Chapter 186: Kael Ashford Vs Darius!
Ground One!
Students crowded around the arena’s edges, their voices hushed with excitement and curiosity.
A duel between Kael—the quiet, unremarkable newcomer—and Darius, the rank third of
second-year, was not something anyone expected to witness today.
Kael stood in the center, his hands wrapped around the hilt of the heavy tungsten sword.
The weapon dragged slightly against the ground, leaving faint scratches in the dirt.
He tried to steady his breathing, but even holding the blade upright made his arms ache.
Across from him, Darius stepped forward with a glare that could cut sharper than his sword.
His stance was confident and arrogant. The polished blade in his hands gleamed under the sunlight, much lighter and swifter than the burden Kael carried.
"Kael," Darius said coldly, pointing the tip of his blade forward.
"I don’t care what excuses you have. Today, I’ll show everyone why you don’t deserve to stand near her."
Kael didn’t respond. He only tightened his grip and prepared himself.
(So he really is serious about this crush thing... This is ridiculous.)
Then Darius dashed forward. His footwork was clean, swift, and refined—a clear sign of a trained swordsman.
"Swift Slash!" Darius shouted, his blade cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.
Kael barely managed to raise his tungsten sword, blocking the strike.
The impact rattled through his arms like a hammer blow, and the sheer weight of his weapon almost pulled him off balance.
"Tch," he hissed under his breath, quickly stepping back.
Darius didn’t slow down. He flowed into his next attack seamlessly.
"Piercing Thrust!" His sword lunged forward with deadly precision, aimed straight at Kael’s shoulder.
Kael twisted his body at the last moment, the thrust grazing past him.
He swung his own sword in response, but the tungsten blade moved too slowly. By the time it reached the spot where Darius had been, his opponent had already darted away.
(Too heavy... Every swing feels like dragging a boulder. At this rate, I’ll exhaust myself before I even land a hit.)
"Crimson Arc!" Darius’s voice rang again as his sword curved upward in a glowing arc of energy.
Kael bent his knees and rolled to the side, dirt clinging to his clothes.
The audience gasped at the clash of styles. Darius’s movements were sharp, fast, and filled with practiced skill.
Kael, on the other hand, looked clumsy, dodging desperately, each of his swings sluggish and easily avoided.
Yet he wasn’t giving up.
Blow after blow rained down on him. Darius’s strikes grazed his arms, cut across his side, and slammed against his shoulder.
Each hit stung, drawing sweat and shallow wounds, but Kael kept moving. His heavy sword dragged him down, each swing leaving him breathless, but his eyes remained sharp, locked on Darius.
"Why won’t you fall?!" Darius snarled after his fifth skill failed to bring Kael down.
He pressed forward again, sweat dripping down his brow, his breathing growing ragged.
Kael realized it then, Darius’s speed and skill came at a cost.
He was pouring everything into offense, chaining skills one after another.
His strikes were powerful, but his stamina was fading faster than expected.
(So that’s your weakness... You’re relying too much on flashy skills. But me? All I need to do... is endure.)
Kael shifted his stance, focusing more on dodging than swinging.
Each time Darius attacked, Kael forced his body to move just enough to avoid the blow.
It wasn’t perfect—he still took hits—but the heavy sword in his hands became more of a shield than a weapon.
"Arghhh!" Darius roared, slashing again with a furious downward cut.
Kael sidestepped, his own blade dragging across the ground as he barely lifted it to deflect the edge.
The clash sparked, the tungsten ringing like a dull bell.
The audience could see it now—though Kael looked battered, his stubbornness kept him standing.
Meanwhile, Darius’s polished technique began to look strained, his breathing became uneven, his swings slightly slower than before.
Kael’s chest heaved with exhaustion. His arms burned as though on fire.
Every time he lifted the tungsten blade, it felt like it grew heavier. And yet, he refused to let go.
He smirked faintly, his eyes never leave Darius.
"Is this all, rank third?" Kael muttered under his breath.
Darius gritted his teeth, his pride wounded. "Don’t mock me!"
He raised his blade for another technique, but his hands trembled. His once-perfect stance wavered. For the first time, doubt flickered in his eyes.
And though Kael was covered in bruises and his body screamed with pain, the sight of Darius faltering gave him the strength to keep going.
(To win... I don’t need speed. I just need to outlast you.)
The battle continued, a clash of pride and endurance, every moment pushing them closer to the breaking point.
The clash of blades echoed one last time across Ground One, followed by the sound of a body crashing hard onto the dirt.
Kael gasped, his vision blurring. His knees buckled as his heavy tungsten sword slipped from his grasp, slamming into the ground beside him with a dull thud.
Blood dripped from a deep cut along his shoulder, staining his torn uniform.
His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, every inhale sharp with pain.
Darius stood above him, his own sword gleaming with fresh streaks of crimson. His lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Pathetic," Darius spat, lowering his blade.
"This is what happens when someone like you dares to stand against me."
A ripple of whispers spread across the circle of second-year students surrounding the arena.
Their murmurs carried a mix of mockery and pity, none of it kind.
"He didn’t even last that long."
"Rank third really is on another level... Kael never stood a chance."
"That sword of his—what a joke. He couldn’t even swing it properly."
Darius laughed, feeding off the admiration of his peers.
"Look at him. Covered in blood, barely able to breathe. And he thought he could stand where I stand?!"
Kael pressed his palms into the ground, trying to push himself up, but his body betrayed him.
His arms shook violently, collapsing again beneath his weight. Blood seeped from multiple cuts, mixing with the dirt beneath him.
His vision darkened at the edges, but his spirit stubbornly refused to give in.
(I... can’t... stay down. Not in front of them all...)