The Martial Arts Tournament
The question of “who is truly the strongest?” had crossed every warrior’s mind at some point in their life.
Whether on the grand scale of the entire world or narrowed to the academy they called home, the wish to prove one’s own strength burned in every fighter.
And it was the same for the academy students.
From sparring sessions and drills, they could roughly gauge each other’s power. Yet some still believed that only in real combat would they truly know if they were the strongest—or who was holding back their full strength. Each person carried their own private ranking of abilities.
That was exactly why the Martial Arts Tournament existed.
Every year, at the end of the semester, the academy offered students a chance to test their skills against one another.
Though the public never learned of it, to the students it was the highest priority, the arena where they proved themselves. No matter the year, everyone competed in one-on-one bouts to crown the strongest.
For a warrior, the Martial Arts Tournament was pure adrenaline.
“So where do you plan to place?”
Rai sprawled across the grass like he owned it, popping a cookie into his mouth as he asked. Not a trace of tension showed on his face.
Five battered bodies sat in front of him after a round of sparring turned into something far more violent.
Asran and Abigail lay slumped beside him, both looking utterly drained. Zeroa, finally snapping back to his senses, blinked slowly, still dazed.
“If you’re going to enter the tournament, you should aim for the top,” Philia said calmly from her seat.
Rai chewed the cookie, then replied, “That’s impossible.”
“Straight to the point, huh?”
“I’m not lying. You have to be realistic. Violet and Sozeta are monsters—everyone knows it. Even the upperclassmen treat them with caution.”
Asran stayed silent, but everyone knew the truth. Those two had earned the title of genius from the best knights and upperclassmen alike.
“Honestly, you’ll lose to them every single time you face them.”
Philia tilted her head. “Then why ask?”
Rai grinned. “If you want, I can help you climb a few spots. Everyone’s already judging themselves. I know roughly where you stand. You want me to tell you exactly where you’ll place this year?”
“Top 100?”
“Impossible.”
“Damn it, why did I ask?”
“You’re the one who asked. I just gave you a realistic goal, idiot.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Asran fired back with a glare.
The tournament wasn’t for first-years. No matter how talented someone was, the real competition belonged to the upperclassmen who had spent years training at the academy’s finest level. The gap between first and second years only widened. Except for irregular prodigies like Violet or Sozeta, a first-year’s realistic ranking sat far lower.
“Realistically, top 300,” Zeroa muttered.
“Sure. Then let’s aim for top 400.”
…
Even though earlier students enjoyed an advantage, each year still produced students who stood head and shoulders above their peers. Some of those individuals would still place in the middle or higher of the entire field—even as first-years.
Besides the Pure Magicians, who rarely entered, roughly six to seven hundred students competed in the tournament.
Philia, already possessing upperclass-level skill as a first-year, had every chance of landing inside the top 300. Rai’s 400 ranking wasn’t outrageous at all. Philia shot him a skeptical look.
“You’re telling me to throw away everything I’ve learned and fight only with what I picked up from Selma?”
“Exactly. It’s like… overwriting the old skills.”
…
“That’s impossible.”
Selma’s instruction had lasted only one month. Without even mastering the fundamentals, Rai wanted her to fight? That was insane. The tournament wasn’t easy just because it felt like a warm-up.
Zeroa’s statement made Rai laugh softly. “You two seem confused. The tournament is just training, nothing more.”
“The ranking doesn’t count toward grades, but the knights still care,” Philia pointed out.
The tournament carried massive excitement, so it never affected official scores. Still, every knight in the academy wanted to rise in the rankings. After all, graduating and joining a prestigious knight order required strong tournament results.
Seeing Philia’s pragmatic tone, Rai smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. The winner is always the one who stands last. I’ll handle the rest.”
…
“You mean watch from the sidelines?”
“Exactly. I understand.”
Rai had already told her the tournament was off-limits. Every year until graduation, it would repeat. Claiming a meaningful ranking at the very end would solve everything.
Instead of fretting over current standings, it was far better to absorb Selma’s swordsmanship in actual combat and master it quickly. Philia nodded in agreement.
Zeroa’s turn came next. “Top 600.”
“400.”
Philia and Abigail stared at him. “That’s insanely high for you.”
“I’ll watch your back. If you dodge Violet, you can still reach 400.”
Zeroa doubted the words. “You can actually do that?”
Instead of answering, Asran asked with concern, “Is it really possible?”
“Of course. Think of it as a puppy fight between brats. You first-years can’t possibly win? Brats are always brats.”
Asran’s expression darkened, and he could already picture Rai’s overconfident grin. Everyone else would have the same reaction.
“Then Violet should still be beatable.”
“I said you’d lose every time. At least try ten times and win once. That’s the kind of confidence needed before I’ll help you.”
“Ten wins out of ten fights?”
“Luck plays a huge role. The gap is probably massive. Honestly, even excluding Violet and Sozeta, anyone could claim that.”
“But in a tournament, one lucky win like that never happens.”
“It will. I’ll make sure of it. Because you’re still brats.”
Once more Rai’s face twisted in irritation, yet Asran offered no further argument. This man always followed through on his promises.
“Tell me too, then. Can I reach top 100?”
“No. Only Zeroa gets help. You two figure it out yourselves.”
“That’s harsh. Do you favor Zeroa with private lessons? Then why not Abigail?”
Abigail shot Rai the same suspicious glance, even though she hadn’t spoken.
“It’s training.”
“What?”
“Training. Philia and Abigail don’t need help—they already fight by reading opponents. Zeroa is learning how to read now, so I’ll teach him. Everyone else, train however you want.”
Everything revolved around the same philosophy: this is training.
When Philia and Abigail caught each other’s eyes, their expressions instantly sharpened into something murderous. Asran realized he’d been left out and pointed at himself. “Then me?”
“Too stupid. Even if I told you, you’d never use it.”
…
“I was joking.”
Asran glared, fangs bared, but Rai only smiled faintly. “I’m half-serious, though. You fight on instinct—purely primal. You never analyze your opponent. That’s the same as not using your head. Or, as I call it, your head’s empty. Or…”
“Enough.”
“But you’ll focus on building that habit this tournament. Thinking for yourself will teach it better than my advice.”
Asran nodded slowly and fell silent, already lost in thought. Philia watched him with open admiration.
Simply telling someone to “think more” rarely changed them. Yet Asran had raw talent and exceptional physical strength. A little strategy could push his power sky-high. Still, Philia knew how difficult it was to teach someone to think strategically.
She had always seen Asran with a disgusted glare. Now Rai gave him a quick glance, then turned to Abigail. The look in Abigail’s red eyes burned with hungry expectation.
“Fight with your bare hands.”
“Why?”
Unlike Asran, Abigail asked calmly. Her demeanor and behavior mirrored Asran’s, yet her temperament leaned closer to Philia’s.
“You’re similar to Philia. I’ll teach you new martial arts. Throw away those clumsy fist-fighting moves you’ve been using.”
“I’m fine with new techniques.”
Philia kept her eyes on Abigail’s profile. The girl lived for learning. In a way, she was similar to Philia—talented, yet lacking formal training, forced to improvise. That hunger showed in her eyes. She cared nothing for rankings or tournament results, only the thrill of new martial arts.
Her background was clear. Street-fighter slang and crude methods, yet her strength was undeniable. Philia wondered how far Abigail could grow once she truly trained under Rai.
“Roughly like this… Hey, which of you four do you think is the strongest?”
Philia had gone quiet again. Rai suddenly asked the group.
“Me.”
“Obviously me.”
“Me.”
Everyone except Zeroa raised their hands. Their eyes met in a sudden wave of murderous intent.
“A young lady raised in a noble house doesn’t understand the world very well.”
“You’re the one who thinks you can throw punches on the street and be proud of it?”
“Why am I left out? Do you think I’m weak? Zeroa, didn’t you hear me?”
The four crowded close, glaring as if ready to fight at any moment. Rai only chuckled, but Zeroa looked thoroughly bewildered.
“You need to start believing in your own strength.”
Rai grabbed Zeroa’s shoulder, which had been swinging wildly in empty air. “You’re weak, but that’s not the same as lacking self-worth.”
“…I see…”
“That’s right, kid. Have some confidence.”
Zeroa was strong outside the academy. He had trained under Rai for a year and fought alongside Philia and Abigail. Stepping into the adventurer guild would place him in the mid-tier at worst. With his age, he could even challenge the upper ranks. But living inside the academy’s elite bubble had starved him of real confidence.
“You’ll lose your edge if you don’t believe in your own strength. In real battle, that can cost you your life. You need achievements and titles to fill the gap.”
Winning a meaningful ranking in the tournament would help. Little by little, the doubts would fade. Asran’s character meant he needed an impressive feat to replace his self-doubt with genuine confidence.
Rai, already annoyed, began planning how to shape the four students. His guidance would forge more than technique—it would forge unbreakable spirit. Growth would come, though the full story waited for another day.
“What? Why do you talk like that?”
“Huh?”
“You think you’ll win easily against them once I show you the moves? It’s true, but now’s not the time.”
“Huh?”
The three exchanged terrifying stares. Rai tossed Zeroa into the group with a chuckle and headed toward home. The tournament was one week away. Each student poured everything into preparation as time flowed onward.