After eating, Lalanat and Alaric headed out so he could practice, with Lalanat there to watch.
Alaric swung his swords with more focus than before; it showed in his every move and even on his face.
Lalanat, lost in thought, watched him.
Everyone here is so good at what they love. Am I the only one who doesn't even have a purpose? Everyone's moving forward step by step… will I ever catch up?
A teasing voice cut through her thoughts. "Dreaming about your future husband, child?"
Lalanat jumped, panicked. "Ahh, of course not! That's not what I'm thinking… yet!"
Elara's smile widened. "Oww, yet?"
Lalanat's blush deepened. "Of course not! I mean… no, that's not what I'm thinking!" She waved her hands frantically, but Elara kept teasing her mercilessly.
The door creaked open. "What are you two talking about?" Prince Caelin asked.
Lalanat froze and stammered, "N-no! We're not talking about Alaric!"
Caelin frowned. "Alarics?"
Elara interrupted with a mischievous grin, "Ahh, she means—"
Lalanat lunged at her, covering her mouth, and the two started playfully fighting.
Alaric returned, dripping with sweat. "What are you two up to?"
Lalanat panicked. "It's nothing, nothing!"
Alaric tilted his head, confused. "Hmm, I see…"
Caelin asked, "Done with your training?"
"Yeah, kinda," Alaric said. "I don't want to overdo it and hurt myself before the actual day."
Elara smirked. "Makes sense. Smart talk for someone who's all about swords and forgets his… wife." She half-laughed.
Alaric blinked. "Wife?"
Lalanat's face turned crimson, like she was about to explode.
Alaric cleared his throat. "By the way, about this Chosen Class—are there any prizes?"
Caelin nodded. "The class that claims first place is awarded a badge—one that earns the respect of every other class.
As for individual champions, they are honored with medals of bronze, silver, or gold. A victor in the sword duel, for instance, would receive a gold medal, bestowed by the king himself… should he choose to attend. Otherwise, the honor falls to the academy's head.
Team events, such as quizzes or dramatic performances, are rewarded differently. Instead of medals, they receive trophies—crafted pieces that vary in size and design depending on rank. The higher the standing, the grander the piece. Gold towering above silver, and silver above bronze."
Alaric's eyes lit up. "Wow… that's a lot of prizes."
Elara shook her head. "Stop making that face like you're going to win. First, you need to be sure you can even beat your classmates for the spot, remember?"
"Of course I do," Alaric said, folding his arms confidently. "Just watch me."
Elara laughed. "Oww, now that's big confidence—not bad. Good luck."
Alaric added, "Yeah, it's for my future. I need to win."
Caelin chuckled. "Now, now, let's head back before it gets late."
Lalanat shivered. "Yeah, it's kind of cold."
Elara wrapped her arms around her. "Let's go back then."
The four of them walked back playfully, their laughter mingling with the crisp evening air.
The next morning at school, the students were in a panic over who should be selected to represent the class.
Elara stood up.
"Please, everyone. We won't fix anything by shouting whatever comes to mind," she said calmly. "Let's sit down and discuss this properly. I'll lead."
The class gradually settled, and most seemed to agree.
"First, archery," Elara continued. "Anyone who wishes to participate, step forward."
Several students raised their hands. Elara nodded.
"You'll compete after school on the practice grounds. The target will be set at fifteen meters. The winner will represent our class."
Everyone agreed.
"Next, sword dueling," she said.
Only two students stepped forward. Alaric, and Graneth, a noble from Caelawyn.
"The same rules apply," Elara said. "A duel after school. Winner takes the position."
She then paused.
"As for the drama event, we'll need someone to write the script. If everyone's okay with it, I recommend Lalanat."
The room filled with murmurs.
"Who's that?" someone whispered.
Elara continued, unfazed.
"She's a strong writer. I can guarantee she'll give us a solid script."
Lalanat nearly vanished into herself. She lowered her head, covering part of her face.
Why me? she thought. Will they even like what I write?
Next came the quiz event. Four students volunteered, though Prince Caelin excused himself due to other responsibilities.
She asked who would handle the dance, but no one stepped forward.
Elara paused, momentarily at a loss.
"Why not do it yourself?" Alaric said from the back.
The class jumped on it at once. "Yeah, Princess!" "You should do it!"
Elara sighed in defeat. "Okay then. I'll do it."
The room grew rowdy as Princess Elara officially joined the event.
After school, the archery candidates gathered on the practice grounds. One by one, they took their shots. In the end, a noble from Dravenn, Lews, emerged victorious and secured the position for the class.
Soon after, the entire class gathered to watch the sword duel between Graneth and Alaric.
The mood was tense. All eyes were fixed on the two fighters as they stepped forward, swords ready.
"I'll act as referee," Prince Caelin announced. "If you drop your sword or fall, you lose. Any questions?"
Both shook their heads.
"Begin."
Silence fell over the crowd.
Alaric took the first step back, raising his guard.
He's fast, he noted immediately. No wasted movement.
Graneth advanced without hesitation, his strikes sharp and controlled. Alaric blocked, the impact sending a dull vibration through his arms.
Too direct. He's trying to overwhelm me.
Alaric stayed defensive, watching closely. The way Graneth shifted his weight. The slight pause before each swing.
There. That's the opening.
Graneth pressed harder, refusing to give Alaric space to counter. Steel clashed again and again, the sound echoing across the grounds.
If I keep blocking, I'll lose, Alaric thought. I need to break his rhythm.
Graneth raised his sword for another strike.
Instead of blocking, Alaric rolled forward, closing the distance.
Now.
His elbow connected with Graneth's face.
Graneth staggered back, pain flashing across his features.
Too close, Graneth realized. I misjudged.
Alaric didn't pause. He stepped in and struck again, forcing Graneth off balance.
The sword slipped from Graneth's grip and fell to the ground.
For a moment, everything froze.
I won, Alaric thought, breathing hard. I didn't hesitate.
The class gasped.
Lalanat stared, her hands clenched without realizing it. Elara watched with quiet approval. Caelin's lips curved into a smile.
"Then it's settled,"
Caelin announced.
"The winner is Alaric Thandor."
Cheers erupted around them.
Alaric lowered his sword, his heartbeat still loud in his ears.
Soon after the final bell rang, Alaric stretched and said, "Let's head back."
Lalanat and Princess Elara followed as they left the classroom. Alaric paused and looked back.
"Caelin, you're not coming?"
Prince Caelin shook his head. "I need to speak with the teachers about a letter from my father. You three go on."
"Alright. See you," Alaric said.
"See you," Lalanat and Elara echoed.
The three headed toward the residence together.
After a short walk, Alaric glanced at Lalanat.
"So, Lala… have you started the script yet?"
Before she could answer, Elara flicked his forehead. "Don't pressure her, idiot."
She turned to Lalanat, her voice softer. "It's fine even if we don't win. Just write what feels right to you, okay?"
Lalanat's shoulders drooped. Her thoughts spiraled. Will they even like it? Why did she pick me? I should just disappear. Her expression darkened as she stared at the ground.
Elara noticed and shot Alaric a glare. "This is your fault."
"Ah—no, I'm sorry," Alaric said quickly. "That's not what I meant."
"You always say whatever's in your head without thinking," Elara replied.
"Come on, I apologized," he muttered.
They walked in silence for a moment. Just before reaching the residence, Alaric slowed down and spoke again, this time more carefully.
"But Lala… I know you're scared. That's normal. I get scared too."
He shrugged. "Fear's just something you get past by facing it."
Then, as if embarrassed by his own seriousness, he suddenly bolted ahead.
"Bath time!" he shouted.
Elara blinked, caught off guard. Lalanat froze for a second, then lifted her head. The heaviness in her chest loosened, just a little, as if she'd been shaken awake.
While they were eating, Prince Caelin returned.
"Have you eaten?" Alaric asked, his mouth still full.
"Yes," Caelin replied calmly. "I ate on the way back. You all continue. I'll clean up first." With that, he excused himself.
Alaric watched him leave, still chewing. "I wonder what they talked about. He looks… kind of down."
"Maybe something we're not supposed to ask," Lalanat said softly.
"Hm. I see."
"Finish your food before talking," Elara snapped, smacking the back of Alaric's head.
"Hey, stop hitting me there. I need this for battle," Alaric complained.
"You use your sword more than your brain anyway," Elara shot back.
"But I still need this one too!"
The kitchen grew louder with their bickering. Lalanat stayed quiet, lost in thought.
It's strange, she thought. He never seems to think much, yet somehow what he says always makes sense…
She clenched her hands slightly. I should do my best too.
She straightened herself, trying to shake off the doubt.
Alaric noticed her sudden movement. "You need the bathroom?"
Lalanat froze, panicked. "N-no! I'm fine!" Her face flushed immediately.
Later that evening, Lalanat worked on her script, Elara took a bath, and Alaric returned to training.
Prince Caelin approached him quietly. "Yo."
Alaric turned. "Oh. Hey. Something up?"
"Not really," Caelin replied.
Alaric hesitated, then lowered his sword. "You seemed different after talking with the teachers. Something happened?"
Caelin smiled faintly. "Yeah… actually. I asked my father for something. He agreed, but it might be too late."
Alaric stopped training completely. "For what?"
Caelin took a breath. "To be honest, I want to become a knight too. Ever since I was a child, I admired your father. I still do."
Alaric stared at him, stunned.
"But because I'm meant to take the throne," Caelin continued, "I was taught self-defense only as necessity. The rest was books, politics, responsibility. So I asked my father… if before I inherit the throne, I could try to walk the path of a knight. Just once."
Alaric looked genuinely shocked. "I never thought you'd want that. I mean… you're smart. Mature."
Caelin smiled. "At least you're honest."
Alaric scratched his head, a little lost. "I guess… you're being honest too, telling me this."
"So you came just to tell me that?" Alaric asked.
"I came to warn you," Caelin said lightly. "As a friend. This isn't our moment yet… but when it comes, I won't lose to you."
"Then why not fight me now?" Alaric said suddenly. "Take the spot yourself."
Caelin shook his head. "You earned that chance. It would be rude to take it."
Alaric grinned. "I want to fight as much as possible. That's how I get stronger."
Caelin's smile shifted into a smirk. The air between them tightened, serious now.
Then a voice cut in from behind.
"Why not duel here for the spot?" Princess Elara said as she stepped out from behind the door. "He only had one opponent today anyway."
Both of them froze in shock.
Elara stepped out of the house, folding her arms as she looked at the two of them.
"Since you only get to fight one opponent for the spot," she said calmly, "I think I should see more of what you're capable of. One more fight sounds fair, doesn't it?" A faint smile curved her lips.
Alaric shrugged and lifted his sword slightly.
"I don't mind showing you," he said.
Caelin hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure? I may not look like much, but I do know a few things."
Alaric pointed his blade directly at him.
"Caelin, I respect you. But if you keep hesitating, I'll start thinking you're trying to run away."
The air tightened.
Caelin smirked. "Then I hope you don't regret this."
As he stepped into position, adjusting his grip, a memory surfaced uninvited.
Five years ago.
Prince Caelin wandered through the kingdom's training grounds, his small steps slowing when he noticed a crowd forming. Two knights were sparring against a single man.
And losing.
The lone knight moved as if he already knew what would come next. His strikes were heavier, cleaner, and more precise than the others combined. Within moments, both opponents were disarmed.
But what caught Caelin's attention wasn't just the victory.
After the match, the man smiled and calmly pointed out their mistakes, praising their effort while correcting their form. Strong, yet humble. Commanding, yet kind.
Caelin tugged on his personal maid's sleeve.
"Who's that?" he asked, eyes wide. "He's amazing."
She followed his gaze and smiled.
"That's Kalvein Thandor. First Squad General. The finest knight in the kingdom."
Caelin watched in awe.
Days later, he found Kalvein training alone. Gathering his courage, the young prince approached him.
"Mister," Caelin asked, "if you're already so strong, why do you still practice every day?"
Kalvein turned, surprised for a moment, then smiled warmly.
"A sword that isn't used," he said, "will dull and rot, no matter how sharp it once was."
Caelin tilted his head. "I don't understand."
"You will," Kalvein replied gently, "when you have something worth protecting."
The boy hesitated, then asked, "Will I ever be strong like you?"
Kalvein laughed softly.
"If you swing your blade every day and never stop, then yes."
From that day on, whenever time allowed, Caelin trained with him. Until one day, Kalvein retired. Their meetings ended just like that.
Before they parted, Kalvein rested a hand on Caelin's shoulder.
"I have a son," he said. "He's about your age. I hope one day you'll meet him. If not as friends… then at least on the battlefield."
Caelin remembered the excitement he felt back then.
And now—
His eyes sharpened as the present rushed back in.
Standing before him was Kalvein Thandor's son.
Alaric raised his sword.
"Ready?"
Caelin smiled.
"More than you know."
As they took their positions, Elara stepped forward.
"First to fall or lose their sword loses," she said calmly. She looked at both of them. "Ready?"
Both nodded.
"Begin."
They stood still, eyes locked, each waiting for the other to move first.
Caelin knew Alaric's habit. Defense first. Let the opponent reveal themselves. He smiled faintly and waited.
But Alaric didn't.
"So that's how you want it," Alaric muttered.
He stepped in hard.
Heavy strikes came one after another, leaving no room to think. Caelin was forced back, blocking and dodging, barely finding space to breathe, let alone counter.
So this is Kalvein's son, Caelin thought, teeth clenched as steel rang again and again.
Then Alaric suddenly stopped.
"Stop running and hit back," Alaric said, blade lowered slightly. "Or were you just talking big?"
Caelin's grip tightened. He stepped in.
This time, he struck first.
Their swords clashed in rapid exchange. Footwork scraped against the ground. The rhythm shifted, faster, sharper.
Alaric felt it.
If he trained like I did… he might beat me.
But instead of dodging the next strike, Alaric did something reckless.
He let it come.
Caelin's blade slid in close, and Alaric trapped it between his arm and ribs, wincing as steel pressed into flesh.
"But I've fought someone much stronger," Alaric said.
His free hand drove forward.
Caelin staggered. His sword slipped from his grasp and hit the ground with a dull clang. He dropped to one knee, one hand bracing himself.
Silence.
Alaric's expression shifted instantly. "You okay?"
Caelin stayed kneeling for a second longer. Then he laughed. Breathless, half-frustrated, half-excited.
"Yeah," he said. "You're strong."
Alaric reached out. Caelin took his hand and stood.
"Thank you for that," Caelin said, eyes sharp again. "But next time, I win."
Alaric blinked, then grinned. "Sure. Bring it on."
They stared at each other for a moment longer before both burst out laughing.