Bab 20: Hurt

The moment the temporary alliance to eliminate George crumbled, the battle shifted violently. Without the human and elven collaboration, they were no match for the might of the barbarians, who quickly overpowered them. The elves and humans were wiped out in mere seconds.

"Ah!" Heigdeirr cried out as he felt a sharp kick against his back, causing him to spin and face his sister, Stulgra, who stood alongside her two barbarian assistants, Rhelkas and Shal.

Madrath, watching from Heigdeirr's side, stayed silent, knowing better than to attract attention from the barbarian women.

"Maybe you should have brought your own assistance," Stulgra taunted, reminding Heigdeirr that none of his potential allies would ever disobey the hierarchy and side with him over the Princess.

With clenched fists, Heigdeirr muttered through gritted teeth, "I... concede." He turned away, fists trembling, leaving Madrath alone to face the three fierce barbarian women.

Taking a deep breath, Madrath tore off his shirt, wrapping the fabric around his hands to protect his knuckles from the inevitable assault. He braced himself as Rhelkas came at him first, launching into the air for a powerful flying kick aimed directly at his chest.

Pah!

Rhelkas grinned as her foot connected with Madrath. But in an instant, she realized something had gone wrong. Her body twisted uncontrollably in mid-air as Madrath, using his overwhelming strength, grabbed her leg and swung her around like a rag doll. With a mighty throw, he slammed her into the ground, the force knocking her out cold.

"Rhelkas eliminated," the instructor called out, confirming her defeat as she lay motionless on the ground.

Shal, eyes blazing with fury, looked ready to pounce for revenge but hesitated, recognizing that rushing at Madrath might lead to the same fate.

"You're a bad sister. You won't even avenge your sibling because you're too scared," Madrath mocked, knowing exactly how to provoke her.

Shal's rage exploded. "You bastard!" She charged at Madrath, fists swinging wide in blind fury.

Pah!

With a single, powerful punch to Shal's face, Madrath sent her crashing to the ground, her jaw nearly shattered from the blow.

"Shal eliminated."

Madrath, visibly fatigued, could barely raise his arms to defend himself. Despite this, the Princess, Stulgra, approached Gideon Cross and, with a nod of respect, declared, "I give up."

The instructor rushed over to Madrath, raising his hand in victory. "Winner, Madrath!"

Madrath smiled weakly, basking in the cheers from the crowd. But a large shadow fell over him as Gideon Cross, his muscular arms crossed, stood before him. "*I guess you're my student now. Keep up the good work," Gideon said, giving a rare nod of approval before exiting the tent.

As the dust settled and the crowd began to disperse, many of the students couldn't help but glance at George, who still lay on the floor, motionless.

The Empire Prince's thoughts raced. 'Could it be... that he's hiding his true abilities?' In the Prince's mind, George's unorthodox behavior was a strategic decision. It wasn't uncommon for knights and seasoned fighters to avoid revealing their techniques too early, lest they expose their weaknesses. Perhaps George is employing a tactic similar to Bobby Fischer, the chess grandmaster who only played in major competitions to avoid exposing his strategies, they wouldn't know this of course, since there was no Bobby Fischer in this world.

The others began to share the same thoughts, misunderstanding George's avoidance of combat as a brilliant ruse rather than an act of sheer desperation.

"So, what do you think?" Mason asked as he and Donovan followed behind Gideon Cross.

"It's clear why these students might be targets. Among them, we have the Prince of the Empire and several nobles. Even those without royal blood are exceptionally talented. Although..." Gideon paused, deep in thought. "I'm not quite sure about the one named George."

Mason stopped, turning to stare at the tent where George had fought. Something about him didn't sit right. While George exuded confidence, his actual combat skills seemed lacking, as if he had never truly trained in martial arts. And yet, in moments of stillness, George's demeanor shifted, making him appear like a seasoned warrior.

"There's something off about him..." Mason murmured to himself. He pulled out his copy of the protected students' list and marked George's name with a red pencil.

Later, George finally reached his assigned dorm, a modest room in the Class-C Residence Hall. He leaned his head against the door, exhausted, while rummaging through his pockets for the key. His ribs ached from the exertion, his body bruised and battered beneath the illusion cast by the Persona Ring.

He unlocked the door, stumbled inside, and collapsed to the floor, kicking the door shut behind him. As he lay there, he could feel the illusion fading, revealing his true injuries. 'Oh, God...' he thought, gazing into the mirror. His skin was covered in deep purple bruises, his lips bloodied. 'Internal bleeding...'

Each injury told the story of a man far outmatched by his peers. Even Bryne, the supposedly weakest of the group, had nearly broken him. And had one of the barbarians managed a clean hit, George knew he would be dead.

"This... isn't sustainable," George muttered to himself. Bandages wouldn't help him now. His body needed time to heal, time he didn't have.

He glanced at the thin, uninviting bed in the corner of the room. It wasn't the kind of bed one would choose for rest, let alone recovery. But right now, it looked like the most inviting bed in the world.

George dragged himself toward it and collapsed onto the mattress. The bed, though barely more than a few layers of fabric, enveloped him, offering relief to his aching body.

As sleep overtook him, his mind drifted to memories of the past, the life he had left behind, and the impossible challenges he now faced.