet war of reputation had begun, and he intended to win it.