Chapter 18

  Ren woke the next morning with a dull ache settled into his muscles, a familiar sensation after weeks of relentless training. He groaned, stretching his arms before sitting up, his gaze drifting toward the short sword resting on his desk. Even now, after all the effort he had put into forging it, he couldn’t help but analyze its details, memorizing every rune, every flaw that still needed refining.

  But for now, he had done enough.

  Today wasn’t about crafting or training. Today, he and the rest of the first-years would finally begin sparring matches.

  The academy had kept them focused on fundamentals for the first few weeks, making sure students weren’t just flailing around with magic and weapons without understanding the basics. But now, they were expected to start applying what they had

  learned—against real opponents.

  And Ren knew exactly what that meant.

  A chance to see how he measured up.

  He dressed quickly, slipping his blade into its sheath before making his way toward the combat grounds. The morning air was crisp, the sky overcast with thin clouds, but the Academy was already lively. Students filled the walkways, some murmuring about the upcoming matches, others boasting about how they were going to dominate the sparring sessions.

  When he reached the training area, he spotted Leo and Davian near the sparring rings.

  Leo, as usual, looked eager, rolling his shoulders and grinning like a fight was the best way to start the morning. Davian, by contrast, stood with his arms crossed, scanning the other students with a more analytical look.

  "About time you showed up," Leo said, smirking. "You ready?"

  Ren exhaled, shaking out the stiffness in his arms. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

  Davian raised an eyebrow. "We’ll see about that. They’re pairing people based on their performance in training so far, so don’t expect an easy match."

  "Not like I was expecting one," Ren said.

  It wasn’t long before Instructor Varian arrived, his sharp gaze sweeping over the assembled students. He wasted no time.

  "Listen up!" Varian’s voice cut through the chatter, immediately silencing the group. "Today, you’re going to be facing each other in controlled duels. Your matchups are based on your current progress, so don’t think you’ll be getting any easy wins. This isn’t about pride—it’s about testing your abilities. Now, pairings will be called in order. Step into the ring when your name is announced."

  Ren listened as names were called one by one, watching as students made their way into the sparring rings. Some matches ended quickly, others dragged into intense exchanges of magic and steel. The nobles, unsurprisingly, had the most refined techniques, but a few commoners held their ground impressively.

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  Then—

  "Ren Evern and Callum Aldric.

  Ren blinked. Callum Aldric?

  For a split second, he thought of Instructor Aldric, but the moment his opponent stepped forward, the resemblance made it clear—this wasn’t a coincidence.

  Callum Aldric was the instructor’s son.

  He was tall, lean, and carried himself with the poised confidence of someone who had been training for years. His hair was a dark auburn, tied back neatly, and his sharp green eyes scanned Ren with something that wasn’t quite disdain—but certainly wasn’t interest, either.

  Ren exhaled slowly, stepping forward.

  This was it. His first real test.

  He unsheathed his blade, feeling the familiar weight settle in his hands as he met Callum’s gaze. The noble’s weapon of choice was a rapier—a fast, precise weapon, perfectly suited for someone with refined technique.

  Varian, standing at the edge of the ring, glanced between them. "Standard rules. No lethal strikes, and if I say stop, you stop. Understood?"

  Both nodded.

  "Begin."

  Callum moved first.

  Fast.

  Ren barely had time to react before the noble closed the distance, his rapier darting forward with precise, controlled thrusts. Ren twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the strike while bringing his short sword up to parry—only to feel his blade skim past empty air as Callum redirected his attack at the last second.

  A sharp sting cut across Ren’s sleeve as the tip of the rapier grazed his arm. Not deep, but enough to send a clear message.

  He was outmatched.

  Ren grit his teeth, adjusting his stance. He knew this would happen—he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could match a noble with years of training after only a few weeks. But that didn’t mean he was going down easily.

  Callum lunged again.

  This time, Ren didn’t just react. He anticipated.

  Instead of trying to block directly, he twisted his wrist and angled his blade, deflecting the rapier’s tip just enough to disrupt Callum’s momentum. It wasn’t a perfect counter, but it gave Ren an opening—he stepped forward, aiming a quick slash at Callum’s side.

  The noble barely dodged, forced to retreat a step.

  For the first time, Callum’s expression flickered—not frustration, but something like mild surprise.

  "Not bad," he murmured.

  Ren didn’t answer. He focused.

  The next few exchanges were a blur of movement—Callum’s rapier striking with speed and precision, Ren struggling to keep up, relying on instinct and the training he had drilled into himself over the past weeks. He wasn’t winning, but he wasn’t collapsing instantly, either.

  Then, Callum changed tactics.

  Instead of another precise thrust, he suddenly swept his blade in a feint, forcing Ren to react—only to shift at the last second and step inside his guard.

  Too late, Ren realized his mistake.

  A sharp pressure pressed against his shoulder. Not a deep strike, but a decisive one.

  Varian’s voice rang out.

  "Match over."

  Ren exhaled heavily, lowering his blade. He lost.

  But as he looked at Callum—who studied him with an appraising look rather than dismissive arrogance—Ren realized something.

  This wasn’t the kind of loss he had suffered before. This wasn’t being ignored, overlooked, or dismissed just because he was a commoner.

  This was respect.

  Callum nodded slightly. "You’re not bad. For a beginner."

  Ren let out a breath and smirked tiredly. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

  As he stepped out of the ring, muscles aching but mind sharper than ever, he could only think one thing.

  He had lost today.

  But tomorrow?

  Tomorrow, he’d be better.