The second round soon began, but this time however, they spared no time in charging ahead as soon as the bell rang. Exchanging rapid blows after blows, and small sparks flew everywhere as metal clashed against metal at high speeds. But at the same time, it was also less chaotic. As they've came to a silent agreement to pause after a certain number of blows to assess and readjust their stance for an entirely different approach.

  Bertrand had been playing on the defensive since this round started, but now he angled the tip to the floor and held the greatsword sideways beside his hip, preparing for a powerful strike. He leaned forward then propelled his body forward, kicking up dust into the air as he lunged.

  Vincent ducked down and dodged to the side before the hit could connect. Then pulled his arms back for a thrust and lunged. Bertrand quickly pulled his greatsword back and twisted his hips to guard his head. But the attack was never meant for his head, or even a thrust at all, as Vincent readjusted his grip and swung the blade downward towards Bertrand's leg.

  The strike was quick and precise, with no time for Bertrand to block. And the way he stood on a weird angle made it difficult to dodge without throwing himself off the ring. Thus the straight sword successfully struck his leg, but it sent him down in a direction away from the ring's border.

  He landed with his arm first and then used that to push himself off the ground. Pulling the greatsword with him as he flipped in the air and landed in a kneeling position.

  "Good. Looks like you're starting to lea—"

  His words were cut short as he felt a light tap on the top of his head. A straight sword has nestled itself against the metal plate on top. Vincent had not been idle when Bertrand was focused on not being knocked onto the ground. He had begun his approach the moment Bertrand started his flip, and now his victory was secured.

  "Smart."

  "Perhaps you should take a page out of your own book."

  "Perhaps I should," Bertrand then chuckled.

  The sword slid down towards Bertrand's broad shoulder, and it invoked the scene of a monarch dubbing one of his subjects as his knight. Intentional or not, the message that flashed through everyone's mind was clear, the one with the higher standing was Vincent. But whether that translated into an assured victory or not, only the next and final round could tell.

  They returned to their respective corners, but what followed was a short break for them to rehydrate and catch their breath.

  "My money's on the one with the bigger sword," Evelynn said.

  "What you can wager aside, it's clear you're only saying that because you want the crown prince to be utterly beaten within an inch of his life."

  "Oh loosen up, big guy. What's so wrong with that? If everyone sees how much of a loser he is, his fiancé would definitely want to annul their engagement. And his side chick is gonna run off to the other guy, just watch. And whether you disagree with that or not, I didn't hear you say no to my first assessment."

  Caldwell sighed, but a smile betrayed the exasperated look he was trying to go for.

  "While his quick wits is admirable, he won because he exploited his opponent's inexperience. But Sir Bertrand's shortcomings lay not in his skill, but maturity. Something which the crown prince also lacks. And if we consider everything else such as stature and their choice of weapons, then the answer heavily skews in favor of Sir Bertrand."

  The break then finally ended and both parties assumed their positions. It started off much like the beginning of the second round, with both of them charging ahead and trading blows from the get-go. Though it was plain to see from their sluggish movements that exhaustion was starting to overtake both of them. And I'd say this was the moment where Bertrand truly shines.

  His greatsword undoubtedly gave him a much greater reach, and he wasn't giving Vincent any room or opportunities to close the distance. Yes, it was certainly much slower and Vincent had tried manipulate its trajectory as the blade clashed with his own. But heavy emphasis on the "tried" because Bertrand easily overpowered whatever feeble attempts Vincent threw at him.

  In the haze of exhaustion, Vincent grew more desperate with each failed attempt at creating an opportunity to strike. But Bertrand stayed calm and played on the defensive as he waited for him to tire himself out.

  And that moment came sooner than I had expected. With Bertrand suddenly thrusting forward and Vincent bringing his guard up, but his goal wasn't the head. Instead, he slightly angled the tip of the greatsword down and moved underneath the straight sword, only to then flick it upwards and knocked the sword out of Vincent's grip.

  The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and disbelieved gasps, but the two fighters paid them no mind. They both took off their headgear, revealing the sweat beads all over their fair skin and their hair which had matted into messy strands against their faces.

  They then stepped closer to one another and formally ended the match with a firm handshake. There was a small exchange between them, but I could only pick up a few bits and pieces thanks to the cheering drowning those out. But thank these glasses for having a feature to lip-read and filling in the blanks.

  "You still [have much] to learn, [your highness.]"

  "[Spare me the talk.] By the time I've reach [your current level,] you will [far exceed] me. [That's why] you're the only one worthy of being my sword, [Bertrand.] And since [I've failed] to convince you, [I suppose that means you will be joining Fiona and I after class?]"

  "I'm touched, but there's [something] you got wrong. [Miss Fiona would've convinced you to let me tag along either way.] And don't worry, [I'll try to not get in the way.]"

  Vincent definitely didn't like the lack of clarity in the last part of Bertrand's statement. But a deal was a deal, and he could only grumbled under his breath as they both stepped out of the ring.

  Whatever the crowd expected the outcome to be earlier, ultimately, the actual result was met with an overall positive reception. Most were satisfied and thrilled by what they had seen. It felt like a proper conclusion, so much so that they've forgotten that—

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  "Hey! Where do you think you lot are going!? We still have a dozen more matches before class is dismissed!" the instructor shouted.

  They all groaned in unison, and those that almost made their way to the exit begrudgingly began their walk back.

  "I swear you kids..." the instructor said while slowly shaking his head in disappointment. He then turned to list in his hand and called out for the next participants. "Mr. Pinto and Ms. Marchal, please step forward!"

  The pairing I've been dreading to see, and they stepped forward thinking nothing of it, as if it was just another Tuesday for them.

  Alicia stepped into the ring first, with her protective gear already on and a straight sword in hand. Zefer on the other hand took a bit longer, and if I had to guess, it was because he made a last minute decision to switch his weapon from a spear to a sword like her.

  I didn't know whether he did so because the spear wasn't working out or if he just felt like it for this one specific match. Either way, it was a decision made with little to no thought put into it. Or more accurately, he couldn't care less about what happened next. Those eyes says it all; empty, defeated.

  Unlike the previous match, there were very few who were interested in seeing how it'd turn out. From the cheers the spectators sent their way, I surmised that there were two groups of people present. Those who wished to see Zefer make a spectacle of himself as he goes tumbling down, and those who seek to... metaphorically throw rotten tomatoes at her. Judging and nitpicking every little mistake she made.

  Hell, it didn't even have to be a mistake at all. They will find any and all way to demean her very existence.

  "Look at you, standing all high and mighty," one student scoffed. "You're fighting Zefer of all people! Hardly something to be proud of!"

  Ouch. Dragging Zefer into it was uncalled for. Though he didn't even try to defend himself. Simply laughing it off and added a half-hearted response which didn't even disagree with the statement as he walked towards the ring.

  "So much hatred for one girl," Evelynn commented. "I wonder what's the story behind her. You don't simply gain the ire of this many people over a few shallow reasons."

  And I have to agree. This wasn't bullying that involved a few troubled individuals anymore, this goes beyond that. Everyone in the room held discontent and even malice in their expressions as their gaze landed on her, the students that surrounded the arena were simply those that chose to verbalize their negative thoughts.

  "Alright, settle down," the instructor stepped forward with his trusty cowbell to provide some measure of order in respond to the escalating tension. But even he didn't sound too enthused to exercise that responsibility. "Mr. Pinto, Ms. Marchal, assume your positions and we'll start in ten."

  Zefer hurriedly put his helmet on and made sure it was fastened before taking his stance. Legs spread apart with the upper body slightly sunk down. His feet planted firmly onto the ground, one in the front and the other farther back. Holding the sword low and angled the blade away from himself.

  While Alicia shared a similar footwork, she put more weight into her front leg and she rested her blade beside her hip for a powerful swing to open the first round of the match.

  Immediately as the bell rang, she lunged forward and swung her sword with the intention to break his stance. Perhaps out of sheer panic, Zefer tried to raise his sword for a block, but he raised it too high up and the hit connected to his wrist instead. Comically swatting his arms away and ending the round with a disarm in one decisive hit.

  But he wasn't finished making a mockery of himself just yet, as he was staggering back on one leg, hopping around to make sure he stayed upright. But he had the misfortune of landing on the rope marking the borders of the ring and slipped on it. Sending him crashing down over the border.

  "Mr. Pinto, I've set up four rules for elimination and you've just checked three of them in a single round," the instructor said plainly, eliciting a series of snickers from the students watching. "If this was a graded exam I would've deducted a lot of marks from your final score."

  Zefer stood up and dusted himself off before replying in a cheeky tone, "Ah, the keyword here is if. And hey, at least it's not all four."

  He then walked back into the ring in a confident gait as if nothing had happened earlier. Picking his sword back up and assumed the same stance waiting for the next round to commence.

  "Karin," I peeled my eyes away from the scene to steal a glance at Caldwell. "No, not me. Keep your eyes trained at him. See if you can find anything odd when it starts again."

  I did as he asked, staring more intently this time. Though I didn't know what exactly to look out for, I tried to take in as much details as I could possibly find. And then I saw it...

  The second round started and it was another quick victory for Alicia. And it concluded in a similar fashion as the previous round, with a single hit. The only difference being how and where the hit connected. The sword struck his chin as he attempted to avoid the thrust by bending his body backwards to an almost extreme degree. His back a few centimeters off the ground with only his legs to support his entire weight. An extraordinary feat of leg-strength that unfortunately ended abruptly due to a simple mistake of not bending low enough to avoid the actual thrust.

  But that wasn't what made it so interesting and also confusing at the same time. Rewind a bit farther to when the match start, he was still adjusting his headgear when the round began and Alicia was already closing the distance at a fast rate with a thrust. In a split second, his sword arm twitched and quickly moved to block the incoming attack and he just as quickly readjusted the angle so that her sword would barely grazed over his own.

  And no, his grip didn't slip nor did it falter. He had his guard up properly and deliberately sabotaged himself afterward. And for what exactly?

  Perhaps it was the angle from below, but nobody else seemed to have picked up on the fact. Everybody except for one that is, his own opponent.

  "What the fuck's your problem, huh!?" Alicia took off her headgear and began to berate him.

  The snickers, the murmurs, all of the harsh criticisms; every sound that once filled the training grounds grew quiet the second she raised her voice. Not a single soul let out a sound as their eyes were all glued towards her and Zefer. As if in this moment, the only thing that mattered in the universe was them.

  "I-I don't—"

  "Oh, save your excuses! You think I couldn't see through your shitty act!?"

  She approached him to pull him up by the collar and the pummeled him back down into the ground with her headgear. Most winced at the loud thud as the metal plates struck him square on the nose, breaking it. She left him there on the floor, groaning in pain.

  "Ms. Marchal!" the instructor gasped as he finally grasped the severity of the situation. "How could you walk away while Mr. Pinto—"

  "Yes, I'll head over to the headmaster's office. Happy?"

  He clearly had more to say about her dismissive and overall disrespectful tone, but Fiona stepped forward first before he could lose control of his temper. Followed by the crown prince and Bertrand in tow, ready to jump to her defence if need be.

  They didn't exchange a single word. Fiona stared at her with a disapproving scowl, but somewhere in the deep purple abyss of her cornea lay a faint glimmer of hope; that she could be better than this. Alicia meanwhile scrutinized the girl and her feeble attempt. Her fingers balled up into fists and it shook with barely contained rage.

  But as much as she wanted to hit her right now, she knew she couldn't. Not with this many people watching, and definitely not when those two behind Fiona were not going to spare her the same amount of leniency their mistress would.

  So she blew out an exasperated sigh and walked around her towards the exit. And the second the door slammed shut behind her, the room collectively breathe out a sigh of relief at her departure. Would've almost forgotten the story state Zefer was in had the instructor not called out for Fiona's assistance.

  She apologized and immediately rushed towards the ring to heal him immediately.

  "That was..." Evelynn was at a lost for words. "We sure ended up seeing something, alright."

  She tried to find some smidgen of a silver lining and awkwardly laughed it off.

  "We sure did," Caldwell responded with a smile. He then turned to me and said, "This will definitely need a lot of work, but it's nothing the hero of Mistveil can't handle!"

  I nodded at his optimism, and then turned away when Mika sent a simple message.

  [I'm sold]

  [You and me, we're gonna turn this into a one of a kind romantic story]

  [The kind this world have never seen before]

  While I do appreciate the confidence, I wish he could see just how clueless I was deep down about the future prospect of this couple.