章 73: You're gonna fight
The training grounds were nothing like I'd expected. With all the grandeur and energy of the rest of the school, I thought this space would be impressive a place that radiated discipline and raw power. Instead, it was... underwhelming.
The floor was simple stone, scarred with countless burns, cracks, and scratches from past battles.
The walls were bare, no murals or carvings to add a sense of inspiration. Just plain, gray, and dull. The air was faintly smoky, and not from any magical sparring.
No, the source of the smoke was the teacher leaning casually against the far wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a rumpled shirt and loose pants, his disheveled black hair falling into his face.
He didn't seem to care about the group of students trickling in, his bored gaze occasionally scanning the room before returning to his cigarette.
"Is he... our teacher?" I whispered to Amara, who stood beside me.
"Yup." She rolled her eyes. "Meet Master Andor. Master of apathy and the fine art of doing absolutely nothing."
"He looks more like Carlos than a teacher," I muttered, immediately regretting it when Amara burst out laughing.
The sound must have carried because Andor glanced in our direction, his sharp eyes locking on me briefly before he blew out a lazy puff of smoke and turned away.
"Don't underestimate him," one of the other girls in our group said. Her name was Ilya, and she had a no-nonsense air about her. Her short hair framed her serious expression, and her arms were crossed as she studied Andor.
"He's strict when he wants to be. But most of the time, he just lets students handle themselves. And by handle, I mean fight. He loves it when things get messy."
"Messy how?" I asked, though I already had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.
"Let's just say he doesn't care if someone gets their arm broken or leaves with a scar," Ilya replied. "As long as no one actually dies, he considers it a learning experience."
"Great," I said dryly. "Sounds like a wonderful role model."
More students gathered, the room filling with a mix of chatter, laughter, and the occasional spark of magic as some warmed up for what they clearly expected to be combat training.
I stayed close to Amara and Ilya, trying to take it all in without drawing too much attention.
Finally, Andor pushed off the wall, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. He clapped his hands lazily, silencing the room.
"All right, brats," he drawled, his voice rough but carrying easily over the group. "We've got a new face today. Ren Khasar. Get used to it."
His introduction or lack thereof made me blink in disbelief. That was it? No words of encouragement, no welcome? Just... that?
"Ren," he continued, pointing a finger at me as if he couldn't be bothered to fully lift his arm. "You're gonna fight."
"Fight?" I repeated, my stomach tightening.
"Yeah, fight," he said, his tone suggesting I'd just asked the dumbest question in existence. "Every newbie gets a trial by fire. Literally, if your opponent's feeling spicy."
Before I could respond, he turned to the group. "Who's the strongest in here right now?"
A ripple of excitement spread through the students as they turned to look at someone near the back. The crowd parted, revealing a girl who stepped forward with an air of supreme confidence.
She was striking tall, with dark red skin that marked her as a demon. Her long, silvery hair shimmered as she moved, and her amber eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity.
She wore a sleeveless black uniform, her muscular arms bare, the faint glow of magical runes etched into her skin.
"I'm Mirra," she said, her voice smooth but carrying an edge that made me straighten instinctively. "Fifteen years old, and I'll be your opponent."
Fifteen? She looked like she could take on an army.
"Andor, you want me to scare her, or break her?" Mirra asked, her lips curving into a sly grin.
"Do whatever you want," Andor said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just don't kill her. Paperwork's a pain."
Mirra chuckled, and I felt a spark of irritation flare in my chest. This wasn't going to be some sparring match. She wanted to humiliate me.
"Fine," I said, stepping forward. "Let's do this."
The other students backed away, forming a loose circle around us. The air grew tense, the buzz of anticipation thick enough to choke on. Mirra stretched her arms lazily, her movements fluid and deliberate.
"You sure you're ready for this, little one?" she teased, her grin widening. "I don't want to hear you crying for mercy later."
"Just start," I snapped, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my stomach.
She laughed and extended her hand. Shadows began to swirl around her fingers, coalescing into a dense, inky mass. The air around her grew colder, darker, as if the light itself recoiled from her presence.
Dark magic.
"Here we go," she said, her voice dropping into a lower, more menacing tone.
She moved first, a streak of shadow darting toward me like a living snake. I reacted instinctively, summoning a barrier of red fire to block it. The shadow hissed and recoiled, evaporating into wisps of smoke.
"Not bad," she said, her tone amused. "But can you keep up?"
She launched herself at me, her movements almost too fast to follow. I ducked and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade of shadow that slashed through the air where I'd just been. Rising to my feet, I retaliated with a burst of flame, forcing her to leap back.
The crowd cheered and jeered, their excitement feeding the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I could feel my magic surging, the fire within me responding to the challenge.
Mirra was relentless, her attacks growing faster and more complex. She used her magic to create clones of herself, shadowy doppelgängers that moved in perfect sync.
I gritted my teeth, focusing on separating the real from the illusions.
One by one, I destroyed the clones, my flames cutting through them like a knife through butter. But the real Mirra was nowhere to be seen until I felt a sharp burst of energy behind me.
I spun just in time to block her attack, her shadow blade colliding with my fiery barrier in a burst of sparks. We were close now, face to face, her grin as infuriating as ever.
"You're better than I expected," she admitted, her voice low. "But I'm not done yet."
Neither was I. With a surge of determination, I pushed her back, my fire flaring brighter and hotter. She staggered, her grin faltering for the first time.
And then, she did something I didn't expect. She dropped her weapon and stepped closer, closing the distance between us in a single stride.
Before I could react, she grabbed my face and kissed me—hard, on the lips.
The world seemed to stop. My mind went blank, my magic flickering and stuttering like a dying flame. The crowd erupted into gasps and laughter, their voices distant and muffled as I tried to process what had just happened.
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