Jakob’s opponent was a boy with an uncanny resemblance to him. The only difference they shared was their weapon of choice.
The boy, from Southern Vale, seed to favor the way of the sword, while Jakob had his spear spinning around him.
On the other half of the arena was the second duel. It featured a boy and a girl. To everyone’s surprise, the girl was wielding a warhamr.
Opposite her was the boy, and he had the weapons of an archer in his hands. The outco of their faceoff was just as unpredictable as Jakob’s.
"Stick fiercely to the rules. Ready? Begin."
The examiners didn’t fix a specific ti limit for the duels, so that ant any set could keep going until one was left standing.
Perhaps, in that case, both participants could be accepted or would be rematched with another.
The arena rang with the inaugural clashes that unfolded at once.
It turned out Jakob’s opponent was just dressed and built for the aesthetics, because Jakob danced around his strikes for fun. He parried away smoothly whenever the boy swung down or across, shuffling erratically in circles until the nth miss from the boy.
Jakob, so fluid, spun his spear low and knocked the rival blade. The Southern Vale boy stumbled to the sand, famished and disard.
"Winner! Number 70!"
’Haha. He did it.’
Darien joined in the brief applause for his victorious friend as Jakob turned and bowed towards where the Velgranes were presud to be.
Instantly, attention shifted to the other duel, and the new set was brought in to replace Jakob’s.
"Careful, Number 118! Careful!"
Number 118, the hamr girl, nodded firmly to the examiner’s solid command. She had cornered the archer already, and the boy was sadly almost out of arrows.
He fumbled another shot, but the hamr girl easily blocked it with the dense iron head of her weapon. She then raised her weapon high above her head, zero clency in her eyes toward the boy.
"Hold!"
"Winner! Number 118!"
Everyone stared at the girl as she was directed to join Jakob, who now stood alone at one side.
She was very tall and lean. The long-handled warhamr rested over her shoulder like it weighed nothing, when sothing of that weight would stagger most boys.
Darien couldn’t help but think if she was the daughter of so giant.
More groups were soon called out, and duel after duel unfolded across the wide arena.
The Induction Day proved to be a mixture of tears and joy; so aspirants roared in triumph, while others walked off defeated, their dreams of being a Warrior slipping away for good.
For many, this would be the end of the path, bound to live out life forever as re commoners.
Throughout the drumbeat of fights, Darien thought he could watch closely to learn a few moves, but he wasn’t completely impressed because he had learnt 4-star Elite Swordsmanship, and he had far more adeptness in the art of bladed weapons.
There weren’t too many surprises, because those perceived as stronger usually triumphed, and the weaker often faltered.
Ties were rare and vague, and on only a few rare occasions did soone perceived as weak erge victorious.
"Eighty-first pair: Number 307 and Number 201!"
Eventually, Darien’s turn ca, and he eagerly stepped out to face his opponent: another boy wielding a sword.
Darien didn’t want to be too hard on the fellow, but he also knew he needed to regularly polish to push the skill forward. So, he activated it when the fight began.
One parry. Two parries. His blade twisted at the third exchange, slipping past the boy’s guard and resting at his neck. Bladepoint.
"Winner! Number 307!"
Everyone clapped as usual, but there were many curious and stunned glances sent Darien’s way, surprised by how quick, graceful, and fluid his execution had been.
So still weren’t sure if he was a boy or girl, which only deepened their curiosity toward him.
Jakob was thrilled when Darien joined the victory group.
"Woah! Did they teach that kind of sword art at the Adventurer’s Association?"
"I’ll tell you later."
Darien replied when he realized Mirielle’s turn was next in the second set.
She stood ready with her bow, beautiful and composed, and her eyes sharp with determination.
Her opponent was an average-looking guy, but carried a not-so-average-looking weapon. A heavy axe was severely dangerous, especially in close duels.
On seeing this, Mirielle smartly kept her distance, staying out of reach.
"Winner! Number 250!"
It was a spectacular and quick victory from Mirielle.
Her opponent charged with brute swings of his axe, trying to close the gap, but Mirielle was too clever for that.
She never let the distance shrink, always drifting five tres away like a wisp of wind, loosing arrow after arrow with perfect timing.
By the ti three arrows struck him, the examiner judged that if they were not padded at the tip with small foams, they would have been fatal.
That was more than enough to declare her winner.
Without any pauses or rests, the second and third rounds were carried out.
The Academy clearly designed this rigorous event to test stamina and endurance as much as skill. The difficulty eventually intensified as stronger and more promising aspirants were pitted against one another.
The arena echoed with clashing blades, entertaining the sparse spectators and even the young lord and heir, Vincent Velgrane, who found so duels amusing.
Among the contenders, Darien stood out. In swordplay, he remained unmatched, and his stamina, though low for him, was far greater than his mates’.
He didn’t look tired at all, and he moved with such precision and control that he was quickly acknowledged as the finest with a blade.
"That one’s very skilled and graceful too. Whose daughter is that?"
Up in the duke’s grand booth, Vincent remarked. He had taken note of Darien, tracking him and watching him ease through another victory as if he were having fun.
The man seated two seats beside him was a portly figure in a violet-trimd coat.
"That’s not a girl, my lord. That’s a boy... foreign-born too, if I’m not mistaken. Not noble. Likely a bastard."
"Interesting."
Vincent murmured as the final round of the day approached.
Just as Darien was the best with his katana, Jakob continued to dominate the spear category, though he once took a shallow cut to his leg in one bout.
Mirielle proved her worth as an archer even more, and even defeated a highly skilled swordsboy who rivaled Darien in blade artistry.
Fortunately for the boy, he was later granted a rematch due to the narrowness of his loss.
"This is the last round, make it count!"
So of the other contenders who Darien took note of included the warhamr girl, Rutha, a lanky boy with daggers, and a girl who was outstanding with a whip-spear.
They were part of the 40 that fully advanced.
Darien’s last duel was against that skilled swordsboy who was given a second chance by the examiners.
From the assessnt Darien already had of him before they faced off, he was quite impressed.
’Hmm. He must have learnt at least a 1-star weapon technique skill, making him better than others... but not better than .’
"Begin!"
Darien’s opponent fought with the determination of soone who wasn’t willing to go ho after getting this far. He had comndable agility and blade swagger, but they were reproachable in comparison to Darien’s.
It was a fast-paced exchange, but Darien contributed less, rather handling the match with quiet control as the boy threw everything at him.
Eventually, Darien leaned so far away that the boy lunged heavily to land a hit.
Sidestepping, the silver-haired aspirant calmly and cleanly tapped his opponent’s back with the tip of his katana.
"Winner! Number 307!"
The examiner announced clearly. He stepped forward and nodded at Darien, also glancing at his defeated opponent.
"You’ve made it. And you, don’t go ho yet. Co this way."
It was a rare gesture from the Academy to further accommodate more aspirants, but it was not unheard of for those who showed admirable ttle.
The examiners gathered the victors to one side while those who fell short were sent ho.
"GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB!"
A loud voice interrupted what was supposed to be the official statent that would welco the young, successful warriors.
Everyone looked up to the duke’s booth to see the crowned heir standing and waving his arms like soone at a festival.
"You all did well! I an, well enough for commoners and simple nobles. Better than I thought!"
The officials stiffened as the young lord spoke with a tone of mischief, grinning down at the victorious aspirants.
"The swordsn? Not bad at all. You swung with sothing resembling dignity. The archers? Passable. Another few years and you might even hit what you aim for. And the hamr girl..."
The duke’s son gave her a thumbs-up.
"Take pride in that strength. Just don’t marry a mage. I don’t think he’d have the strength to... handle what you have down there..."
The aspirants knew they were being mocked, but there was nothing they could do about it but stand weakly and accept the ridicule.
Soft laughter could be heard from the senior students scattered across the seating area. Soone had to laugh at the crowned Earl’s jokes at least.
"But there was one in particular. The silver-haired one with the katana...."
Darien already had a feeling it was going to be him. He was already looking at Vincent before he was spotted.
"You—what number are you?"
"307."
A nobody from the crowd answered for Darien.
The duke’s son nodded in satisfaction and lashed out so heartwarming remarks.
"Right, 307. You fought well. Clean. Polished. Pretty...
...Now, let’s see if you’re actually good."
Suddenly, the duke’s son vanished behind the booth’s curtain, stunning everyone.
So were shocked at his abrupt disappearance, while others, like Darien, were curious about where he had gone or was going.
Gasps erupted monts later as Vincent Velgrane reappeared from the staircase beneath the booth.
Even the templars guarding the entrance to the staircase were shocked when the crowned heir stepped out onto the field.
And in his grip was a ravishing blade with a golden hilt.
Without question, it was definitely of royal forge, glistening under the sun.
The knights were dumbfounded as the duke’s son moved confidently with solid steps.
He pointed the tip of the royal weapon at Darien.
"I want you to duel , bastard!"
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