Seniors' Bad Luck
In the bracket where Ludenberg Lavante and Ashytara Solenute were placed, their first opponents were... right from the start, second-year students.
Meeting upperclassmen in the opening round. Any ordinary first-year would have grimaced at the matchup, but surprisingly, it was the second-years who looked crestfallen.
'Of all people...'
They had thought it from the moment they saw the bracket, but this was rotten luck. Those two weren't just any first-years.
In Solemnute Adem, where even indifferent seniors often overlooked their juniors, most first-years barely registered. But those two were different. Even setting aside Ludenberg as heir to Lavante and Ashytara as imperial princess, they dominated the top ranks among the current first-years.
The second-years couldn't wipe the dismay from their faces. They had psyched themselves up for a friendly exhibition match, only to draw the top contenders right away. How were they supposed to beat first-years who sliced through high-grade erosion beasts like butter?
These were the ones you had to meet as late as possible—if at all.
"Damn. Talk about shit luck."
"Tell me about it."
They'd be the first second-years to lose to some green freshman.
"Please take good care of us."
Their gazes turned to Ludenberg and Ashytara, who bowed politely in greeting. But no matter how doomed they felt, they couldn't act disgracefully. The opponents' strength came from talent, sure, but also grueling effort.
Ludenberg and Ashytara were famous for their diligent reputations, after all.
"...Yeah."
"Likewise."
So, they should comport themselves with the dignity such formidable foes deserved. As seniors, they couldn't just forfeit rashly or throw a childish tantrum about being outclassed.
With that resolve, they drew their swords.
Ludenberg eyed the second-year seniors before him. Their sword stances were steady, their gazes direct. They weren't lunging recklessly either, which meant they acknowledged his and Ashytara's skill. They knew a careless move would spell their defeat.
And their refusal to yield? Even better. It showed they respected the opponents' prowess while trusting in their own hard-earned foundation.
He had just met these seniors today, but Ludenberg felt no disdain. People who could honor rivals while standing firm on their path deserved respect.
How many seniors crumbled pathetically, unable to accept defeat? Not all, of course, but campus rumors about rotten upperclassmen were common enough.
Drawing them first meant he was luckier than expected. Victors who soured the mood were all too common.
Matching their grips on their swords, Ludenberg drew his own. He regretted not being able to use Liberra in these matches—only academy-issued weapons for friendlies and qualifiers.
He glanced at Ashytara. As expected, she viewed the seniors positively too. She wore her dislike openly, and her eyes now crinkled with a faint smile.
The referee, deeming them ready, signaled the start.
Rather than charge, Ludenberg observed their minutiae—the subtle shifts, sword habits. Such details revealed much.
Ashytara did the same, probing cautiously. A tense standoff ensued, but no one complained. The second-years' strained faces showed the immense pressure they endured.
Staring at Ludenberg felt suffocating. They wanted first strike but couldn't muster the nerve against his poised stance.
Target Ashytara? Foolish. The massive cross greatsword in her two-handed grip would erupt in fierce flames the moment they neared.
Solem's flames were the most destructive divine power among those awakened by Solem priests. Solem power overwhelmingly outgunned the other five in raw force, making it arguably the empire's mightiest by destructive potential alone.
Rushing her would still end in struggle.
The second-years looked lost. But they knew standing still achieved nothing. Something had to give.
And so, they moved first. One charged Ludenberg.
The instant he did, the overwhelming pressure hit like a wall. First-years were used to Ludenberg by now, but second-years rarely crossed him—they reeled.
Just his sword stance staring them down made their skin prickle.
But they had vowed not to look pathetic, so the senior pressed on through the crush.
Watching, Ludenberg and Ashytara each took a measured step forward.
As distance closed, the second-years accelerated. Their charge was fierce, honed by Solemnute Adem's training.
But it paled against Ludenberg, veteran of countless injustices.
He stomped.
Boom!
The ground quaked, shattering their momentum instantly.
Ludenberg's body shot forward. The gap vanished; he loomed before them, sword raised.
"...!"
Shock twisted their faces.
Clang!
The lead senior took a flat-of-the-blade strike to his armor, rocketing back with a deafening crash. He tumbled, dazed by the impact.
"Guhk!"
He couldn't move. Guts churning, consciousness fraying.
Spectators gawked.
"Aigoo."
Someone pitied him—Reb Heinz, once thoroughly thrashed by Ludenberg.
"That senior's got rotten luck. Drawing that monster first thing."
"Hey, pipe down. Wanna get smacked too?"
Marvin eyed Reb warily, but the guy just shook his head, inured by beatings.
"So what if he hears? He's a monster, facts. And I'm used to it by now."
Defiant as ever.
The other second-year gritted his teeth at his fallen friend and swung at Ludenberg.
Shing.
A clean slice rang out. His sword cleaved in two before he could process. Will shattered.
The gap was vast. Two against one, and they couldn't even touch him. No wonder first-years called him a monster.
Ashytara never even drew her flames; she sheathed her greatsword, unneeded.
"Good work."
Ludenberg bowed to the second-years. The referee declared victory.
As if it were inevitable, the pair exchanged glances sans fanfare and headed to the waiting area. The qualifiers continued.
Eve Arcadia, drawn to Solemnute Adem by word of Ludenberg and Ashytara's participation, watched the bout in disbelief.
"...Meia."
"Yes, Saintess."
"How strong is that guy?"
"Ridiculously so. Even with divine power, we'd be outmatched."
Meia answered honestly—no point in flattery.
"Slicing a divinely empowered blade barehanded. And that speed..."
"From this alone, he's Solemnute's rep pick."
"...Haha."
Eve laughed dryly. She knew he was impressive, but not this much.
"Thought we'd just watch Dalia Retiu and Seia Shahain... nope."
"Divine saint laws might give us a shot."
"We'll see it through."
"Our best."
"Right, keep eyes on those two... next match?"
"Yes."
But the next pairing crumpled Eve's face.
Massive build. Bald pate gleaming. A face so imposing it buckled knees—yet his antics were utterly frivolous.
Nadan Tes. The time-waster extraordinaire.
Nadan Tes had no clue why he was in this friendly. But Professor Nah Tes—his sister—insisted, so here he was.
'Probably church orders. With Denetim and Tradiaan competing, don't lag behind Isaltin. Show results.'
Setra Church and Isaltin were allies, but as like-minded groups, rivalry simmered. The year's top performer led the academic conference agenda, spurring fierce—but friendly—contention.
No huge pressure, so Nadan entered the rep qualifier.
Problem: no partners.
His intimidating mug, hulking frame, and bald head screamed slum thug.
Luckily, Nah hooked him up with one, scraping together a team.
That partner?
"Hey, big guy."
"What?"
"You good at anything?"
"Brawling, saint laws, this and that."
"...Aren't you theology?"
"Theology don't mean weak. Prep up. No idea why I'm paired with you, enemy of Ash-heap..."
"Ash-heap—Ludenberg?"
"Yup."
"Not thrilled bunking with you either. No takers, though. My usual crew bailed on friendlies."
"Same boat."
"Shut it."
Gawin Greta.