Chapitre 41: More Problems

Unlike the rest of the day, when George had kept a serious face, he now found himself unable to stop smiling as he ate his sandwich. His eyes flicked over to Akshar, sitting a few tables away. "Three and O," George whispered to himself, grinning while munching on his bread.

Akshar, in stark contrast, sat stiffly in his seat, nervously glancing around as he ate his beef and chicken meal. It was clear he was waiting for someone.

Suddenly, Princess Stulgra Angmar appeared, striding toward Akshar with two assistants trailing behind her. "Akshar..." she said sharply, her tone carrying an air of authority as she sat down in front of him. "Mind telling me what happened?"

Akshar froze, swallowing hard. He couldn't meet her gaze. "Sorry..." he muttered, barely audible.

His usual bravado had vanished. This was a different side of Akshar—one George had never seen before. The fearless barbarian who bullied others into submission now looked like a scolded child.

"I don't want an apology. I want an explanation," Stulgra continued, her voice tightening with irritation. "What happened to you?"

"I-I lost..." Akshar admitted, visibly trembling as Stulgra's piercing gaze bored into him.

Stulgra's assistant, standing nearby, scoffed in disgust, as if Akshar no longer deserved to be called a barbarian. "Would you care to explain why you attacked the Great Wizard?" Stulgra pressed. "Do you realize how this makes us look? What people will think of our kingdom because of your reckless actions?"

Akshar coughed, the weight of shame and fear heavy on him. "I... I don't know," he stammered.

Stulgra leaned in closer, her voice cold and menacing. "If you don't fix this... if you don't redeem yourself... then maybe you shouldn't call yourself a barbarian anymore."

Akshar's head shot up in desperation. "No! Please... I'll do anything..."

"Then fix it," Stulgra replied flatly, standing up and walking away, her assistants following closely behind.

Akshar's hands shook uncontrollably, even after she was gone. The entire cafeteria had gone silent, the students watching the exchange with rapt attention. No one dared to speak.

At a nearby table, Jame was busily jotting down notes in his notebook, grinning as he wrote. "This is going to sell very well..."

George tapped Jame on the shoulder. "Hey, tell me something."

Jame smiled knowingly, flipping through his notes. "Akshar was a prospect chosen by the Kingdom of Angmar," he began. "They picked him because of his undeniable strength. But now, he's on thin ice. If he doesn't beat you, he's probably going to get kicked out of the academy—by the barbarians themselves."

George's face went pale. "Beat me? Why?"

Suddenly, Akshar's public humiliation didn't seem so funny anymore.

"It's obvious," Jame continued. "You beat him in the sparring match pretty easily."

"But Peyton beat Akshar up worse than I did! He completely humiliated him!" George protested, panic rising in his voice.

"Yeah, but Peyton avenged that loss. Akshar's focus is on avenging his loss to you now."

"Ah, crap..." George muttered, realizing the trouble he was in.

Akshar stood up, his hulking frame casting a shadow across the cafeteria. His mood was dark, and no one dared to speak as he slowly made his way toward the exit.

The moment he left, the cafeteria erupted into noise again. But George was too distracted to notice. He quickly finished his meal and rushed out, his mind racing. "This guy is gonna kill me! For sure!"

As he sprinted toward his dorm, George constantly glanced over his shoulder, making sure Akshar wasn't lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. By the time he reached his room, he skidded to a stop, heart pounding in his chest.

A broad figure blocked the doorway.

"Akshar..." George whispered, trying to sound brave but failing miserably. "What are you doing here? This is my room."

Akshar's voice was low, filled with menace. "I WARN YOU. End of the month, you will lose. You must..."

Without another word, Akshar turned and walked away, leaving George frozen in place. Normally, Akshar's towering presence would have terrified him, but this time George noticed something different—there was fear in Akshar's eyes. Even his posture seemed uncertain, like a man on the verge of collapse.

George quickly entered his room, locking the door behind him. "Crap... I gotta get stronger!"

He sat down, gripping the stack of wrestling books he had borrowed from the library. But he knew it wouldn't be enough. He had barely scratched the surface of wrestling basics in just one week. And wrestling wasn't going to help him in a real fight against someone like Akshar. One punch from the barbarian would end him.

He glanced at the books on his desk, sighing. Wrestling was useful in certain situations, but it wasn't a comprehensive fighting style. If he wanted to survive the upcoming match, he needed to learn how to strike and defend himself against more than just takedowns.

Grabbing all ten books in one hand, George peeked out into the hallway, checking to make sure the coast was clear before sprinting toward the library.

He slammed the books down on the librarian's desk. "Here, I'm done with these."

"Already?" the librarian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll come back for them, but for now, I need books on hand-to-hand combat. Ones that focus on fists. And a book on kicking techniques."

The librarian gave him a puzzled look. "Why don't you just learn a complete martial art?"

George blinked. "Complete martial art? Sure, just add that to the list."

The librarian sighed, shaking her head as she walked off to retrieve the requested books. After a few minutes, she returned with a stack. "We have three mid-tier complete martial arts books. You might want to start with those. The ones that only focus on fists or legs are incomplete—no one really uses them. They're on the same level as the wrestling books you returned."

George nodded, taking the stack to a nearby table. He cracked open the first book, titled *Iron Body.*

'This sounds like a scam,' he thought, flipping through the pages. As he read, his skepticism only grew. The instructions seemed ridiculous, focusing on rigid movements that were supposed to make the practitioner "iron" tough. The concept felt completely nonsensical.

Frustrated, George tossed the book aside and opened the second one, *Flow,* which had an ornate blue cover. After reading only a few pages, he groaned. 'Another joke...'

The martial art was all about deflecting attacks by letting them "flow" through the body—a concept that had been debunked countless times in real martial arts.

George could see why these techniques were popular in this world. The stronger you were, the more you could get away with using bad techniques. But for someone in his position, these arts were useless.

Disheartened by the first two books, he didn't even bother opening the third. He sighed and slumped back in his chair. 'This is hopeless.'