I rose to my feet and greeted the senior in a composed tone. "Hello, senior. Thank you for taking the time to conduct my test." Outwardly calm, inwardly, I felt the familiar sting of irritation. How predictable.
He smirked, arrogance radiating from him. "No worries. Of course, I'll take time for my junior—or should I say, my abandoned heir, or, as things stand, a commoner."
I said nothing. He expected a reply, but instead, I stepped into the arena and said, "Senior, I came here to test my skills, not to chat. Let's speak with swords."
The crowd had already gathered, forming a circle around us. Their eyes glinted with anticipation, reflecting torchlight and the faint glow of mana-infused weapons. I could feel the weight of B-rank pressure pressing down even before the duel began. Though C and B ranks were considered middle-tier, the difference was staggering. At my C+ rank, I could barely destroy part of a training hall, whereas he could topple two or three buildings without effort. The tension was palpable, pressing against my chest like a physical weight.
He glared at me, voice dripping with annoyance. "It's not fair for you. I'm B rank, and you're weak. I'll reduce my rank to C+ and only use sword skills up to Level 7—so you can have an easier fight."
Some of the suffocating pressure eased as he lowered his rank. I drew my sword, feeling the familiar hum of mana around my blade. Every fiber of my body was alive with awareness. The subtle shift in the floor beneath my boots, the hiss of wind from mana-infused swords, the soft murmur of the crowd—all of it fed my senses.
The Duel Begins
He attacked first—Starlight Sword Skill Level 1. I countered instantly with Scarlet Sword Execution Codex Level 1. Sparks erupted as steel met steel, flashing like tiny stars. The arena reverberated with the clash, and I sensed the micro-shifts in his stance—a detail most would overlook. I pressed a slight counterforce, and he blinked, surprised by the precision.
Level 2. He stepped back briefly, then launched a series of thrusts and slashes that tested my balance. I adjusted my footing, feeling each shift in weight through my boots, pivoting on the balls of my feet. Each attack was met with a precise block or counter. The crowd's murmurs grew louder; some were already whispering about the rare skill displayed by a C+ rank swordsman.
Level 3. He spun, blade tracing arcs that could cut through armor. I leapt, twisting my body to redirect the energy of his strikes while simultaneously striking back with Crimson Fang Rising Level 3. The steel rang with a sharp, metallic scream. Dust and tiny stones flew with each collision, clouding the arena floor. The spectators gasped, unable to look away from the intricate ballet of blades.
I noted his timing, every subtle twitch of muscle. He was fast, but his pattern had rhythm. A brief pause, a feint, a strike aimed just past my guard. I countered, guiding his sword with my own blade, testing his reactions, planting seeds for potential openings.
Level 4. Horizontal sweeps, vertical slashes, feints designed to overwhelm my guard. I responded with Scarlet Execution Codex Level 4, blocking, redirecting, and countering with pinpoint precision. Each strike created vibrations in my arms, but I adjusted, absorbing energy without losing balance. Sparks flew, and the echoes bounced off the walls. Some spectators had covered their mouths in shock.
Level 5. His speed accelerated, aura intensifying. I felt the air thickening as he moved, each swing producing tiny gusts, dust whirling around us. He launched a series of unpredictable attacks—some aimed at my shoulders, some at my legs, some feints meant to draw my counter. I adjusted footwork, twisting my body, using momentum to redirect energy. My muscles burned, but every move was calculated.
Level 6. Each strike now carried the full force of a B-rank swordsman. I could feel the invisible pressure pushing my body to the limit, each clash resonating through my arms and legs. I ducked under a horizontal sweep, rolled, and launched a counter-thrust aimed at his side. He pivoted midair, deflecting just in time. I smiled inwardly; he was skilled, but predictable if read carefully.
Level 7. The culmination of his controlled power. Aura waves distorted the air, creating mirage-like flickers. I felt the heat of mana radiating off his blade. My legs trembled under the sheer force of the pressure, but I focused, centering myself, and unleashed Crimson Fang Execution Level 7. Steel collided with steel in a thunderous explosion. Sparks rained down like shooting stars.
The crowd fell silent, each spectator frozen in awe. He staggered backward, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
"You… you're stronger than I imagined," he muttered, voice strained.
He readied Level 8, a strike meant to crush entirely. The air around him shimmered from his aura, wind gusting with each motion, stones and dust levitating slightly. Each swing could have shattered walls. But before the blade could descend, a sudden force slammed into him from the side. He collided with the wall with a deafening crash and collapsed. Gasps rippled through the arena. Every eye turned to the source. I already knew who it was.
The President Intervenes
Christine Veynar, President of the Swordsmanship Club, stepped forward. Platinum-silver hair tied in a high ponytail, eyes Steel Grey—piercing, commanding. Only those she trusted saw warmth beneath her stern exterior. Each step was deliberate, muscles coiled like springs, movements precise, controlled, and fluid. Aura radiated around her like a visible force.
Cold and disciplined, she rarely smiled, yet fiercely protected her chosen few. A-rank, apex of the second year, embodiment of mastery. Her dark uniform clung tight, sash secured, sword gleaming—every motion demanding respect.
"What are you doing to a recruit in my club?" she demanded. "You were supposed to test them, not unleash your full strength!"
The vice president stammered, "I… he's too powerful… I'm B rank… I… used my full force!"
I scoffed softly, letting the disdain pass through the silence of the arena.
Her patience snapped. In a blur, she struck him relentlessly for five minutes. Each strike precise, calculated, bone-crushing. He attempted to defend, but each motion was countered flawlessly. The crowd watched in awed silence. He was pale, broken, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
"I tolerated your bullying because you had some passing skill," she said coldly. "But today, you crossed the line." With a single kick, she sent him flying across the arena.
"Do you want to go flying like him?" she asked the spectators.
"No!" they shouted, fear and respect clear.
"Then stop staring at me. Go train!" Her command made the students scatter like leaves caught in a gale.
Aftermath and Training
She turned to me. "So, you're the new member?"
"Yes, President," I replied respectfully.
"I apologize for the ordeal you faced," she said.
"It's alright," I answered calmly.
"Your skills are exceptional—almost unmatched in C rank. You can confront B-rank opponents, withstand pressure, and counterattack effectively. You are more than qualified for this club. I can train you; I see potential in your eyes. You're aiming for something big."
I smiled quietly, letting my calm confidence speak for me.
I moved to a corner to practice, pushing my sword skills within C+ limits. Hours passed as I dueled club members, honing timing, reflexes, and precision. Sparks flew, stone floor cracked under the force of strikes, and dust swirled around us. Each duel taught me subtleties—tiny delays, hidden weaknesses, or openings only visible for a fraction of a second.
The President sparred with me for ten minutes, keeping her rank moderate but putting pressure like an invisible storm. She introduced subtle feints, forcing adaptation and mental calculation. I blocked, parried, countered, and occasionally feigned to test her reactions. By the end, every muscle in my body throbbed with exertion, sweat dripping down my back, yet my mind was sharper than ever.
Reflection and Resolve
Exhausted, drenched in sweat, I returned to my dormitory. In the bathroom, I examined my reflection. Muscles taut, body honed from constant practice. Minor scrapes and bruises gleamed under the light—proof of progress. I allowed myself a quiet nod of approval.
After bathing, I prepared a simple meal, eating silently while thinking of Christine—the mentor who had guided me. She had sacrificed herself to protect the academy during a demon attack, holding back an S-rank demon to give students time to escape. Many cursed the author for killing such a promising character, but I swore her death would not be meaningless. She had a role in my future plans.
Resolved, I changed into pajamas and went to bed, muscles aching, mind sharpened, ready for tomorrow. Another day, another duel, another step toward mastering the sword—and reshaping my destiny.
Rank Tier Combat Level
F F- Room/Personal F Arena/Compound F+ Arena/Compound E E- Academy/Compound E City District E+ City District D D- City District D City Wide D+ Large City C C- Large City C City Wide C+ Large City B B- Metropolitan B MegaCity B+ MegaCity/Country A A- MegaCity/Country A Country A+ Large Region S S- Country S Multi-Country S+ Continental SS SS- Continental SS Multi-Continental SS+ Multi-Continental/World SSS SSS- Multi-Continental/World SSS Planetary SSS+ Planetary/Universal