The morning sun spilled across the academy's training grounds, painting the field in a warm, golden haze. Students had already gathered, their figures scattered across the wide expanse, waiting for the day's Practical Battle lesson to begin.
Not all of them looked pleased.Classes usually began at nine in the morning, but today, the students had been summoned to the training grounds at the unusually early hour of seven. A cluster of bleary-eyed students stood with arms crossed, their posture heavy with fatigue. Suppressed yawns and faint grumbles rippled through the group, breaking the otherwise serene stillness of dawn.
Among them stood Arthur.
He had never been fond of mornings. Rising early was a chore he seldom embraced—unless there was something of true significance awaiting him. Hidden fragments, an unexplored dungeon, or the promise of discovery or early training—only such pursuits could stir him willingly from sleep.Today was not one of those mornings.
The students shifted restlessly, the weight of drowsiness still clinging to them like morning mist. A cool breeze drifted across the training field, tugging at their uniforms and carrying with it the faint murmur of half-hearted complaints.
"Whose brilliant idea was it to hold these lessons at dawn?" one muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"I can't even think straight this early," another added, stifling a wide yawn.
"And after this, we're expected to sit through classes without a single break…"
Their voices blended into a chorus of groans and weary sighs, the atmosphere languid, almost sluggish.
Then—
Click. Clack. Click.
The crisp, deliberate rhythm of heels striking stone cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
The complaints died in an instant. Like a ripple freezing across still water, silence fell over the field.
Professor Elizabeth had arrived. The morning sun caught the sheen of her long violet hair, casting a faint glow that contrasted with the steel-like sharpness in her crimson eyes. Her presence alone carried weight—firm, unyielding, and commanding absolute silence.
"Good morning, everyone," she said, her voice clear and measured, carrying effortlessly across the training field.
Not a single student dared to mutter a complaint now. They all knew too well how strict she could be when it came to discipline.
Elizabeth's gaze swept over the gathered students, lingering just long enough to make each of them stand straighter.
"As I informed you yesterday, today marks the beginning of your practical battle lessons," she continued, her tone steady, each word deliberate.
The air shifted. Fatigue and grumbles faded, replaced by a quiet tension. Spines straightened. Eyes sharpened. Curiosity and unease began to ripple through the group.
"Each of you will be paired with a partner for today's exercises," Elizabeth announced. "Remember—your performance here will be graded. Treat this as you would a true battlefield."
A hush fell, followed by a low murmur of whispers. Despite their exhaustion from the early hour, anticipation began to kindle in the students' eyes. What had moments ago been a crowd of groggy teenagers was now a group of hunters-in-training, restless with the urge to prove themselves.
"Now," Professor Elizabeth said, her crimson eyes scanning the list in her hands, "let's proceed with the pairings."
The field quieted instantly, every student waiting with bated breath for their name to be called.
Elizabeth began reading in her crisp, unyielding tone, each name falling into place with precision. She wasn't pairing them at random. That much was obvious. Her choices carried intent—measuring skill against skill, keeping the matches balanced enough to challenge but not overwhelm.
"Damien and Ren."
"Lyra and Sylvie."
"Jasmine and Kevin."
The pattern emerged quickly: most were matched against peers close to their own rank, a way of ensuring fairness and growth at the same time. The air hummed with mixed reactions—some students straightened proudly, clearly satisfied with their partners, while others shifted uneasily, the weight of nervous anticipation written plainly on their faces.
Arthur, however, stood still. Patient. Detached. Waiting.
And then—
"Michael and Arthur."
At the sound of his own name, Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. A faint sigh slipped from him, inaudible to most.
'Of course. It had to be him.'
No matter how much effort he made to stay out of the main cast's orbit, fate—or perhaps something crueler—always found a way to drag him back in.
Still, the choice wasn't entirely unreasonable. Michael's rank hovered around 1832, while Arthur's was at the very bottom: 2500. On paper, the gulf seemed wide, but in reality, both were stamped with the same label—low-rankers. It wasn't exactly a mismatch.
At least, not on the surface.
Arthur knew better. Rank was nothing but a number—misleading and shallow. Though he still carried the title of "last-ranked," his strength had already far outgrown the place assigned to him on paper. And Michael… he was no ordinary student either. After all, he was the so-called protagonist of this story.
A prickle of awareness brushed against Arthur's senses. Someone was watching him. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he searched for the source.
Michael.
The boy stood tall among the gathered students, blue hair catching the sunlight as it fell neatly across his forehead. His hazel eyes were sharp, clear, and unwavering, set in a face that could easily draw admiration at a glance.
For a brief moment, their gazes locked. Neither spoke, yet the silence between them carried weight.
Then Michael's lips curved into a smile—bright, confident, before turning his head away. Arthur, unfazed, turned his head away as well.
At the front, Professor Elizabeth's voice cut steadily through the quiet tension as she continued announcing the remaining pairs, her tone crisp and unshaken, as if the air itself hadn't thickened between the two.
"Now that the pairings have been decided, it's time to begin the practical lesson," Professor Elizabeth declared, her tone sharp and unwavering. "I will call the pairs one by one. Each match will last ten minutes."
The restless murmurs of the students faded into silence, anticipation thickening the air.
"First pair—Jasmine and Kevin."
At the sound of their names, a ripple of whispers passed through the gathered crowd.
Jasmine stepped forward with measured grace, her short black hair swaying gently with each step. Her brown eyes were steady, calm pools of focus that betrayed no hint of hesitation. Despite her soft, almost endearing features, there was nothing childish in the way she carried herself. In her hands rested a sleek bow, polished and taut with readiness.
Kevin followed, his movements fluid, marked by quiet confidence. His lean frame and agile build seemed perfectly matched to the twin daggers he held, blades catching the light as though eager for blood. His blue hair fell neatly to the side, framing striking green eyes that gleamed with determination. He lacked the overwhelming presence of the academy's most gifted—or of Arthur himself—but there was something compelling about him, a quiet strength that drew attention nonetheless.
The two took their places at the center of the field, facing one another with weapons poised.
Professor Elizabeth raised her hand. Her voice cut through the still air like steel.
"Begin."
The moment Professor Elizabeth's command left her lips, Kevin surged forward, daggers flashing in his grip. His figure blurred as he closed the distance with sharp, precise movements.
But Jasmine was ready. With practiced elegance, she raised her bow, mana gathering in an instant as a radiant arrow shimmered into being.
Whoosh!
The arrow streaked toward Kevin like a bolt of light. He twisted at the last second, narrowly evading the shot. Yet Jasmine had already accomplished her goal—the brief pause his dodge forced gave her the chance to retreat, widening the gap between them.
For an archer, distance was everything. And Jasmine wielded that advantage mercilessly.
One arrow after another materialized in quick succession, flying with deadly precision. Kevin dodged with agility, each movement clean and efficient, but no matter how fast he was, Jasmine kept pushing him further back.
Arthur, watching from the sidelines, narrowed his eyes.
' If this continues, Kevin doesn't stand a chance.'
His gaze lingered on Jasmine's stance, her rhythm, her strategy. He wasn't simply watching for entertainment—his mind was already dissecting the fight.
'How do I handle an archer in real combat? What's the fastest, most efficient way to break that distance?'
On the field, the battle intensified. Jasmine's arrows grew sharper, faster—each one more difficult to evade than the last. Kevin moved like a shadow, but he had yet to make a decisive counter.
Then, a slip.
An arrow grazed his leg, biting into flesh. Kevin staggered, his balance faltering.
"Ugh…" he gritted out, nearly falling.
Jasmine's eyes narrowed, merciless. She loosed another volley, a rain of glowing arrows slicing through the air. For a moment, the outcome seemed sealed.
But then—Kevin stilled.
He drew a deep breath, and a faint blue aura shimmered around his body, hazy and flowing like mist.
And in the blink of an eye—he vanished.
Gasps erupted from the watching students. Kevin reappeared an instant later, cutting through the storm of arrows with impossible speed. His movements blurred, sharper than lightning, and in a heartbeat he was upon Jasmine.
Her eyes widened. She fired in a rush, arrows flying desperately—but he slipped past them all, weaving effortlessly.
By the time she realized, it was too late. Kevin stood before her, dagger hovering inches from her throat.
The field fell silent.
Professor Elizabeth's voice rang clear.
"The winner—Kevin Lamber, Rank 1640."
The spell of silence broke.
"Woah, Kevin actually won!"
"I thought for sure Jasmine had it!"
"That speed at the end… what was that?"
"He dodged every single arrow like it was nothing!"
Murmurs spread through the gathered crowd, excitement buzzing in the air.
Among them, Arthur remained calm, his sharp eyes assessing the fight.
'Jasmine's rank is in the 1300s. With this, Kevin's ranking will definitely rise.' he thought, quietly noting the implications.
Professor Elizabeth called both Kevin and Jasmine forward. Her gaze was firm as she critiqued their performances—pointing out Jasmine's over-reliance on distance and Kevin's late response. Her words cut sharp but fair, guiding both toward improvement.
Then, with a glance at the parchment in her hands, she called out the next names.
One by one, the duels unfolded. After each match, Professor Elizabeth offered her sharp insights—pinpointing flaws, highlighting strengths, and guiding the students toward growth.
Time slipped by, until at last, the name everyone had been waiting for echoed across the field.
"Michael Orbane and Arthur Dravenlock—step forward."
The murmurs ceased instantly. Dozens of eyes swung toward the two boys, tension rippling through the air.
Arthur exhaled softly, his expression unreadable as he moved.
"So, it's finally my turn."
He strode toward the stage, his white hair catching the sunlight with every step, his deep blue eyes gleaming faintly like the calm before a storm.
Across from him stood Michael Orbane—the radiant figure at the center of it all. Blue hair fell neatly across his forehead, his hazel eyes sharp, carrying the brilliance and confidence that marked him as the chosen protagonist of the game "The Strongest Hunter's Rise Online."
Now, the two faced each other.
Arthur versus Michael.
The forsaken against the favored.
The "extra" against the "hero."
Their meeting was no simple spar. It was the collision of two opposing fates—an inevitable confrontation between the world's chosen champion and the one it had abandoned.
And with this battle, the first spark was lit.
The spark of a chain of events that would unravel many things.