CHAPTER 39: WHEN TO RUN

The morning breeze was light, brushing through the trees as Noah and Arlo walked side by side along the cobbled path that curved toward Arena C.

The sky above the Royal Academy was clear, the kind of day perfect for sparring under the sun. Their uniforms were crisp, their boots thudding against the stone.

Combat Fundamentals.

It was their only class today.

"I still can’t believe we’re learning how to fight already," Arlo said, hands tucked into his pockets as he walked, his blindfold a fresh blue today.

Noah gave a small nod. "About time."

They turned onto a wider path, and the large structure of Arena C came into view. Unlike the duel arena Noah had fought Ben in, Arena C was less flashy, with lower stands.

It was a more practical building with a domed roof that could be retracted. It was built for training, not performance.

Arlo glanced at Noah. "So, what’re you doing with your two days off after today?"

Noah didn’t miss a beat. "Working at the library, remember? Part of my punishment."

"Right." Arlo grimaced. "Tragic."

Noah raised a brow. "What about you?"

"When you’re done pretending to be a librarian," Arlo said with a grin, "we’re going bird shooting."

Noah slowed. "Bird shooting?"

"Yep. With a few acquaintances. Not friends," Arlo added, as if he needed to be clear. "They’ll probably be mad I showed up. Even madder when I bring you."

Noah snorted. "Why bother going then?"

"Because I like making people mad," Arlo replied brightly. "Also, I never miss."

Noah laughed. "Fair enough. I’ll come."

Arlo smirked. "It’s decided then. We’ll crash their party in style."

They arrived at the front gate of Arena C, stepping into the wide hallway that led to the student section. There were a few students already there, mostly Stone-tier, gearing up or stretching on the benches near the wall.

As they walked toward the equipment racks, Arlo leaned closer. "Heard anything about our professor? Oliver?"

Noah shook his head. "No. Should I have?"

Arlo gave a dramatic pause. "Let’s just say, rumor has it he once solo-cleared an S-rank Monolith."

Noah blinked. "Is he S-rank?"

"From what I know of? No. Neither are his attributes, so he can’t cast S-rank spells either."

"So... how? Is that possible?"

"I didn’t say it was true. Just what people say." Arlo grinned. "Some say he used to be a top guild enforcer. Others claim he’s got a curse mark on his chest and has fought abyssal beasts that even generals fear."

Noah gave him a flat look. "You’re making half of this up."

"Maybe. But still... let’s not underestimate him."

They shared a grin as they stepped into the arena, the soft crunch of sand beneath their boots.

Looking around, they saw that Professor Oliver hadn’t arrived yet, so they stood, waiting.

Minutes passed. Murmurs grew louder, whispers filling the air as students looked around for their missing instructor.

Noah leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. Arlo sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, flipping a coin between his fingers.

Then, without warning, a deafening screech ripped through the sky.

Noah’s head snapped up. A massive shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

The arena roof split apart with a shriek of tearing metal and stone as a colossal dragon, scales like rusted bronze and eyes like molten gold, plummeted into the arena.

Screams erupted. It was chaos.

Students scrambled, running for the exits. Some fell to the ground, others shoved past each other in panic.

Fire erupted from the dragon’s throat, washing over the arena floor. Flames whooshed past Noah’s face, and he ducked, dragging Arlo behind a toppled bench.

"Is this real?" Arlo coughed, eyes wide.

"I don’t know." Noah growled, heart thudding like a drum. Smoke curled around them, thick and acrid.

The dragon moved with unnatural speed, wings smashing into columns, tail whipping across the arena with bone-crushing force. It towered above them all, its roar shaking the earth.

Then suddenly, everything vanished.

No fire. No smoke. No destruction.

No dragon.

Only the class of first-year students, panting and trembling, scattered across the arena floor, untouched. Some still crouched with arms over their heads. A few stared at their hands in disbelief.

Noah blinked, then slowly stood.

"What the hell just happened?" He muttered.

Students looked at each other. The arena was completely intact. The roof unbroken. Not a single mark of fire anywhere. It had been... an illusion.

An illusion that had felt too real.

The class gasped, looking up as footsteps echoed across the arena floor.

A tall man entered through the western archway, his presence commanding enough to quieten the remaining murmurs in seconds.

He had the lean build of a veteran fighter. Broad shoulders, long limbs, and an effortless grace in the way he moved. Scars marked his face and arms like etchings from a life of close calls and survival.

His uniform was customized. A dark coat, sleeveless, with faint symbols stitched along the edges. A sword hilt peeked over his right shoulder, though he carried no sheath.

His eyes, sharp and golden like a hawk’s, scanned the gathered students. When he spoke, his voice boomed with casual authority.

"Foolish!" He said, gesturing to the group of students still standing tall as if ready for battle. "All of you who pulled out spells or tried to fight back? You are the foolish ones."

Gasps and murmurs followed. Some students looked around, confused.

"Only the truly stupid will stand and fight, when there is no hope of winning. All you would be doing is throwing your lives away."

"But those who ran..." He paused, sweeping his gaze across the edges of the arena where students had bolted. "You are the brave ones."

The confusion turned to shock.

He walked toward the center of the arena, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor.

"The bravest person in any battlefield isn’t the one who charges blindly toward death. It’s the one who knows when to retreat. When to live and return stronger. Because no one wins every fight. Not even me."

He stopped, turning to face the students directly.

"My name is Professor Oliver. You’ve likely heard the rumors. Some of them are true."

There were a few chuckles still tinged with shock and fear. He didn’t smile.

"This class is called Combat Fundamentals. And the first fundamental I’ll teach you is this. If you don’t know when to run, you’ll die."

Silence.

"You’ll learn spells. You’ll learn skills. You’ll learn how to hold your ground. But all of that is worthless without the body to carry it. So before we touch weapons, before we discuss stances or counters, we strengthen your body. That is what the next few weeks will be."

He folded his arms behind his back.

"Some of you may think exercises are useless. That your Strength stat will handle it for you."

He let the silence stretch, letting them sit with their assumptions.

"But let me explain something to you. Your attributes. Strength, Endurance, Agility. They boost what’s already there. You think F-rank Strength means the same for someone who can’t even do a push-up? No. It doesn’t."

He pointed toward one of the more muscular students in the front row.

"Train your body, and those boosts work with you. Ignore it, and you waste half of what your beast’s power can offer."

He let his arm drop.

"Starting today, we’ll begin basic drills. Running. Climbing. Sparring."

He turned to walk toward the far wall, voice still carrying behind him.

"You want to fight monsters? First, survive your own body. That’s the first rule of this class."