Chapter 28 - Competition

“I decline to participate.”

Wesley’s words echoed through the classroom. Every student turned in disbelief, glancing between Wesley and the second elder, waiting to see the elder's response.

The elder stood on the raised platform, his signature smile still fixed on his face. Wesley felt a cold sweat trickle down his back. He knew this smile well—it was the elder’s usual friendly expression, but to Wesley, it looked more like a sneer, the devil’s own grin.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the elder stared at Wesley, whose face had gone pale. Finally, the elder spoke, his tone amused.

“You can’t decline.”

“Is the competition mandatory?” Wesley asked.

“No, it is not.”

“Then why can’t I decline?”

“Because it’s not in your best interest.”

This sounded dangerously like a threat, suggesting that declining might lead to consequences. Wesley struggled for words, but the elder cut him off before he could respond.

“Hohoho, you can decline, but if you do, I will fail you—and you’ll spend an extra year with me.”

That settled it. Wesley didn’t want to retake this class, least of all under the same elder. In the academy, failing a class meant you had to retake it the next year. Just as he was accepting this, the elder added:

“Besides, your rankings are so low that a single win could greatly boost your classmates’ standings. So, do you still decline?”

Wesley was already resigned to participating, but this was just rubbing salt in the wound. Not only did he have to compete to avoid failing, but now everyone expected him to improve their rankings. As if reading his thoughts, the students around him began muttering, and some even shouted:

“Do it, Wesley! We believe in you!”

“Don’t you dare refuse, Wesley. Don’t you dare!”

With a resigned sigh, Wesley nodded at his classmates’ pleading faces and said, “Fine, I’ll participate.”

“Hohoho, good choice. The competition begins tomorrow at ten. Don’t be late.”

-- - - - - - -

The next morning, Wesley left the Manor earlier than usual. The second elder had been clear about the importance of punctuality. Wesley sighed as he walked, suppressing his lingering unease toward the elder. He knew the elder didn’t truly mean him harm, yet the elder’s mix of friendliness and intimidation unsettled him deeply.

At the academy entrance, Wesley spotted a blue-robed young man with a massive broadsword slung across his back. Kellan’s imposing figure and serious expression always drew attention, and today was no exception. Wesley smiled as he approached his friend.

“Kellan, have you been waiting long?”

Kellan looked up and returned the smile. “Not long. I just didn’t want to go in alone.”

“Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yeah.”

Together, they walked to the meeting hall. The rankings competition was set to take place in the same hall used for the academy’s entrance ceremony. The headmaster’s platform was now transformed into a battle stage.

Rows of seats were arranged in six pairs, each designated for one of the academy’s main classes: water, fire, earth, wind, light, and swordsmanship. Although students often trained in multiple disciplines, each ultimately identified with one primary class, making this competition as much about the classes as the individual students.

Kellan and Wesley made their way to the front of the leftmost column, where seats had been reserved for them. As Wesley looked around, he noticed all the other contestants were already present. He sighed deeply as he took his seat. He still didn’t want to be here.

After a few minutes, six azure-robed elders entered the hall. Wesley recognized two of them as the second and third elders. Each elder moved to the column for their respective class and spoke quietly to the students. With the swordsmanship class on the far left, the second elder reached Wesley and Kellan last.

Standing before them with his usual smile, the second elder looked both Wesley and Kellan over before speaking.

“Kellan, Wesley, you’ll be numbers eleven and twelve. Since your rankings are low, you received the last numbers.”

The elder paused, watching for their reactions. He knew they were both talented, and so did they; their low rankings spoke more to the system’s bias than to their abilities. But neither Wesley nor Kellan reacted. They both knew the rankings were meaningless.

Seeing their lack of response, the elder nodded approvingly and continued.

“However, because of your low rankings, each win will bring a significant increase. And remember, in one-on-one matches, the swordsman holds an advantage.”

“Yes, elder,” Wesley and Kellan replied in unison.

“Oh, and Wesley,” the elder added with a grin, “you don’t need to push yourself too hard. If you show me something interesting, you can forfeit the remaining matches.”

With that, the elder nodded and moved to the back of the hall, where the other elders had also gathered. A moment later, another elder walked onto the stage, clearing his throat to quiet the room. Once the hall had fallen silent, he began:

“We will now begin the first-year rankings competition. The rules are simple: you win by forcing your opponent to submit, leave the stage, or fall unconscious. You may not fatally injure, maim, or cripple your opponent. There will be three rounds, with opponents randomly drawn each round, ensuring no one faces a competitor from their own class. The entire competition will conclude today. Finally, please restrict area spells to the stage dimensions, which are thirty feet by thirty feet.”

-- - - - - - -

“First match: Number 4 and Number 8.”

Two students stepped onto the stage, one a wind mage and the other an earth mage. This match dragged on, as the two elements countered each other, prolonging the battle. It took over ten minutes before the wind mage, exhausted and low on mana, finally submitted.

“Second match: Number 10 and Number 5.”

This time, a fire mage faced off against a wind mage. Although the fire mage’s power was fierce, the wind mage’s agility allowed him to keep evading attacks while landing small strikes until the fire mage could no longer continue.

“Third match: Number 6 and Number 12.”

Wesley was slouched in his seat, eyes closed. Kellan, seated beside him, nudged him slightly, causing him to open his eyes and realize that everyone was staring at him. Glancing at the stage, Wesley noticed only one person waiting, glaring back at him.

“It’s your turn, Wesley,” Kellan’s voice sounded beside him.

Wesley shot up, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face as laughter rippled through the students. He walked to the stage, offering an apologetic smile to his opponent, who looked him up and down with clear disdain, his gaze lingering on Wesley’s sword and unbothered expression.

“My name is Paelar Rol. Water mage, ranked ninety-seventh,” the student said with an air of pride.

Wesley looked at Paelar’s sneering face and couldn’t help but shake his head. “Wesley. Rank two hundred.”

His words shocked not only Paelar but the entire student body. Rank two hundred meant he was dead last in the academy, given that there were only two hundred students.

Paelar’s smirk grew, and he silently cursed his luck. Facing the lowest-ranked student meant he wouldn’t gain any ranking boost from a win; defeating Wesley would only let him retain his current position. With introductions complete, an elder standing beside the stage shouted:

“Begin!”

As soon as the words left the elder’s mouth, Paelar began muttering an incantation. Wesley, however, remained completely still. In one-on-one battles, swordsmen usually held an advantage, as they didn’t have to wait for spell preparation. Wesley’s passive stance surprised everyone.

“Why’s he just standing there?”

“I don’t know—maybe he’s not the sharpest?”

“Haha, well, now we know why he’s ranked last.”

Whispers filled the hall. After ten heartbeats, Paelar finished his incantation and shouted:

“Water Fog!”

A thick, white fog spread out from Paelar, blanketing the stage. As the fog enveloped Wesley, the onlookers assumed he was done for. A swordsman’s advantage lay in stopping a mage before they could prepare spells, but now that Paelar had cast his fog, he had full control. The spell hid Paelar from Wesley, giving him plenty of time to prepare another attack. The outcome seemed certain.

After a few moments, Paelar’s voice rang out again from within the fog.

“Water Prison!”

The fog covering the stage condensed, compressing into a ten-foot-wide sphere of water that centered on where Wesley had been standing. Paelar, holding out his right hand toward the sphere, smirked, confident of his victory. He hadn’t even needed a minute to win.

However, the audience wasn’t staring at the water sphere. They were staring, wide-eyed, at something behind Paelar. Paelar basked in his imagined glory, oblivious to their shock. Behind him stood a blue-robed, blue-haired boy with a dark sword in his hand—Wesley had somehow avoided Paelar’s spell and crept up unnoticed.

Wesley shook his head at the bother of it all. Without warning, he raised his sword and tapped the back of Paelar’s head. The blow was enough; Paelar stumbled forward and collapsed, unconscious, his smug expression frozen on his face.

Wesley walked calmly back to his seat, unfazed. Every pair of eyes followed him, their expressions stunned. This seemingly sluggish student, the lowest-ranked in the academy, had just defeated a mage ranked in the top hundred with ease.

The hall was deathly silent. No one seemed able to believe what they’d just witnessed. But the moment Wesley sat down, his classmates erupted in loud cheers. They had just seen a fellow swordsman thoroughly defeat a mage.

“Wesley, how did you do it?” Kellan asked, his eyes shining with curiosity.

“Do what?” Wesley replied, nonchalant.

“How did you get behind him without him noticing?”

“Oh, that. It’s one of my Silent Techniques, Silent Flicker.”

“Ah, I see.”

As they spoke, an elder was examining the unconscious Paelar on stage. After checking his condition, he nodded to another elder below, who then called out:

“Next match: Number 2 and Number 7.”

“Next match: Number 1 and Number 9.”

“Next match: Number 3 and Number 11.”

This time, it was Kellan’s turn. He faced off against an earth mage, but unlike Wesley, Kellan rushed forward the moment the elder announced the start of the match. Though not the fastest, Kellan still managed to close the twenty-foot gap before his opponent could finish his spell, winning quickly if somewhat plainly.

With Wesley’s victory, his ranking had jumped to ninety-seventh, while Kellan’s rose to twenty-third. Together, they had raised the average rank of their class by ten—a tremendous boost.

The announcing elder stepped back onto the stage.

“We will now begin the second round. There will be three matches in this round. First match: Number 5 and Number 11.”

This match pitted Kellan against a wind mage. Kellan attempted to close in before the wind mage could cast, but wind mages were naturally agile, and their spells reflected that. The mage completed his incantation and spent the rest of the match evading Kellan, whose strength-based style required more stamina than he could afford. After a few exhausting minutes of chasing the wind mage around, Kellan eventually submitted, dropping his rank from twenty-third to thirty-fifth.

“Next match: Number 1 and Number 12.”

It was Wesley’s turn again. This time, however, he was paying attention, raising his hand and looking directly at the announcing elder. Puzzled, the elder spoke.

“What is it?”

Wesley turned his gaze to the second elder standing at the far end of the column. When the elder gave a slight nod, Wesley faced the front again and said:

“I submit.”

With that, Wesley rose from his seat, caught up with Kellan by the exit, and left the hall.