Chapter 42: First Class (8)
I closed my eyes for half a heartbeat. Drew in a slow breath.
And whispered, barely audible:
"...Aura Holder."
THRUM.
A pulse rippled outward from , low and deep like the growl of so ancient beast awakening.
My sword humd. Mana bled from my body—then condensed, wrapping around the blade in a visible shimr. No longer pure mana, but sothing denser, heavier... alive.
💠 Aura.
The air trembled. My blade seed longer, sharper, brighter its edge radiating killing intent.
Aiden’s feral grin faltered. "What—?"
The cadets’ gasps echoed like thunder.
"Is that... AURA?!"
"No way—that’s impossible!"
"Only high-rankers can even sense aura, let alone use it!"
But Alastor’s reaction was the most chilling.
His eyes widened, the unshakable Sword Hero suddenly frozen. His voice ca out low, disbelieving:
"...That’s... aura manifestation. At E-rank?"
His fist clenched, and for the first ti the hall saw the legendary swordsman rattled.
---
I opened my eyes. Calm. Focused. The storm around fell silent in my mind.
My sword, now wreathed in shimring silver aura, slid free from Aiden’s crushing dual strike.
Shiiing—!
In a single smooth motion, I redirected his blades aside, the aura edge slicing the flas apart like paper. The lightning sparks fizzled as though smothered by invisible pressure.
Aiden staggered, eyes wide.
"What the—?!"
I stepped in.
BAM!
The hilt of my sword slamd into his chest like a battering ram, aura flaring with the impact. He flew back, skidding across the arena floor, his weapons clattering.
The hall went dead silent.
I straightened, my aura-wrapped sword humming softly in my grip, its glow reflecting in stunned faces around .
The whispers began.
"...Did he used aura."
"At E-rank?! That’s... not human."
"Who the hell is he?"
----
The mont Michael’s blade ignited with that strange, living light, the hall froze.
Even the hum of mana in the training arena seed to pause, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Leon’s eyes widened first. His hand instinctively tightened around his training sword.
"Aura... at E-rank...?"
He whispered, disbelief in his voice.
Yet his gaze wasn’t one of envy.
If anything, it was respect.
Michael... you’re already carrying such strength. But... if you can do it, then so can I. I’ll catch up. Even if it takes everything.
Beside him, Selena’s hands clutched against her chest. Her lips parted in wonder, her eyes glimring with awe.
"So bright..."
she breathed softly, the glow of Michael’s aura reflecting in her gentle eyes.
To her, it wasn’t just power—it was a symbol.
He really is... different. Like a knight stepping out of a storybook.
For the first ti, she felt her heart race with a mix of admiration and sothing deeper—sothing she couldn’t na yet.
Across the aisle, Elara’s gaze was far sharper. Her normally composed face tightened as her analytical mind spun in circles.
"No... that’s not possible."
Aura wasn’t sothing you stumbled into. It took mastery, years of discipline, relentless refinent. And Michael had made it look effortless.
Her cold eyes narrowed.
Just who are you, Michael? A pretender cloaked in secrets... or sothing much more dangerous?
A bark of laughter suddenly echoed—Lyra’s. She slapped her knee, her grin wide and blazing with fire.
"Ha! I knew it! You’ve been hiding sothing!" Her eyes flared with competitive fire, her fists tightening with excitent.
"Good! This ans I finally have soone worth chasing down. Don’t think you’ll stay ahead of forever, Michael.
Next ti, I’m going to burn brighter than that pretty aura of yours!"
Her chest burned with a mixture of envy and exhilaration, but she welcod the feeling. This was what she lived for—soone to rival, soone to fight.
From the corner, Maria’s lips curved into a chilling smile, her eyes glinting like shards of glass.
"A mask,"
she whispered, her voice dripping with venom.
"To think he wears it so well. Aura, at E-rank? Please. No one is that miraculous. This is just another illusion, another lie to make us gape in awe."
Yet, even as she said it, sothing twisted deep inside her chest—a faint, bitter envy she refused to acknowledge. If Michael truly was real, then her entire philosophy, her entire armor of cynicism, might begin to crack. And that terrified her more than she would ever admit.
And then there was Chris. Arms crossed, leaning back against his seat, he let out a long breath.
"...What the hell, man."
He smirked, shaking his head.
"Aura. At E-rank. You couldn’t just keep things simple, huh?"
But unlike the others, there was no venom, no bitterness. Only a quiet admiration, mixed with resolve.
"You worked your ass off for this, didn’t you? Fine. If this is the bar you’re setting, then the rest of us better damn well push harder."
Silence settled over the training hall once more.
Every cadet, whether filled with awe, jealousy, fear, or fire, stared at Michael.
And Michael, standing at the center of it all with his blade humming in living aura, could feel their eyes piercing into him.
The weight of expectation. The sting of doubt. The heat of rivalry.
All converging onto his back.
For better or worse, he had just stepped into the spotlight he could never escape.
---
Flat on the ground, chest heaving, Aiden stared at —shock painted across his face.
Then slowly, his lips curled into a grin.
"Heh... Hehahahaha!" He sat up, clutching his chest where the blow landed.
"You bastard... You were hiding that all along."
His laughter was raw, wild, yet not angry. Instead, his eyes burned with renewed hunger.
"This... This is perfect. You’re not just calm—you’re a monster."
Alastor finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the stunned silence like steel.
"...Michael." His tone was heavy with disbelief, yet laced with a strange, sharp excitent.
"Do you even understand what you’ve just done?"
All eyes snapped to .
I sheathed my sword calmly, letting the aura fade.
My answer was simple, carried in a steady voice.
"...Enough to win."
The class erupted.
Cracks marred the floor where Aiden’s fire and lightning had struck, and thin wisps of smoke curled upward in ghostly trails.
The sparring session was over.
But the cadets weren’t leaving yet.
They stood frozen, whispers buzzing like an angry hive.
"Did you see that? He cut through Aiden’s fla strike like it was nothing."
"No—forget that. Did you see his blade? That wasn’t mana. That was..."
"...Aura. At E-rank. It’s not possible."
I sat back on the bench, towel draped over my shoulders, pretending to ignore the stares drilling holes into . My hands still tingled faintly from the conversion. Aura... the thing I was supposed to keep hidden, and yet here I was, flashing it in front of the entire class like a neon sign.
’Dammit. I wanted to keep a low profile, but Aiden forced my hand.’
My gaze flicked to the swordsman in question. Aiden sat a few ters away, still panting, but his grin hadn’t faded. His wild eyes t mine, and he gave a look that said round two is inevitable.
Alastor’s booming voice cut through the chatter like a blade.
"That’s enough, brats."
Instant silence.
He stood at the center of the hall, arms folded, his shadow looming long across the cracked floor. His presence alone was enough to force the cadets to swallow their whispers.
"Today was just the start. So of you impressed . So of you disappointed . And one of you—"
His eyes, sharp as an eagle’s, landed squarely on .
"...broke every damned law of common sense I’ve known in forty years of wielding a blade."
A ripple of shock went through the room. So cadets gasped. Others turned toward like I’d just sprouted horns.
My jaw tightened.
"Class dismissed," Alastor barked suddenly, his tone brooking no argunt. "Go cool your heads, patch your bruises, and rember this: the battlefield doesn’t care for excuses. Only results."
The cadets obeyed quickly, filing out in groups, still whispering in hushed tones. Aiden walked out last, glancing over his shoulder at with a sharp grin before disappearing through the doorway.
One by one, the hall emptied.
Until only Alastor and I remained.
The Sword Hero turned slowly, the weight of his gaze pressing down like a mountain.
"...Michael."
I straightened, towel slipping from my shoulders.
"Yes, Instructor?"
His boots echoed against the cracked stone as he approached, stopping just a step away. Up close, his sheer presence was suffocating—a man who had cut down monsters for decades, whose every scar told a story.
"Do you even understand what you just showed them?" he asked quietly. His voice was no longer booming, but low, heavy, edged with disbelief.
My mouth went dry.
"...Aura manifestation," I admitted.
Alastor’s eyes narrowed. "Aura manifestation is sothing even seasoned A-ranks struggle to touch. B-ranks can barely sense it. Yet you—" His hand twitched toward my sword. "You wielded it cleanly. With intent. At E-rank."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping further.
"That shouldn’t be possible."
Silence stretched between us. I could feel his scrutiny peeling apart, weighing every flicker of mana in my body.
I forced a calm smile, though my heart hamred. "Maybe I just got lucky."
Alastor’s lips twitched—sothing between a snarl and a smirk.
"Luck doesn’t forge aura, boy. Resolve does. Spirit does. And that..." His eyes glead, sharp with sothing dangerous. "...that makes you either the greatest fraud I’ve ever seen—or the kind of monster the world hasn’t birthed in centuries."
His words hung heavy in the empty hall.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry, but my voice stayed steady. "Then I’ll just have to prove I’m the latter."
Alastor laughs, loud and booming. "Hah! You little bastard... you just shattered common sense. Aura at your level? Either the gods blessed you... or you’re the devil’s child. I like it."
He turns serious. "But don’t get cocky. Aura’s a weapon that eats the weak alive if they lean on it. Master it—or it will destroy you."
For a long mont, Alastor simply stared at , his gaze like steel pressed to my neck.
Then—
Hah.
A low chuckle escaped him, rough and genuine.
"You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that." He stepped back, the suffocating weight of his presence easing just a fraction. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But know this—"
He raised a single finger, his expression turning grave.
"Secrets always bleed out in battle. And when they do, the world will either crown you... or bury you."
His cloak swirled as he turned away, striding toward the exit.
"Tomorrow, we train again. Don’t be late, brat."
And with that, the Sword Hero left standing alone in the fractured training hall, his words echoing in my chest like a second heartbeat.
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