CHAPTER 260: SPARRING [1]

The second debate had been brutal.

Verelia dismantled Kaelen’s vague leadership promises with surgical precision. She challenged Veldrin’s inflexibility in front of the entire student body, exposing the cracks in his rigid methodology.

And Aurelia...

Aurelia had performed exactly as expected, polished, confident, leveraging her name and experience.

But Alaric’s groundwork had paid off. Other candidates, prompted by carefully planted conversations, pressed her on. On conflicts of interest. On whether her policies served students or not.

She’d handled it well. But seeds of doubt had been planted.

The crowd left divided. No clear victor. Which meant momentum hadn’t shifted decisively toward anyone.

Good enough.

After the debate, Alaric met briefly with Verelia. They reviewed performance, identified areas for improvement, adjusted strategy for the final week. Cold analysis, no celebration. Just work.

He spent the next day continuing his quiet campaign, conversations in study groups, strategic information placement, subtle pressure on key influencers. The kind of work that left no fingerprints but shifted perceptions gradually.

And now, routine had reasserted itself.

Classes. Training.

Which brought him here.

The Combat Training Hall.

Professor Mirelle Ashton stood at the center of the massive training hall, her silver-rimmed glasses catching the light from overhead lamps.

Her expression was stern, assessing.

"Listen up," she called out, her voice carrying easily across the space.

The entire Silver Crown first-year batch stood assembled before her. Alaric stood near the middle of the group, Oliver beside him. Verelia was off to the left, isolated as usual.

The training hall itself was enormous, high ceilings, padded floors, weapon racks lining the walls, practice dummies scattered throughout. Large enough to accommodate multiple simultaneous exercises.

"Today’s session will be different from your usual practical work," Professor Ashton continued, pacing slowly in front of them.

"You’ll be divided into pairs. Each pair will engage in a full-contact sparring match. Essence techniques are permitted but regulated. No lethal force, obviously, but I expect you to push yourselves and your opponents."

She gestured to a large board behind her where names were already listed in pairs.

"Your matches are assigned. No switching. No complaints. You fight who you’re paired with, you give it everything you have, and you learn from the experience." Her expression was unforgiving. "Silver Crown doesn’t coddle. You’re here because you’re supposed to be the best. Prove it."

Students began moving toward the board, checking their assignments.

Alaric approached, scanning the list.

Alaric Glimor vs. Damien Korr

He didn’t know much about Damien, quiet, kept to himself, decent grades. No particular reputation for combat prowess, but that didn’t mean much. Silver Crown didn’t accept incompetents.

Oliver appeared beside him, groaning. "I got matched with Seraphine. I’m going to get destroyed."

"Then learn from it," Alaric said, still scanning the list.

His eyes continued down, noting other pairings. Verelia was matched against some other student he didn’t recognize.

He also spotted Elina’s name. She paired with a boy from the other class.

Students began dispersing to their assigned sections, some confident, others visibly nervous.

"Alright!" Professor Ashton’s voice cut through the murmurs.

"First match, Alaric Glimor and Damien Korr. Center ring. Everyone else, form a perimeter and pay attention. You’ll learn as much from watching as from fighting."

Alaric moved toward the center of the hall where a large circular ring had been marked on the padded floor. Damien was already there, rolling his shoulders, his gray eyes focused and calm.

The other students formed a loose circle around them, maintaining a safe distance.

Professor Ashton stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed. "Rules are simple. Full contact. Match ends when one fighter yields, is incapacitated, or I call it. Lethal techniques are forbidden and will result in immediate expulsion from the Academy. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," both responded.

"Good." She stepped back.

"Begin!"

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Alaric assessed his opponent. Damien’s stance was solid, feet shoulder-width apart, weight centered, hands raised in a guard position. His breathing was controlled, eyes tracking Alaric’s every micro-movement.

Then Damien moved first.

He closed the distance with surprising speed, launching a quick jab-cross combination. Alaric slipped the jab, blocked the cross with his forearm, and countered with a low kick aimed at Damien’s lead leg.

Damien lifted his leg, checking the kick, then immediately fired back with a roundhouse.

Alaric ducked under it.

They reset, circling.

"Not bad," Damien said quietly.

Alaric didn’t respond. He was already analyzing.

Damien favored his right side, his stance slightly open on the left. And his breathing pattern suggested he was conserving energy, planning for a longer engagement.

Smart.

Alaric feinted a straight punch. Damien’s guard shifted to cover.

Alaric dropped low and swept Damien’s front leg.

Damien stumbled but didn’t fall, hopping back to create distance. His expression tightened. Caught off guard.

But before he could fully reset, Alaric pressed forward with a combination of jab, cross, hook. Damien blocked the first two but the hook clipped his temple, snapping his head to the side.

The crowd murmured.

Damien’s eyes narrowed. "Alright then."

He surged forward, abandoning caution, with a flurry of strikes, punches, elbows, knees.

All delivered with controlled aggression.

Alaric blocked what he could, absorbed what he couldn’t avoid, giving ground but maintaining structure. Damien was fast, each strike flowing naturally into the next.

Good technique. But predictable rhythm.

Alaric waited for the pattern, jab, cross, hook, knee—

There.

As Damien’s knee came up, Alaric sidestepped and drove his elbow down into Damien’s thigh. Not enough to cause serious injury, but enough to disrupt the muscle.

Damien grunted, his next movement stuttering.

Alaric capitalized immediately. He grabbed Damien’s extended arm, twisted, and threw him.

Damien hit the mat hard, rolling instinctively.

But Alaric was already moving. Before Damien could stand, he was on him, knee pressing into his back, arm controlling Damien’s wrist in a joint lock.

"Yield," Alaric said quietly.

For a moment, Damien struggled. Then he felt the pressure increasing on his shoulder joint and made the smart choice.

"I yield."

Alaric released him immediately, stepping back.

Professor Ashton nodded. "Match to Glimor. Well executed." She looked at Damien, who was standing and rubbing his shoulder. "You fought well, but you telegraphed your combinations. Work on varying your rhythm. Dismissed."

The students watching erupted in quiet conversation as Alaric and Damien left the ring.

Oliver caught up with him as he grabbed water. "That was brutal. You didn’t even use any essence techniques."

"Didn’t need to." Alaric took a drink. "He was skilled, just... readable."

"Right. Because everyone’s ’just readable’ to you." Oliver shook his head. "I’m so screwed when my turn comes."

"Next match!" Professor Ashton called. "Oliver and Seraphine!"

Oliver’s face went pale. "Oh no."

"Good luck," Alaric said with a faint smile as he watched Oliver faced his opponent, the girl with golden-blonde hair and golden eyes, her expression serene and composed. She moved with fluid grace, taking her position in the ring.

The match began.

And as Alaric had predicted, Oliver was thoroughly, methodically, and efficiently dismantled within two minutes.

Professor Ashton called the match. "Seraphine wins. Oliver, your defense is too reactive. You need to anticipate, not just respond. Next pair!"

Alaric continued watching as more matches unfolded, each revealing the skill level and weaknesses of his fellow Silver Crown students.