Avin sat rooted to the bench, unable to blink, unable to breathe.
Across from him, the two nobles squared off.
Eira dropped into a stance—basic but grounded. Her left leg slid forward, bent just enough to take weight, while her right stayed behind, angled outward, supporting balance. Her fists hovered in front of her chest, loose but ready. For someone who’d just been spouting curses and losing focus seconds earlier, her eyes were different now—razor-sharp, locked on her target.
Sylas, by contrast, moved like a man who’d practiced every gesture thousands of times. He raised his hands into a closed-guard stance. His right fist tucked near his cheek, his left angled just slightly ahead, guarding the lane toward his body. Both knees bent fractionally, distributing his weight evenly. He looked like a fortress—calm, steady, immovable.
Avin felt it first in his chest. A heaviness, like the atmosphere itself thickened. The laughter and chatter of the massive hall faded as heads turned. Students began circling them unconsciously, pulled in by the magnetism of conflict.
The ADHD girl had vanished. This was a fighter now. And Sylas—stoic and cold—was her mirror opposite.
Avin swallowed. Wait, is this actually happening?
Then, without warning—
To his eyes, they blinked out of existence. The next second, air boomed with the pop of displaced wind. Avin jerked forward, heart racing. What the fuck—where did they—
His pupils flared crimson before he realized it. The familiar rush coursed through his nerves, blood flooding into his eyes like fire. Suddenly, the blur sharpened. Their movements slowed—not in truth, but to his heightened vision.
Sylas led first, a clean left jab snapping toward Eira’s face. She pivoted sideways, her braid whipping as she slipped past. Her counter came instantly: an uppercut rising toward Sylas’s exposed ribs. Clever—she was punishing his extended arm, turning his offense into her advantage.
But Sylas bent at the waist, sliding back just enough for the fist to skim past. His right hand coiled and fired—a straight punch meant to hammer Eira as she recovered.
Eira ducked, her hair brushing the air. She drove a punch upward at his stomach. But Sylas, anticipating, snapped his knee upward.
Her knuckles slammed bone. Eira winced, shaking her hand from the impact.
And in that single falter, Sylas struck.
A hook—sharp, fast, merciless—slammed across her cheek. Her head whipped sideways, her body staggered back two steps, breath torn from her lungs.
The crowd gasped as one.
But Eira was smiling.
Before Sylas could close in, she dropped low, feigned collapse—then spun. Her leg whipped upward in a crescent, boot heel carving through air.
It smashed into Sylas’s cheek.
He gasped, stumbling sideways, shock etched across his stoic face.
Eira’s eyes gleamed. She didn’t stop.
Using her pivoting foot as anchor, she vaulted into another spinning kick, this time aimed lower. Her boot rammed into his stomach.
Sylas folded over the strike, knees dipping. For the first time, he looked vulnerable.
"Got you," she hissed, diving in with a fist. This update is available on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net
But Sylas’s eyes sharpened. His palm opened, catching her punch mid-flight. He twisted his wrist, redirecting her momentum past him. Eira stumbled half a step.
"What was that?" Avin muttered, leaning forward.
It wasn’t just blocking. Sylas wasn’t meeting her power head-on. He was guiding
Punch after punch came, fast and furious, Eira’s hair whipping, her voice grunting with every thrust. Sylas stood like a statue, calm, eyes calculating. Redirect. Redirect. Redirect.
Gasps spread through the crowd as they watched his hands blur, turning her wild offense into empty air.
Avin’s mouth went dry. He looks like a monk. Not a fighter. A wall that lets nothing through.
Finally, Eira’s strikes slowed. Sweat streaked her brow, her arms lagging. Sylas seized the opening.
This time, when her fist smacked into his palm, his fingers closed like a vice.
With a yank, he pulled her in. His right fist coiled, then detonated against her face.
The impact cracked through the golden hall. Eira’s head snapped back, her body thrown a step away—only for Sylas to hold tight and reel her back in like a fisherman with his catch.
The crowd erupted in shock. Some cheered, others flinched.
Avin gripped his knees. His stomach twisted. This isn’t sparring. He’s fighting her like—like she’s nothing but an enemy.
Sylas hammered her again. Then he released.
Eira tumbled backward, collapsing into the arms of a student at the edge of the ring. Her lip bled. Her jaw hung slack for a second before she gritted her teeth and shoved the student away.
Silence thickened. Then the roar of voices surged, echoing across the golden walls.
Avin’s eyes darted around. He hadn’t realized the circle had closed in so tightly. The duel was now the center of the hall.
His breath trembled. This is insane. This is supposed to be training. They’re killing each other.
Yet Eira staggered forward again, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
Her fist lashed out, quick as lightning. Sylas readied his palm—
But she pulled it back, a feint.
Her real strike whipped sideways, cutting past his hand to crash into his jaw.
Sylas grunted, head snapping sideways. His calm wavered.
Another punch. His head rocked back.
She pressed forward. Kick to his knee—his leg buckled, forcing him down. A sweep followed, collapsing him onto both knees.
Sylas blinked rapidly, stunned, trying to reset his stance. But Eira loomed above.
Her fists blurred, raining down on his face. Left. Right. Left. Right.
The crowd roared. Some screamed for her to stop, others shouted for more. The noise pressed against Avin’s ears like a storm.
Sylas’s face whipped with each hit, his guard faltering, arms too slow to rise. Blood spotted his lip.
Eira snarled, cocking back her fist for one final blow.
It slammed into his temple.
Sylas collapsed backward, sprawled out on the tile, arms splayed.
Eira stood over him, chest heaving, sweat and blood dripping from her chin. Her lip curled into a victorious grin.
The hall thundered with voices, a storm of disbelief and awe.
Avin sat frozen, crimson eyes wide, every detail burned into memory.
His voice cracked out of him, stunned and horrified.
"...What the fuck was that?"