Chapter 65 – Excellence Camp – Duel Hall V

Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 19th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Steam filled the bathroom as Alexander stepped out of the shower, the hot water having temporarily eased the aching in his muscles. Droplets cascaded down his back as he reached for a towel, his movements slow and careful to avoid aggravating the bruise forming on his chest from Sabrina's magma burst earlier that day. He wiped condensation from the mirror with his palm, leaving streaky trails across the foggy surface, and studied his reflection.

The dark circles were still there, but less pronounced than yesterday. Progress. He told himself. The steam continued to curl around him, wreathing his reflection in a ghostly haze as he leaned closer to the mirror, examining the pallor that had begun to recede from his face.

He could feel it—he was close. So close to breaking through, to unlocking that next level that seemed to come so easily to others. The way Leah and Max had done today, their faces lit with triumph as new abilities manifested mid-battle. The memory of their excitement made his stomach turn.

I'm next.

He told himself, clenching and unclenching his fist, watching the muscles in his forearm flex beneath damp skin.

'I have to be next. I can feel it.'

His water bubble had held against Sabrina's first attack—something that wouldn't have been possible a week ago. If he could just maintain it longer, push a little harder... He visualized the spell in his mind, imagining the ether flowing through his pathways, forming the perfect spherical barrier.

It wasn't good to get caught up in his imagination. He would be stuck there for days if he let it go on.

That time he daydreamed for hours back when he was eight was still fresh in his mind. All he had to do was watch Sophie for only a moment. His parents trusted him to do that one simple task.

To make it even easier on him, little Sophie was asleep.

Yet, somehow, he lost her, causing his parents to panic.

How she managed to sneak out of the house and play with the ducklings, Alexander would never know. She was only three! Even he was not getting into that much trouble at such a young age.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, tucking the corner in securely, and exited the bathroom. A rush of cooler air hit his damp skin, raising goosebumps along his arms as he stepped into the dormitory room. He found Marcellus lying on his bed, reading a thick book. His roommate glanced up briefly, dark eyes flicking over to his disheveled appearance before returning to his page.

"Feeling better?"

Marcellus asked, not looking up. His finger traced a line of text as he read.

"Much."

Alexander replied, moving to his dresser. The wooden drawer stuck slightly as he pulled it open, requiring an extra tug that sent water droplets flying from his still-wet hair. He pulled out clean clothes as he sorted through his outfits.

The Forest Trial was coming. Three days in the wilderness with his team, facing unknown challenges. Three days to prove himself, to show he belonged among the Excellence Camp elite. But first, the duel hall event on Saturday.

He needed to be ready. He needed to be better.

Alexander dressed quickly into a gray shirt and white shorts. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, attempting to style it into some semblance of order. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, facing Marcellus

"So..."

He began, aiming for casual, though his fingers betrayed his nervousness as they plucked at a loose thread on his bedspread.

"What do you think about a small batch? Just a few—three, no more."

Marcellus lowered his book slowly. He marked his place with a thin leather bookmark before sitting up.

"No."

"Come on, just—"

Alexander leaned forward, his words tumbling out faster than intended.

With the way he spoke, he knew Marcellus would think he was an addict. He wasn't.

He had not taken too many pills, definitely not enough to get him hooked.

Just enough to get him through some days, that's it.

"I'm cutting you off."

Marcellus said firmly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to face Alexander directly.

"It was supposed to be a small pick-me-up because you were down about losing matches. I didn't think you'd become addicted to this stuff. I should have stopped you sooner."

This is exactly what he was afraid would happen. Why did no one ever believe in him?

"I'm not addicted."

He protested, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. His fingers twisted the loose thread more aggressively now, nearly tearing it from the fabric.

"I only use it when I need to."

'Which is more often than I'd like to admit.'

He thought, remembering the growing frequency of his "emergencies"—before tests, during training sessions, before matches, after disappointments. The small blue pills had become his safety net, his guarantee that he wouldn't fall behind.

And they were working. He had more control over his spells than he ever had before. Bryan even said so.

"Any more and you'd be doing yourself harm."

Marcellus said, his tone softening slightly. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing its usual arrangement.

"I just can't. Besides, that stuff isn't cheap."

Alexander had no idea that Marcellus was buying him those pills with his own money! If he knew that, he would have gotten Marcellus the funds from his personal savings.

Which was now sitting at a hefty eight gold.

A more than adequate amount for any teen his age. He could go to whatever restaurant he wanted and buy their entire menu more than twice over if he so desired. Own a small plot of farmland, too.

"I can pay!"

Alexander offered quickly, straightening up. The sudden movement sent a twinge through his bruised chest, making him wince slightly.

"I have credits saved up. I haven't been spending much on—"

"It's not about the money."

Marcellus cut him off, standing up to pace the small space between their beds. His footsteps were muffled by the thin dormitory carpet.

"It's about your health. Your future."

Alexander fell silent, frustration building in his chest. Marcellus didn't understand. The room suddenly felt too small, as if the walls were pressing in. Couldn't understand what it was like to always be a step behind, to feel the weight of expectations crushing you day after day.

"Are you going to the duel arena on Saturday?"

He asked, changing tactics. He stood up as well, moving to the window to create some distance between them. Outside, the academy grounds were illuminated by the light posts. There was not much of a view from the Larian dorms compared to the Rose Garden dormitory.

Marcellus seemed relieved by the subject change, his shoulders relaxing visibly. He picked up his book again, running his thumb along the edge.

"Everyone is. It'll be a good place to show off and make connections outside the academy. Lots of people will be there."

"I agree."

Then, after a moment's hesitation, during which he studied Marcellus's reflection rather than turning to face him directly, "I plan on joining."

Marcellus stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You can't be serious. You're going to get humiliated."

'Why does everyone think I'm going to lose?!'

One more fight, that's all he needed to prove himself. He was not going to lose; he knew it. There was simply too much at stake for him to lose any longer.

He had to prepare the way for his younger sister.

What would Sophie think of her loser brother? There was no way he would allow his sister to turn the other way when her older brother's name was brought up. She should be able to look proud at what he would achieve for them.

"This is exactly why I need the boost."

Alexander said, turning from the window, clenching his fist as he spoke.

"I'm the only one who keeps losing. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep losing."

His voice cracked on the last word, revealing more than he'd intended. The constant defeats, the whispers, the sideways glances—they were wearing him down, chipping away at whatever confidence he'd managed to build.

Even some of the instructors who were supposed to be neutral in their treatment were looking at him as if he were some bug. Easily stepped on and forgotten.

"You have nothing to prove."

Marcellus set his book aside completely now as he said those words. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking up at Alexander with an expression that seemed genuinely concerned.

Marcellus just did not seem to understand. How could he? He came from a good family background, nothing like his own. Everything's been handed to him since his birth.

Meanwhile, he had to claw his way up from the bottom.

How Alexander ended up at this camp, he had no idea. But he was thankful for it. More so than anyone would ever believe.

This camp, this opportunity…

With this, he could fight against the students with noble backgrounds who had years of training under their belts. He could fight against them and win!

A month might not seem like much, but there was already so much he was learning and could apply.

"You're smart, just use that. When the official term starts, you might drop a few ranks, but you won't be left behind. Slow and steady, no need to rush."

Alexander shook his head vehemently, pacing now himself. His damp hair sent occasional droplets flying with each sharp turn.

"You don't know anything. I have to prove to everyone that I belong here."

"What's going on?"

Marcellus asked, tracking Alexander's movement with his eyes.

"This isn't just about winning matches, is it?"

Alexander hesitated, then sighed heavily. The weight of carrying it alone had become too much. He stopped pacing and sank back onto his bed.

"Some students... they aren't the best," he admitted, staring at the floor. "They've been talking. Sometimes a little more than talking."

He admitted, staring at the floor. A water stain on the carpet became the focus of his attention.

"What do you mean?"

"Always bringing up my status as a commoner like it means something,"

Alexander continued, the words tumbling out now. His hands clenched into fists on his knees, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

"Making comments about my family, my accent, how I don't belong here with 'real mages.' I just want a chance to beat them, to prove to them—and to myself—that I deserve to be here."

"Who?"

Marcellus demanded.

"And why haven't you said anything before?"

"To who? The instructors?"

Alexander gave a bitter laugh, the sound unfamiliar even to his own ears. He stood again, unable to stay still, and moved to straighten items on his desk.

"They wouldn't do anything. This academy is meant to foster competition. They'd probably tell me to suck it up and look at me differently."

"What about your team, then?"

"It's embarrassing!"

His hand swept through the air, knocking a pen from his desk. It clattered to the floor, rolling under the bed.

"I can't be counting on people to fight my battles. Bryan would just think I'm weak. Christopher already looks at me like I'm going to break any second. And Farrah and Sabrina... they'd try to help, but that would just make it worse."

"Who's been doing this?"

Marcellus pressed, his voice taking on an edge Alexander rarely heard.

Alexander hesitated, unsure if it was worth mentioning, then muttered.

"Max."

"That fucker?"

Marcellus's expression turned thunderous. He stood up suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Why is he talking shit when he's from a commoner family too? His dad works in the mines, and his mom is a server."

"That's... not what he tells people."

Alexander said, surprised by this information. Max always said his family owned a few businesses, at least that is what Alexander heard from some of the conversations the boy participated in.

Not once had he thought to look into the story, because it made no sense for someone to lie. So, why would he? To make himself look good?

If that was the case, then why pick on him?

If Max did come from a similar background to Alexander, then he should know how hard it is. They should be motivating one another.

He bent down to retrieve the fallen pen, using the moment to compose himself.

'How does he know what Max's family does?'

Alexander wondered as he grabbed hold of the pen.

When he straightened, Marcellus was watching him.

Marcellus ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated.

"Look."

He said finally.

"I'll help you. Only for the duel hall, but no more after that."

Alexander's heart felt like it would leap out of his chest at any moment.

"Really?"

"This will be a different pill."

Marcellus explained, his tone serious as he sat back down on his bed.

"It'll make you hyper-focused, relax your body, and make it easier to control your ether. But it'll only last five minutes, and after that, you'll have headaches and such. And I mean it—I'm not helping you anymore after this."

"Thank you."

Alexander said, relief washing over him. He sat down again

"You're the best."

Marcellus sighed.

"It helps when your family runs a pharmaceutical business."

He reached under his mattress and pulled out a small metal case, opening it to reveal several compartments of differently colored pills. He selected a bright green one, so small it was barely visible between his fingers.

"Saturday only."

He said firmly, holding it out.

"And Alexander? This is it. I mean it."

Alexander nodded eagerly, taking the pill and tucking it carefully into his desk drawer.

"I understand. Just this once."

As Marcellus returned to his book, Alexander sat at his desk, pulling out his notes on water magic. With renewed energy, he began reviewing the theory behind his bubble spell, seeking ways to improve its stability and duration.

The pill in his drawer represented more than just enhanced performance for one event. It represented hope—hope that for once, he could stand tall, could silence the doubts and the whispers, could prove that Alexander Silvermark belonged among the elite.

Just this once, he told himself, though a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he'd said those same words before. His pen paused briefly over the paper, a drop of ink expanding into a small blot.

The voice grew easier to ignore as he lost himself in his studies, imagining the look on Max's face when Alexander finally, finally won.

Whatever it took, he would show them all.