CHAPTER 120: BACK IN ARENA C

Morning bled gold across Arena C, turning the sand a pale honey and the tiered stone seats the color of old bone.

It was the third day of the week, and it began with Duels class.

The Gold-tier class filtered into the arena with the soft clink of buckles and the slight noise of training boots stepping over grit.

Noah stepped through the archway last, breath frosting faintly in the cool air, and felt a dozen glances scrape over him like knife edges.

He ignored them. The sun felt warm on his face. That was enough for him.

Thankfully, he hadn’t been woken today by a knock on the door. He’d taken his bath, freshened up, and went for breakfast.

He’d noticed his fellow Gold-tier classmates were few in the cafeteria. From what he’d overheard, they’d come earlier to eat a hearty breakfast, so that they could be fresher in the class.

He’d had his own breakfast, and now, here he was.

Professor Oliver stood at the center ring with his hands behind his back, shoulders squared and voice carrying cleanly to the far rails.

"Welcome, all. And welcome back, Noah." His gaze ticked over the class, daring anyone to make something of it. No one did.

"Welcome to another Duels class. Today, we return to the first truth. Before spells, before weapons, before the glitter and thunder you’re all now used to, there is the body."

He paced, drawing a track in the sand. "The rules are simple. No spells. No skills. No weapons. No finger-tricks, no talismans, no hidden glyphs."

"All I need from you today is pure attributes. Your footwork, your timing, your breathing techniques."

"If you can’t keep your feet under you without leaning on mana, you are not a fighter. You are a liability."

Murmurs rolled through the ring. Oliver jabbed a thumb towards the balconies that ringed the arena.

He’d stationed two assistant healers there, white robed and grimly attentive, alongside a rack of linen and salves.

"Safety wards are up. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to make you better. Choose your partners. If you can’t find one, I’ll find one for you, and you won’t like my taste."

Students moved, and pairs began to form in cautious knots. Friends picked each other, eager to see how they fare against one another, and no one came to Noah.

Noah didn’t mind. He simply watched on. If they didn’t come, Professor Oliver would select one for him.

Then, Arlo stepped out of the cluster like a coin flicked into sunlight.

The blindfold he was wearing was new, made of black silk threaded with a faint, sea green sheen that gleamed under the morning sun.

"I’ll take him," he said mildly.

A hush thinned the air. Noah chuckled, low and cold, and tipped his head. "So I’ve fallen so far you’re pitying me now?"

Arlo’s mouth quirked. "Not pity." He angled his chin toward the others. "I just don’t want you breaking anyone by accident with those bare hands."

"Liar," one of Noah’s shadows hissed from the corner of his mind, red eyed and eager. The rest howled in silence, unseen by everyone but Noah.

Oliver clapped once. "Good. The order of bouts is on me. We observe and learn before we bleed. Everyone up to the rails."

The class filed to the balconies and leaned out over the ring. Noah and Arlo took a section to themselves, elbows resting on sun warmed stone.

Below, Oliver flipped a slate and chalked the first pairing. Ben Stanley vs. Damien Krell.

Damien Krell. That was a name Noah hadn’t heard in a long time. He remembered the student. The same person who had confronted him when he’d first resumed in the academy.

The same person that had come before Leo Hargreaves to dangle coins before the Stone-tier dorm boys and steal Noah’s B-rank spell token.

That made him remember the spell token that was sitting in his pocket even now.

Since he’d received it from Principal Kael, he’d tried leaving it in his room as he went for classes, but the token kept appearing in his pocket.

It seems that no matter what he did, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t lose the token. Not that he had any intentions of losing it in the first place.

He knew what the token represented. Power at his fingertips.

He intended to go to the vaults and see what the school thinks is worth guarding after his expedition into the woods to devour any relevant monsters.

He didn’t know if the surveillance on him would be increased when he claims spells, but he couldn’t take that chance.

It was better for him to do his hunting now, before he did anything else noteworthy.

He focused back on Professor Oliver. The fight he had announced was certainly something he would like to see, but what was more interesting was Damien’s opponent.

Noah’s lip twitched. He could feel Ben’s eyes like two needles even across the arena.

The boy looked thinner than Noah remembered, the last of the swelling from their duel long gone, but fear had shaved him down to angles.

From what Noah had heard, he was now an outcast. His defeat of Ben had stained his reputation before the nobles of Camelot in a way that would take a long time to recover.

And as a result, even their classmates had distanced themselves from him.

As for Damien Krell, he carried bulk with the effortlessness of someone shaped by drills at dawn. He now had compact shoulders, bandaged knuckles, complete with a soldier’s center of gravity.

"First bout," Oliver called. "I want a clean fight from you two."

They descended. Ben flexed his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet, his posture alert, and guard high.

Damien rolled his neck until it popped and settled into a blunt, square stance, hands low, chin tucked, head tilted like he was listening for a command only he could hear.

Noah leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

Below, Oliver dropped his hand. "Begin."