Chapter 69 – Excellence Camp – Duel Hall IX

Ashern City - Duel Hall, 22nd of Brightforge, year 315 UC

The roar of the crowd echoed through the duel hall as Lisa Rowe and Rosemary Graves circled each other in the fighting pit below. Bryan watched from his seat, analyzing their movements. Lisa had just unleashed a spell he hadn't seen her use before—a barrier of wind that enclosed around Rosemary right as she shot off three shards of ice, a spell she had unlocked just days ago during combat training.

Unlike the Arena Sync Bracelets they wore at the academy, here the competitors wore full combat suits—older models, but serving the same purpose. The black material clung to the duelists' bodies, tiny blue lights pulsing along the seams as they registered hits and simulated injuries.

"Your mother mentioned she might attend."

Bryan said to Farrah, his eyes still tracking the wind barrier slowly closing in around Rosemary.

"Is she here?"

Farrah shook her head.

"She's in the city, but not at the duel hall. She doesn't really enjoy these types of events."

She adjusted her position in her seat, crossing one leg over the other.

"She'll make an appearance if it's politically wise, otherwise—"

"I came with her."

Randel interjected from Farrah's other side, leaning forward so Bryan could see him. His brown hair fell across his forehead as he moved.

"And your younger brother is here too."

Farrah turned to him, surprise evident in her expression.

"Elie came?"

Randel grinned, his eyes bright with mischief.

"He sure did."

"And no one is watching him, are they?"

Farrah asked, her tone suggesting this was a significant concern.

"Of course not."

Randel replied with exaggerated innocence.

They stared at each other for a moment before both burst into laughter, clearly sharing some private joke that needed no explanation between them.

Bryan watched their interaction from the corner of his eye, noting how Farrah's entire demeanor seemed to brighten around Randel. The easy camaraderie between them spoke of years of shared experiences—inside jokes, common references, a history he wasn't part of and never would be.

He had nothing like that with anyone, except perhaps Zoltan—who still hadn't reappeared since that fleeting glimpse behind Rose Garden dormitory. The mouse's absence bothered him more than he cared to admit. Had their last conversation driven him away? Zoltan had never stayed away this long before.

Down in the arena, Lisa's wind barrier was contracting around Rosemary, who was desperately trying to counter with ice shards that shattered harmlessly against the swirling air. The crowd's cheers grew louder as the battle reached its climax.

Alexander rose from his seat beside Christopher, brushing off his uniform pants.

"Be right back."

He announced.

Christopher looked up.

"Where are you headed?"

"Just the bathroom."

Alexander said, already moving toward the stairs.

"I'll be back in a bit."

Bryan let Alexander go by without comment, his attention returning to the match below. Farrah leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"He's looking a lot better today."

Bryan nodded in agreement. Alexander showed none of the jitteriness or unnatural energy that had characterized his behavior lately. No trembling hands, no darting eyes—all positive signs.

"Randel, are you joining the academy too?"

Sabrina asked, leaning forward to see around Farrah.

"I was accepted."

Randel confirmed, settling back in his seat.

"I thought I might make it into the Excellence Camp, but apparently I just wasn't talented enough."

Though his tone was light, Bryan caught the undercurrent of genuine disappointment.

"That's plain bullshit."

Sabrina declared, her coffee-brown braid swinging as she shook her head.

"Your power seems incredible."

Randel laughed softly.

"It is what it is."

"She's right."

Christopher added, his normally stoic expression softening slightly.

"I've never encountered someone with time magic before. If anyone deserved a spot, they should have included you."

Bryan noted silently that there seemed to be many "firsts" for his teammates. They'd never encountered blood magic either before meeting him. Given the rarity of attributes like erosion, gravity, shadow, darkness, light, and magma, it wasn't surprising. While such mages existed, they represented a tiny fraction of the magical population. Erosion and gravity users were particularly rare—he'd never met another besides Alessia, Alan, and Victor.

"Thanks."

Randel said.

"But I'm really not anything special. I'm just hoping to make it through the regular term."

He leaned forward slightly.

"How is it, by the way? Is it as hard as everyone says?"

"Nah."

Sabrina waved dismissively.

"Not hard at all."

Christopher gave her a pointed look.

"That's not what you were saying a few days ago."

Randel laughed.

"In all seriousness, I'm just glad to be going to the same academy as Farrah. We're going to get into so much trouble."

"We are not."

Farrah protested, though her smile suggested she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Lisa delivered the final blow, her wind barrier completely enveloping Rosemary before contracting sharply. The match ended with Lisa's victory, the announcer's voice barely audible over the audience's enthusiasm.

Bryan found the reaction excessive—the duel had been decent but hardly spectacular. Nothing worth the deafening roar that filled the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our next match features two promising young mages from the Excellence Camp!"

The announcer's voice boomed through the hall.

"Please welcome Max Argoon, lightning mage from Team One, and Alexander Silvermark, water mage from Team Three!"

"No fucking way."

Christopher and Sabrina exclaimed in near-perfect unison.

Bryan's attention snapped to the fighting pit where two doors were sliding open. Alexander emerged from one, dressed in the black combat suit, his blonde hair stark against the dark material. Max stepped out from the opposite entrance, his confident stride contrasting sharply with Alexander's more hesitant movements.

Farrah made an agitated gesture with her hands.

"What is he doing?"

Randel glanced between them, confusion evident on his face.

"Why do you all sound so worried? Shouldn't you be cheering him on?"

"Alexander wasn't even on the schedule to fight."

Farrah explained.

"And he specifically said he wasn't going to participate."

"Ah."

Randel nodded, though his expression suggested he still didn't fully understand their alarm.

"Oh no, he's going to be devastated."

Sabrina said, sinking lower in her seat.

Christopher nodded grimly.

"How can Alexander be so foolish?"

"You all need to relax."

Randel told them.

"It's just a duel. No one's dying out there."

Sabrina shook her head.

"You don't understand. Alexander has lost every single fight he's been in."

"That bad?"

Randel asked.

"Very."

Christopher confirmed.

Bryan noticed that sometime during this exchange, Farrah had grabbed the hem of his sleeve. She didn't seem to realize how tightly she was gripping the fabric as she stared down at the fighting pit.

"There's a first time for everything."

Randel said optimistically.

"He could still win."

Sabrina looked over at Farrah.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Farrah replied, her voice uncharacteristically small.

"You're all giving off some seriously negative energy."

Randel said, shaking his head.

"You should support him, not assume he's going to lose."

"We will support him, win or lose."

Christopher said firmly.

"But if Alexander loses this, I don't think he'll be able to recover from the embarrassment."

The duel began, both competitors circling each other from a distance. Max struck first, launching a spear of lightning that cut through the air with a sharp crackle. He followed immediately with a second spear, the attacks coming in quick succession.

Alexander dodged the first spear with surprising agility, then quickly formed a water bubble to deflect the second. The lightning spear burst the bubble on impact, but the maneuver gave Alexander enough time to evade.

Recovering his stance, Alexander sent a water bubble floating toward Max, who made no attempt to dodge.

Bryan heard Sabrina click her tongue in frustration.

"Why isn't he dodging?"

Randel asked.

"Alexander can't hold his spell for long."

Christopher explained, his eyes fixed on the arena.

"Max isn't worried about it, knowing it will falter."

Randel nodded thoughtfully. Farrah finally tore her gaze from the fighting pit to look at him.

"What?"

He asked her.

Farrah didn't say a word.

Randel rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Fine."

He said, as if responding to an unspoken request. After a moment, his eyebrows rose.

"Oh, that's interesting."

"What?"

Farrah asked urgently.

Randel motioned toward the pit.

"Just watch."

Below, Alexander's water bubble had successfully imprisoned Max, enveloping him completely. A second passed, then two, but the bubble remained intact—far longer than Alexander had ever maintained a spell before.

Alexander made a motion with his hand, as if tightening something. The water bubble that had enveloped Max's entire body slowly shrank until it covered only his head, leaving the rest of his body free but unable to breathe.

"That's new."

Sabrina said, standing up and shouting in support of Alexander. Her voice joined the growing roar of the crowd.

Christopher shouted as well but remained seated, his usual stoicism momentarily forgotten.

Max, with his hands now free, reached up to the water bubble covering his face, struggling to remove it. His movements grew increasingly desperate as he fought for air.

Bryan realized the boy's overconfidence had led him into a trap. Alexander had used his own reputation for weakness as a strength—allowing Max to underestimate him.

Max pointed a finger outward, and a bolt of lightning zipped through the air, striking Alexander. Sparks cascaded up Alexander's body as he twitched violently, his concentration broken. The water bubble finally dissipated, freeing Max.

Bryan wondered why Alexander hadn't raised a barrier to block the attack. Perhaps he'd been caught up in the moment, not thinking clearly. Or more likely, he'd exhausted his ether on maintaining the water bubble for so long.

Max grabbed his throat, coughing violently as he recovered. Once steady, he advanced toward Alexander, who was still disoriented from the lightning strike. A new lightning spear formed in Max's hand, but instead of throwing it, he held it like a physical weapon.

Max charged at Alexander, who attempted to dodge but moved too slowly. The lightning spear pierced Alexander's leg, drawing a scream of pain that echoed through the arena. Max kicked Alexander to the ground, yanked out the spear, and drove it into Alexander's leg a second time.

The crowd went wild, their cheers growing louder with each brutal attack. The spectacle of violence seemed to feed their enthusiasm.

"I can't watch this."

Sabrina said, sinking back into her seat and covering her eyes.

Farrah's grip moved from Bryan's sleeve to his hand, her fingers digging into his skin with surprising strength. Bryan felt the pressure building to the point of pain and subtly used body augmentation to reinforce his hand. He could have asked her to loosen her grip, but something stopped him from speaking.

Down in the pit, Max continued his assault on Alexander. The combat suit simulated real injuries, restricting movement in damaged body parts while transmitting pain signals to the wearer. With each withdrawal and reinsertion of the lightning spear, Alexander's screams grew more agonized.

The crowd's enthusiasm for the brutal display disturbed Bryan. This wasn't a demonstration of skill—it was torture disguised as sport.

'Come on, do something.'

Bryan thought, though he knew it was futile. Alexander had done his best, but it simply wasn't enough against an opponent like Max.

Alexander raised his hand as if to block the attacks, his scream changing from pain to something else—determination, perhaps, or desperation. Suddenly, a massive burst of water erupted from his hands, blasting Max backward with unexpected force.

"Hydro Stream!"

Christopher and Randel shouted in unison, leaping to their feet.

The crowd's cheering reached a new crescendo, the sound almost painful in its intensity.

Max, caught by the attack at close range, was launched upward by three feet before crashing back to the sand. He lay there, shouting in frustration but unable to move as the combat suit simulated the paralysis his real body would experience from such an impact.

Alexander stared at his hand in shock, as if unable to believe what he'd just done. After a moment, he began crawling toward Max, his legs still restricted by the combat suit's simulation of his injuries.

Bryan analyzed what had happened. Max had made a critical error—playing with his opponent instead of finishing him quickly. By targeting only Alexander's legs, he'd left his arms free. The prolonged torture had given Alexander time to gather his strength for one desperate attack.

When Alexander reached Max, he began raining blows down on his immobilized opponent. The strikes lacked technique but carried all of Alexander's pent-up frustration and pain.

"Alexander Silvermark is the winner!"

The announcer declared, his voice carrying a note of surprise.

As soon as the combat suit's restrictions were lifted, Max shoved Alexander off and delivered a punch to his face before storming out of the pit. The announcer made a disapproving comment about sportsmanship as Max disappeared through the exit.

Christopher jumped to his feet.

"I'm going to check on him."

"Yeah, I'm coming too."

Sabrina added quickly, both of them looking stunned by the outcome.

The pressure on Bryan's hand finally eased as Farrah released her grip. She looked down at their hands and then up at his face, her green eyes wide with realization.

"Sorry."

She said softly, pulling her hand away.

Farrah stood up after Christopher and Sabrina had left.

"I think I'll go as well."

Bryan nodded.

"I'll be there shortly."

She grabbed Randel's arm and left, their heads close together in conversation as they descended the stairs.

Bryan remained in his seat, contemplating what he'd just witnessed. The entire fight had defied expectations, particularly the outcome.

Alexander's initial strategy had been clever—using his reputation for weakness to lull Max into a false sense of security. That water bubble technique at the beginning might have won him the match if Max hadn't reacted when he did.

But Bryan knew Alexander's capabilities intimately from their training sessions. What he'd just demonstrated was beyond his established skill level. With Alexander's poor ether control, maintaining a spell for that duration should have been impossible. And adjusting the size of the water bubble—a technique requiring even more than simple conjuring—was completely out of character.

Bryan's mind returned to the conversation he'd overheard between Alexander and Marcellus. This performance confirmed his suspicions more than any confession could have. Alexander had taken something before the duel—it was the only logical explanation.

With that conclusion firmly in mind, Bryan rose from his seat and headed downstairs to find the others. He navigated through the crowded corridors toward the competitors' area, passing a medical officer tending to Max, who was slamming his fist against a wall in frustration.

Bryan found Christopher and Sabrina standing outside a closed door, Randel leaning against the opposite wall.

"Why are you out here?"

Bryan asked.

Christopher looked up, concern evident in his expression.

"He's not letting anyone in for some reason."

"His first win, and he doesn't even want to see us."

Sabrina grumbled, her arms crossed over her chest.

"At least he let Farrah in."

Randel added, gesturing toward the door.

Bryan looked at the closed door, considering his options. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Farrah emerged with a medical officer. Her eyes were slightly reddened, as if she'd been fighting back tears.

"He's doing fine."

She said, her voice carefully controlled.

"Just took more damage than he thought. You can see him in a bit."

She turned to Bryan.

"But he wants to see you."

Bryan blinked in surprise.

"Me?"

Farrah nodded, pushing him forward gently.

"Just go."

As he moved past her, Bryan noticed her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. The sight confused him—why would she be so emotional over Alexander's victory?

The preparation room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptic. Alexander lay on a bench, a towel draped over his face. His combat suit had been partially removed, revealing his torso. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent in the low light.

"Bryan?"

Alexander's voice was weak, barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me."

Bryan replied, stopping a few feet from the bench.

Alexander raised his hand, giving a weak thumbs-up.

"Were you watching?"

"Yeah, I was."

Bryan confirmed.

"So was everyone else."

Alexander laughed weakly, the sound more like a wheeze.

"I did it. Bet no one thought I would either."

He raised the towel slightly, and Bryan saw that his lips had taken on a bluish tinge. The sight was alarming—a clear sign of physiological distress.

"They all thought I would lose, right?"

Alexander asked, his eyes seeking confirmation.

Bryan nodded, unable to deny it. The truth was written in his expression.

Alexander let the towel fall back over his face.

"But I didn't. I proved them all wrong, showed them that Alexander Silvermark is here to stay."

Despite the triumphant words, Bryan caught the faint sounds of suppressed sobs from beneath the towel. Alexander's body trembled slightly with the effort of containing his emotions.

Bryan looked away, uncomfortable with the display of vulnerability.

"Alexander—"

He began, but was cut off.

"You knew."

Alexander said flatly.

Bryan hesitated.

"I had an idea."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

Alexander replied.

"You're always watching."

Alexander's hand banged softly against the edge of the bench.

"All I wanted was to win."

He said, his voice breaking.

"Just once. But I didn't know it would be this bad."

"Am I going to be expelled?"

He asked after a moment, fear evident in his voice.

Bryan didn't answer immediately, weighing his response.

"Bryan?"

Alexander called, a note of desperation in his voice.

"No."

Bryan finally replied.

"Probably punished, but not expelled."

"That's good."

Alexander said, relief evident in his voice.

"Real good."

Silence fell between them, broken only by Alexander's uneven breathing. After a moment, he spoke again.

"At least I finally unlocked a useful spell. Hydro Stream."

There was a hint of genuine pride beneath the exhaustion.

"Can you believe it? Me, with Hydro Stream?"

"Yeah."

Bryan said simply.

As he stood there, Farrah's words from days ago echoed in his mind. She had urged him to praise Alexander, to acknowledge his efforts rather than just pointing out his flaws.

At the time, Bryan had dismissed the suggestion. Why praise mediocrity? Especially when he'd suspected Alexander was using enhancement substances rather than putting in the hard work to improve naturally.

But now, listening to Alexander's muffled sobs, Bryan felt an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. Had his harsh assessments, his constant focus on Alexander's weaknesses, contributed to this moment? If he had offered even a small word of encouragement, would Alexander have felt less desperate to prove himself through artificial means?

No one had ever praised Alexander during combat training—it was always "you can do better" or "maybe next time." Never "good job" or "you're improving." In that moment, Bryan realized that Alexander must have felt completely alone, with no one in his corner.

"You did good, man."

Bryan said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

"Real good."

Alexander lifted the towel, revealing a tear-streaked face and a genuine smile.

"Thanks."

He lowered the towel again.

"I'm never doing this again. It was just a one-time thing."

"For once."

Alexander continued, his voice steadying.

"I just didn't want to be pitied. Didn't want to be the weak link."

Before Bryan could respond, the door opened. He turned to see Gloria entering.

"Blackwood."

She said.

"Get lost. I need to have a word with Cadet Silvermark."

Bryan nodded, moving toward the door.

"We'll be waiting for you."

He told Alexander.

"Just rest up."

Outside, the others were still gathered, their expressions anxious. Christopher stepped forward.

"What happened? Is he okay?"

For the second time that day, Bryan realized what Farrah had done. Her explanation about Alexander taking more damage than expected wasn't for Alexander's benefit—it was for theirs. She had lied to protect them from worry, to shield them from the harsh reality of what was happening.

"He's recovering."

Bryan said, choosing his words carefully.

"They called the instructor because the suit had an issue during the duel, and Max's spear did hurt him. They're assessing what they should do next, and how best to handle it."

The relief on their faces was immediate, and Bryan felt a strange satisfaction in having protected them from the truth. Perhaps this was what Farrah had meant about team leadership—sometimes it wasn't about being right, but about doing what was best for the team.

As they waited for Alexander, Bryan's thoughts turned to his own upcoming match against Julius. After what he'd just witnessed, the duel seemed less important somehow.