Combat Class

"Hey, come on, get up! You're gonna be late on the first day!" Shadolf was trying to wake Arian by relentlessly licking his face, which had thoroughly slicked his silver hair back.

Arian pushed Shadolf away with his hands but suddenly sat bolt upright. "Ow!" He put his hand on his head, which had smacked into the underside of the upper bunk.

"Finally awake, sleepyhead?" Leo laughed at Arian's predicament as he pulled on his training gear. "They brought the schedule. Our first class is Combat."

"Oww. Who schedules a fight for the first day of school?" Arian quickly shoved a bite of the omelet Leo had prepared into his mouth. "Mmm, what's that amazing smell?" He used his hand to waft the scent of the food toward his nose.

"Arian, this little guy is your familiar, right? His name's Shadolf? He's so handsome. Hey, is he coming to class with you too?" Leo cradled Shadolf in his arms, stroking his fur.

"Nah, I don't think they'll allow it. But then again... the rules don't explicitly say he's forbidden. If they let me, it's unlikely anyone could stand against him." Arian popped another bite into his mouth, shooting a sidelong glance at Shadolf, who was wriggling contentedly in Leo's embrace.

Finally, the time had come for the group to head to the training grounds. They made their way slowly down the stairs, exchanging greetings with other students. At the bottom of the stairs, Abtin saw them off, wishing them a good day.

They retraced their path back toward the school's center. The morning breeze, the delightful chorus of birds, and the distant scent of the sea accompanied them on their way.

There, in the center of the very same arena where Arian had fainted on his first day, stood their perpetually gruff instructor, Abraham.

"Well, well... our precious first-years." The smirk playing on his lips was utterly at odds with his words. "As you know, today's class is Combat. But before we begin, I need to outline the class structure for you." He began to pace, cracking his knuckles.

"Rule number one: I don't see much difference between a mage and an enhancer. Your training regimens are identical, and you will face each other in combat.

Rule number two: Your factions only matter during missions, not inside my classroom. Don't get too attached to the slogans of others.

Rule number three: I have no issue with bringing familiars to combat classes. However, they are not permitted in any other classes." His eyes met those of a black-furred wolf.

Arian's once-excited eyes had grown dull during Abraham's lengthy speech, losing their previous spark. Of course, he wasn't alone; all the students had fallen into the same listless state.

"Alright, I think that's enough speechifying. It's written all over your faces." Abraham scratched the corner of his lip, the gesture mirroring the scar on his face. "Now, warm up first. Then we'll move to the main event: a spar between the top examinees... Why? Because thanks to a certain someone, this match was left incomplete before." His eyes did nothing to hide the fury he held for Arian.

All the students began running laps around the arena, chatting amongst themselves.

"Father, aren't you a bit... tense?" Shadolf's voice began to speak within the confines of Arian's mind.

"I don't know, boy. Maybe, maybe not. But I miss adventuring with Zinarphil. All of this feels like child's play." Arian's brow was furrowed.

"I think it's good. Training with that master of yours was truly difficult." Shadolf let out a purring sound and remained seated on the bleachers.

The sound of clapping reached their ears, capturing everyone's attention. "Alright, kids, now it's time for the spar." Abraham was still standing in the center, his eyes scanning the tired bodies—though among them were individuals who showed no signs of fatigue, like sweating or heavy breathing.

"First match: Maro of the Order of Shadow against Silver of the Children of the Root." With a gesture of his hands, he summoned both combatants to the arena.

Maro tightened the white gloves on his hands, his eyes fixed on Silver, who was drawing a dagger from its sheath—a blade that seemed slightly rusted.

Abraham had already left the arena and was now seated in a chair, his feet propped up on a table.

"A pleasure to meet you, Silver. I'm Maro."

"No introduction needed. Everyone knows you five troublemakers." Silver turned his head toward Arian and the rest of the group.

"Well, that's a nice description, but incomplete. We're not just troublemakers—we're warriors." In an instant, he launched himself forward, closing the distance between himself and Silver with the terrifying speed unique to the Bloodasham.

Silver quickly raised his dagger and arm to block the fist aimed at his face, but Maro's strike landed beneath his chest, forcing him backward.

The sound of "oohs" and scattered applause reached their ears. It seemed some of the students had even started placing bets.

Abraham was yelling, "Hey, you're both slow and predictable! What kind of fight is this? Who talks or turns their head in the middle of the arena?!"

Maro had his guard up, his feet moving in a fluid dance, waiting for Silver, who was now back on his feet. And once again, that terrifying smile baring his fangs was on full display.

Silver's dagger became sheathed in mana, emitting a chilling cold. "That was a heavy punch."

In response to Maro's punch, Silver launched a swift counterattack. He kept moving his hands in strange, intricate motions. Droplets of blood began to drip from Maro's sleeve, gradually quickening into a steady flow.

In a corner of the arena, where Leo, Drekaron, Arian, Layna, and Syrun stood, a conversation had broken out.

"Silver's gotten so fast!" Drekaron said in a surprised tone, one eyebrow raised.

"Maro's slowed down," Leo and Arian commented in unison, their voices blending like sportscasters.

A moment later, Leo, his eyes fixed on the match, declared, "Silver hasn't gotten faster; he's poisoned Maro!"

"Poisoned? How is that possible?" asked a bewildered Layna.

"Elven blood is poison to Bloodasham. Silver has coated his dagger in his own blood. He's clearly fought them before," said Syrun, idly twirling his staff.

In the arena, Maro was in a tough spot. His vision was blurring, and he could no longer see his opponent clearly.

"Hey, what happened to all that warrior talk?" Silver taunted, a laugh buried deep within his voice.

"That bastard used his own blood... No matter." Maro closed his eyes, relying on his next keenest sense: his hearing.

Maro still held his guard up, and this time, his evasions were sharper. In his mind, he visualized Silver's attacks, preparing for a counterstrike.

Abraham, sitting calmly, thought to himself, "Well, that Elf boy fought smart, but it seems it wasn't enough."

The sound of a cracking bone echoed through the air, horrifying everyone. Maro had launched a powerful punch square into Silver's face, slightly warping its once beautiful structure.

A silence fell over the training grounds. The match was over. The winner was Maro, who had collapsed onto his knees beside Silver's unconscious form.

All the students were stunned. On Arian's team, their faces showed nothing but concern.

"Alright, the next match—the last one for today—is between Arian of the Vanguard's Call and Drekaron of the Heirs of Equilibrium."

The gazes of Arian and Drekaron met across the space, both brimming with impatience for the fight to begin.