Chapter 192

Boris wanted to win.

That truth sat heavy in him as he faced the girl across the red sand. Winning was not a matter of pride for him. It was a conclusion, something earned through correct decisions and disciplined restraint. If this were a battlefield rather than a tournament, he would already be pressing forward with everything he had.

But this was not a battlefield.

Kana’s instructions lingered in his thoughts. Third place. The ring. 

He did not fully understand why that prize mattered so much to her. But he trusted her judgment enough to hold back. He always did.

Still, as Mica advanced, something in him shifted.

She did not move like the other students he had faced. There was no hesitation in her stride, no careful testing of distance. She ran straight at him, feet tearing through the artificial red sand, each step sending grains scattering into the winter air.

She was fast. Faster than he had expected.

Boris tightened his grip on the spear.

He had been cautious all tournament, careful to limit the force behind his strikes. These were students after all and not dungeon monsters. Even skilled ones could break under a full blow. He knew his own strength, and he knew how thin the line was between victory and catastrophe.

Mica did not feel like someone who would break easily.

She closed the distance in a blur.

Boris struck first.

[Cleave]

He drove the spear into the sand with deliberate force. The enchanted ground shattered beneath the impact, red dust and grit exploding upward in a thick cloud. The sound rolled across the arena like thunder.

The strike was not meant to hit her.

It was meant to control space.

Spear against gauntlets gave him reach. If he kept her at a distance, he could dictate the pace of the fight.

The dust had not yet settled when she burst through it.

Mica leapt forward, her silhouette emerging from the red haze, gauntlets raised. Boris caught a glimpse of her face as she came in. Her teeth were clenched, her eyes locked on him with an intensity that felt almost predatory.

She jumped.

Her fist came down in a straight, deadly arc.

Boris twisted the spear shaft just in time.

Metal rang against metal. The impact shuddered through his arms, vibration biting deep into muscle and bone. Sparks flashed where the enchanted steel met her gauntlet. He stepped back, pivoting on his heel, and thrust forward in the same motion. The spear tip cut through the air, fast enough to force her to recoil.

She did not retreat far.

They collided again.

Her punches came in quick succession, each one precise, each one driving forward. Boris answered with controlled movements, deflecting strikes with the shaft, redirecting momentum, never overcommitting as if a matador dancing with a Bull.

The red sand churned beneath them, stained darker where it clung to sweat and armor. Every movement carved lines into the ground, a record of the fight written in shifting grains.

The crowd’s roar faded from Boris’ awareness.

There was only Mica.

Whenever she pushed too close, Boris answered the same way.

[Cleave]

The spear struck down, the ground erupted, and space opened again between them. Not to overwhelm her. Just enough to reset the engagement.

Again and again, they circled and clashed. Fist against the shaft. Gauntlet against blade. Each exchange was heavier than the last.

Mica fought like a beast, direct and relentless. Boris smiled for a moment. He preferred a wild beast than a tricky warrior. And Boris realized something unsettling. He was enjoying it. And he wasn’t holding back any longer.

….

Boris did not realize it at first.

The battlefield had narrowed without his notice, the world shrinking until there was only red sand beneath his boots and the cute—scary girl in front of him. Somewhere behind him, his teammates had halted their advance. Somewhere across the arena, Mica’s group had done the same as if it was an unspoken rule. Skills remained uncast. Weapons stayed lowered.

Everyone was watching.

The crowd’s roar swelled with each exchange, sound crashing against the stone walls of the coliseum. Every clash of metal drew gasps, every near miss tightened the tension like a drawn bowstring.

This was not a fight anymore.

It was a balance, fragile and absolute. One mistake would decide everything. And everyone was anticipating the outcome.

Boris struck the ground again.

[Cleave].

The spear crashed down, and the enchanted red sand erupted upward, a rising veil of dust and grit. The cloud rolled between them, swallowing sight, scattering the battlefield into chaos.

As the sand rose, Boris inhaled.

He shifted his breathing, falling into the old rhythm Zia had drilled into them long before tournaments and crowds. Slow in. Controlled out. His presence softened, folded inward, intent dulled to a whisper. It was a technique meant for hunting, for vanishing in plain sight.

Against most opponents, it worked.

Mica stepped through the dust without hesitation.

Her gaze locked onto him instantly.

Boris felt a spark of delight.

Her awareness was sharp. Too sharp. Like Kana’s.

Tricks did not work on people like that. Or maybe he was not good enough like Zia.

He grinned as he drew the spear back into guard. If this was what it took, then he would gladly meet her here. He could strike all day if he needed to. He would let the rhythm carry him.

Minutes stretched.

Then more.

Gauntlet met spear again and again, metal ringing loud and destructive. Sparks burst at each collision, brief stars against the red haze. Neither of them gave ground. Neither overextended.

Time lost meaning.

Half an hour passed, unnoticed by all but the most disciplined observers. No one interfered. Both teams remained frozen, caught between caution and awe. This duel had claimed the arena.

Boris’ breathing deepened, sweat soaking into his armor, dripping into the sand. His arms burned, mana thinning with every use of [Cleave], every adjustment, every calculated strike.

Mica looked worse.

Her breaths came ragged now, chest rising and falling hard. Sweat slicked her skin, catching the light. Her eyes flickered, shifting, something feral pressing against the surface. When she bared her teeth, they were no longer entirely human.

Still, she did not retreat.

Still, she advanced.

That was when Boris felt it.

The emptiness.

Mana gone.

His last [Cleave] struck weaker than the rest, the sand rising slower, thinner. He adjusted instantly, compensating with footwork, relying on muscle and training. Because they wouldn’t betray him.

Mica lunged.

Her fist came in low, fast, desperate.

Boris twisted the spear and struck with the haft, a precise, controlled blow aimed not to break, but to end.

The impact landed.

Mica staggered.

She remained standing for a heartbeat longer, body trembling, eyes unfocused, still defiant even as consciousness slipped away. Then her strength failed her. She fell.

Boris was already moving.

He caught her before she hit the ground, easing her down with care. The moment her body settled, her team shouted as one.

“We surrender!”

They rushed forward, panic cutting through discipline as they surrounded her. Supporters flooded the arena from the sidelines, magic already flaring.

The crowd erupted.

Applause thundered through the coliseum, raw and relentless. Professor Fin stood among them, unmistakable even at a distance, his massive hands clapping in slow, deliberate approval. Proud how Boris had won.

The announcer’s voice rang out, declaring the victory.

Boris barely heard it.

He stared at his hands.

They were shaking.

If the fight had gone on longer, if she had held out just a little more, he knew the truth. He would have been the one collapsing into the sand.

His stamina had reached its limit. Reality returned all at once.

Noise. Movement. His teammates sprinted toward him, shouting his name. Someone clapped him on the back. Someone else laughed in disbelief.

Suri appeared at his side, arms crossed, smirking.

“You should be grateful to me,” she said lightly. “I let you have all the attention this time.”

Before he could reply, Adam lifted him clean off the ground. Cheers erupted anew as they hoisted him up, voices rising, chanting his name until it echoed from stone to stone.

…..

Kana arrived at the participants’ room expecting noise.

Laughter. Relief. The loose, exhausted joy of people who had survived something difficult and emerged victorious.

Instead, she walked into silence.

The room felt larger than it should have been, emptied not just of students but of sound itself. Only a few groups remained. Most of the defeated had already drifted into the crowd above, becoming spectators to a story they were no longer part of. Here, the air was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and lingering mana.

“I’m proud of you guys—”

Kana stopped mid-sentence.

No one looked up.

They sat scattered around the room, backs hunched, heads lowered. Weapons rested untouched at their sides. Even Suri, usually restless, was uncharacteristically still. It was as if the weight of what could have been pressed harder than the exhaustion of battle.

“What’s wrong?” Kana asked quietly, stepping closer to Rin.

Rin inhaled deeply before answering, as though preparing herself.

“We know you want the third-rank prize,” Rin said at last. “We really do.” She clenched her fists atop her knees. “But winning… every match feels different. Each fight changes something. It makes you believe.”

Yuri nodded, her voice softer but no less firm. “We want to compete until the end. Not just place high. We want to know if we belong up there. With them.” Her eyes lifted, burning with a quiet resolve. “Right now, it feels like we could win it all.”

Kana fell silent.

She understood. Too well.

Victory had a way of reshaping expectations. Each win sharpened ambition, made restraint feel like cowardice instead of strategy. She glanced away, her thoughts racing. The third-rank prize itself was uncertain. Would the winners even sell it? Would they negotiate at all? Risking everything for a possibility felt reckless. And yet…

Her gaze landed on Suri.

Suri was fidgeting with her fingernails, eyes unfocused, as if the conversation barely concerned her.

“How about you, Suri?” Kana asked. “What do you think?”

Suri paused. She looked up slowly, her usual playful expression absent. For a moment, she looked almost… tired. Suri spoke calmly. “Do I look like someone who enjoys hurting people?”

The room became quiet for a few seconds. “....”

“I want this to end,” Suri continued. “I’ve just been going along with what’s happening.”

The words hung there, unsettling.

Memories rushed back to everyone at once. Bare fists crashing into Valdis made everyone face grimaces. Bunch of lightning thrown without hesitation. The crowd’s cheers echoing as opponents fall and Suri was enjoying every bit of it.

Leo forced a smile. “I don’t think that’s something we should hear coming from you.”

Several heads nodded instinctively.

Suri blinked. “What?”

Kana took a slow breath.

If she didn’t act now, she knew what would happen. They would push forward. They would fight again. And they might win. Or they might lose everything she was trying to protect. Of course, she wasn’t sure at all.

Her hand curled unconsciously.

I need something. Gold wouldn’t work. None of them truly understood its value yet. What else is there? Dungeon item? I also need them..

Then there was only one thing left. Something they couldn’t refuse.

“If you surrender your next match,” Kana said carefully, “I’ll tell you something.”

Everyone looked up.

“I’ll tell you our secret.”

Silence.

“Why Boris, Suri, and I are stronger than most students.”

Eyes widened. Even Suri stopped moving. Boris didn’t care much as if he was expecting it at some point.

“How we, from an unknown village,” Kana continued, her voice steady but heavy, “could surpass nobles trained since childhood. Why could we stand against fourth years..”

The atmosphere felt charged now, not with mana, but with anticipation.

Because they all knew the question.

And because some truths, once revealed, could never be taken back.

Post note:

Party going bigger?
Hope you enjoy the chap! 🙂