The academy yard was packed with students, instructors, and onlookers. The news of Kalem vs. Master Rourke had spread like wildfire, and now, all eyes were on the barriered field where the match would take place.
Gregor, the spellcraft professor, stepped forward, his hands already glowing with the arcane energy needed to create a reinforced combat barrier.
"Can't have ye two wreckin' the whole yard, now can we?" he muttered as he traced symbols into the air.
A shimmering blue dome expanded, sealing the combatants inside a controlled battlefield. The barrier would keep stray attacks from harming the spectators—but inside, all damage was real.
Kalem stepped past the glowing threshold, wearing his combat armor—a reinforced chestplate, armored greaves, and vambraces. His gear wasn't ornamental; it was functional, built for mobility and endurance rather than brute force.
From the side, Lyra, Jhaeros, and Garrick stood close, their expressions mixed between concern and amusement.
"Are you actually planning to fight him, or just run tests?" Lyra asked, crossing her arms.
Kalem glanced at her, raising a brow."Both."
That was enough to make Garrick groan.
"You're insane," he muttered.
Jhaeros, however, was more serious. His feline ears twitched slightly as he leaned closer.
"Listen to me, Kalem. Rourke is an honor-bound warrior. If he gets even the slightest hint that you're treating him as a test subject, he'll take offense. And trust me—you don't want that."
Kalem adjusted the belt that secured his combat tools and exhaled.
"I understand," he finally said. "I'll fight properly."
His friends didn't look convinced, but before they could argue, a loud voice cut through the air.
"Step forward, both of you!"
The Match Begins
Kalem dragged his crate of weapons behind him, the metal inside clinking softly as he set it down. He reached in, pulling out a short blade to start.
From the opposite side, Master Rourke entered.
Unlike Kalem, the combat instructor had no weapons, no armor, nothing. He walked barefoot on the dirt, his massive frame radiating pure physical power.
Despite his age, Rourke's body was carved like solid stone—a testament to decades of training. His arms were as thick as logs, and his stance spoke of absolute control over every muscle.
Kalem's mind began analyzing the scene.
"Barehanded. No stance. No wasted movement. That means... he's testing me first."
There was a hint of amusement in Rourke's expression as he studied Kalem.
"You're wearing armor, and I didn't even bring shoes," Rourke said, cracking his knuckles. "Don't suppose you'll make this a fair fight?"
Kalem didn't blink. "That depends on your definition of 'fair.'"
That made some of the students chuckle.
Rourke exhaled through his nose.
"You always analyze your fights like this?"
"I prefer to be prepared."
"Good. Then prepare for this."
Rourke moved.
Kalem barely had time to react.
The ground cracked beneath Rourke's step as he shot forward—a blur of speed from a man of his size was almost unnatural.
Kalem raised his armored forearm in defense—
Impact.
Rourke's palm strike landed like a sledgehammer against Kalem's vambrace. The reinforced plating absorbed the worst of it, but the sheer force sent Kalem skidding backward.
"Tch—" He forced himself upright, his muscles throbbing from the shock.
Not broken—but close.
Rourke rolled his shoulders, unimpressed. "Come on. That all?"
Kalem exhaled sharply, shifting his stance.
"That was just the opening exchange," he muttered.
Kalem's Counterattack
Rather than retreat, Kalem dashed forward—but unlike Rourke's direct approach, he zigzagged, using unpredictable footwork to close the gap.
From the crowd, Jhaeros narrowed his eyes.
"He's testing the range."
Kalem's short blade flashed as he aimed for a vital—
Rourke twisted at the last second, letting the blade scrape past his ribs.
Then, his knee shot up.
Kalem barely dodged, rolling to the side—but Rourke followed immediately.
A brutal elbow came crashing down.
Kalem didn't block.
Instead, he let himself fall completely, using the motion to roll backward, grabbing a longer blade from his crate as he flipped upright.
The crowd gasped as a sleek black Estoc gleamed in his hands.
"That sword—"
It was Black Thorn.
The experimental weapon that had already caused a stir among the professors.
Rourke paused for a split second, recognizing the blade.
"You brought that into a sparring match?"
"It's a dull variant," Kalem answered quickly, shifting into a balanced stance. "No poison, no edge. Just weight and form."
Rourke studied him for a moment—then smirked.
"Fine. Let's see what you've got."
The Fight Escalates
Kalem surged forward again, this time faster.
Rourke met him head-on.
Blade and bare fists clashed in a battle of technique vs. raw power.
Kalem used precise thrusts, careful feints, and controlled positioning—but Rourke was relentless.
With every missed stab, the combat instructor closed the gap, forcing Kalem into split-second dodges and counter-movements.
A direct fist nearly clipped Kalem's temple, but he twisted just enough to avoid it—only to be caught by a sweeping kick.
Kalem hit the ground hard, his armor clanking as he rolled.
He came up swinging—thrusting Black Thorn straight for Rourke's ribs.
But Rourke's hand snapped up, catching the flat of the blade.
A terrible silence filled the air.
Then—Rourke grinned.
"Not bad, kid."
With a sharp twist of his wrist, he wrenched the sword free, flipping it into the air—
—and kicked Kalem straight in the chest.
The force sent Kalem flying back, slamming against the barrier.
Dust settled.
Kalem, panting, pushed himself up again, his armor scraping against the dirt.
Rourke let the sword drop at his feet.
"You still standing?"
Kalem wiped the blood from his lip, grinning despite himself.
"Wouldn't be much of a match if I wasn't."
Rourke narrowed his eyes.
"Alright, then I suppose going all out is the only option."
Kalem stood up, dusting himself off.
Rourke's expression darkened slightly.
"So, are you saying you were taking it easy, despite knowing the man that stands in front of you?"
Kalem shrugged. "No, I thought you would take it easy—for a while."
Rourke scoffed, but there was a hint of anger in his gaze.
"Well, I won't. So bring out what you have."
Kalem's expression sharpened.
"Very well."
The focus core in his armor churned to life.
A deep hum filled the air as Kalem's aura began to expand.
The fight was far from over.