Chapter 35: Duel - Raphael Blue Dorm

Raphael Blue Dorm at Clarice Academy—a residence for cadets who wield mana. Each floor here features a lavish lounge, complete with chandeliers adorning the ceiling, antique interiors that inspire instant formality, and delectable desserts crafted by chefs renowned even in the empire. This was another academy system designed to foster a scholarly atmosphere, a perk reserved solely for S-rank cadets who served as exemplars to others.

And so, Melissa Prominence—the prodigy who had claimed top freshman honors thanks to her innate talent—had invited Aria here for tea.

"Aria, doesn't it suit your taste?"

"No, it's almost too much for me."

"Hmm..."

Perhaps because half her mind was elsewhere, Melissa had barely seen Aria these past few days. Even when Melissa sought her out directly, Aria was often absent, and word had it she was frequently spotted in the training hall. A woman's intuition told Melissa a man was involved.

"You're not secretly dating someone behind my back, are you?"

"Pardon?"

"I've heard second-year seniors gossiping about some pretty girl coming and going from the training hall lately."

"...That's not me."

"Always so humble. Someone like you, Aria, could pick and choose."

"No, I couldn't."

"Hmmm... Really?"

Despite Melissa's persistent probing, Aria cut her off firmly.

Pick and choose...

Aria had never really pondered romance—it felt beyond her years anyway. Right now, her mind was filled solely with Lev Denek.

Today was the day of his duel with Gailon. The unfamiliar teas were delightful, of course, but what truly occupied her was how the duel would end. If Lev lost and had to leave the academy, she'd lose her chance to confirm her suspicions about the great demon Andras.

It was still hard to feel any fondness for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him... but deep down, Aria was quietly rooting for Lev to win.

'He hasn't caused any major incidents lately, and he hasn't harmed anyone in the end...'

There was no hypocrisy in his actions, and if anything, Aria was the one who owed him help.

Lev Denek had become that inescapable presence in Aria Bluebell's life—one she couldn't ignore no matter where or when.

"Aria?"

"..."

"Aria!"

"...Yes?"

"I invited you because it felt wasteful to eat alone. I'm starting to feel a bit hurt."

"I'm sorry. It's delicious, so please, dig in."

"Okay..."

The duel was set for noon. It was now 11 a.m... Melissa would understand—Aria hoped this tea time would end soon.

Yeogudi Green Dorm—home to cadets in utility roles, neither knights nor mages. An adjacent building housed arenas for inter-year spars, divided by floor.

In Reincarnated Hero, the mightiest hero of legend, Crune, had been a gladiator. In homage, the arenas were circular colosseums.

From time immemorial, the world's greatest spectacles were gawking at water, fire, and fights. Even in the early semester before official ranking matches, this duel had drawn a crowd across years, all buzzing with bets before it even began.

On one side, Gailon's fan club chanted their devotion.

They're really treating this like a concert.

Well, elves do have killer looks. Figures.

I descended from the stands and headed into the arena.

......

"Both of you, to your positions!"

At the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arena's center stood the sub-instructor from the selection trials.

"Sub-instructor Bella, presiding over the duel between second-year S-rank Gailon Sharptee and first-year B-rank Lev Denek."

She began her explanation with practiced ease, as if she'd done this a hundred times.

"All duel rules and post-match policies will strictly follow Clarice Academy regulations."

"If both parties agree, raise your arms at right angles and swear."

Gailon and I lifted our arms like we were taking an oath, per Bella's instruction.

[First...]

As Bella recited the duel protocols in a booming voice, he tossed out the expected taunt.

"Didn't run, huh? Thought you were a coward."

"......"

I started to ignore him, but for my planned strategy, I fired back.

"Neck feeling okay?"

"What?"

"Your nape. Gonna get stomped again today—sure you're good?"

"You little shit... If this weren't a mock battle, you'd be dead by my hand. Got it?"

"Nope."

My childish jab made him growl.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Hey, human trash. What makes you think you can hit on Selena too?"

His voice rose even louder.

"Feeling good 'cause she pitied you for a second? Disgusting."

He knew Selena had helped with my training. Come to think of it, her guidance made it way more efficient. I had gotten a lot stronger, too. Gotta thank her properly.

I grinned and replied.

"Your Selena's fire."

This duel wasn't just for students. Instructor Sylvester and Professor Macleed—soon to retire honorably—watched as well.

Professors usually focused on ranking matches, where cadets gritted their teeth in preparation. But this was different.

Because of Lev Denek—the one who'd quietly slain the monster from the selection trials.

"That the student?"

Professor Macleed's gaze fixed on the gray-haired youth with black eyes, impeccably neat.

"Yes. Seems so. Though his vibe's changed a bit."

Sylvester had noticed him too. But something was off. His presence, his aura—they'd shifted.

'Growth like this in such a short time... possible?'

Truth be told, Macleed's influence had placed him in B-rank. He should've been C at best, but they couldn't ignore his monster-slaying merit. High demerits meant room for adjustment based on behavior—but challenging an upperclassman like this was bold.

"Sylvester, who do you think wins?"

"If I may... Gailon."

"Why?"

"Freshman's yet to take sparring practice. And Clarice's first year isn't easy."

"Indeed."

Sylvester's cool assessment prompted Macleed's silent thought.

"If he were ordinary, yeah."

Gailon flew into a rage at my provocation, like I'd struck bone.

"You fucking bastard!"

His eyes nearly spun a full circle—

-Wobble.

"...?"

He swung a fist mid-stumble, but

"Unsportsmanlike conduct results in disqualification."

Bella's restraint forced him back. It was hilarious, but the crowd saw it differently.

They cheered wildly, thrilled.

"Gailon, juniors are watching. Set an example."

Bella continued calmly, like an elder soothing fiery youths.

"Archers' duels use blunted rubber-tipped arrows. Weight's the same, so adapt quick. You'll use these duel weapons."

Minimal armor, sturdy but low-lethality gear.

Skills or mana would intervene anyway—hitting would hurt plenty.

"Finally, one key rule."

"Match ends on surrender or when the referee deems one side unable to continue. Then, victory is declared."

"Ready? To your marks."

We took positions on circular tiles about 30 meters apart.

"Match starts in thirty seconds."

Bella began counting.

......

Gailon Sharptee versus me. Stats favored him: upperclassman, deputy archery instructor—average 3.1 to my 2.1 post-training. Archery proficiency 7 to 6. Wind Archery: his level 3, mine 1.

Crucially, as a non-demon, I could use Recluse; he couldn't.

"Twenty."

Ten seconds left—

-Mumble mumble...

He closed his eyes, chanting softly. Likely gathering wind spirit for Wind Archery. Planning to toy with me, drag it out, savor my humiliation.

Stay calm.

That's why I could win. His stance hadn't changed: elves deem humans primitive, he's proud of his archery, constantly condescending. Even now, third-rate villain style, he'd bitten my bait.

He'd never suspect my Wind Archery.

Thus, my opening attack was the winning strat. Long fight meant stat gap decided it.

At Wind Archery level 1, one technique available.

Wind Kill.

Wind Archery's basics: selectable rapid fire, barrage, curve shot. No choice—I slotted all three.

Magic requires chants—fantasy 101, ironclad rule. But games? Different story. Mage, knight, archer—didn't matter. Just hotkey the skill. Simple.

Countdown hit three seconds.

-Three.

Wind rippled around me. Ariel's contract auto-gathered spirit—no issue.

-Two.

The spirit swirled, coiling into my hands.

-Whoooosh...

-One.

Crossbows load bolts on fixed frames, fire one per trigger. But right now, my hands alone seemed poised to defy that absolute truth.

In essence, I was canceling into rapid fire—condensed, compressed.

-Begin!

That was it.

-Pewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpewpew!!!

At the start signal, dozens of wind tendrils erupted from the crossbow—or perhaps my palm—in an instant.