"I'm coming for you next."
He heard the faintest voice whisper it, like the rustling of wind past a dry leaf. Though Vicktor lay on the arena ground, bruised, exhausted, and completely unaccustomed to listening to others, he knew the victor's words were not directed at him.
I must return stronger.
Swoo. The air parted. Not even an hour after suffering a crushing defeat in the practice arena, his stamina had recovered, and he was swinging his practice sword again under the heavy blanket of night.
Thinking.
Three swings.
Is difficult.
Ten swings. Sweat beaded on his forehead, flying off into the bright afternoon sky.
But the sword.
Twenty swings.
Is simple.
Thirty swings. The blade hummed, a perfect, unbroken arc of silver.
Magic is confusing.
Someone told me that I need to read her patterns to win. But can't I just beat her by cutting through her shield? All my actions were made based on her reactions anyway.
I must win. Thinking is difficult.
His sword swung once more, slicing the cold air under the midnight moon.
Is that it?
The memory of his next duel surfaced. He stared at the distraught expression plastered across the blue-haired girl's face. His sword tip had hovered mere inches from Celeste's eyes—eyes that refused to look at anything other than the fierce, unforgiving edge of his blade.
"No!" she had screamed. It hadn't been a cry of genuine terror or strategic deception, but a wail of pure, childish entitlement.
Yikes, girls are scary. I should just end it there.
He had retracted his sword, turning his back on her and returning to the spectator seating.
"Nice work," a passing student had muttered, but Vicktor was entirely distracted. His eyes were locked onto the Mage in the corner of the arena. Cedric. The boy was wielding a sword aura radiating a color Vicktor had never seen before.
Instinctively, Vicktor associated the unknown with danger. But it was a deeper fear that drove his next thought:
I need to get stronger.
Swoo.
The girl beat me.
Swoo.
I beat her.
Swoo.
I beat her again.
"Damn it! Stop getting in my way!" Celeste had screamed after her second loss, her voice lacking the fiery anger of her previous defeats. Even Vicktor had noticed the hesitation in her tone.
He had heard her complaints, but all the mental energy he allotted to matters of unimportance had already been spent. His singular, consuming focus always circled back to Cedric and that mysterious, impossible aura.
I can't let her get to him.
The first month of the second semester concluded. The score of his weekly duels stood at three wins and two losses.