If there were one thing I'd have to admit about the Academy, reluctantly, it would be how they definitely understood the needs of the students, and what would actually work for them.
Or in this case, broke.
Either way, the Academy had the good sense to provide separate sparring clothes for training, even down in the commoner training grounds.
I adjusted the sleeves of my sparring jacket and looked across the ring at Ilya, who looked like she was adjusting some wraps around her hands with the same kind of cheerful focus that made me increasingly believe that she enjoyed violence far more than the normal person.
The sparring clothes themselves were simple compared to the actual uniform, but "simple" in Aetherion still meant that they were far better than anything I'd worn before getting here. The fabric itself was light without feeling flimsy, and the stitching around the shoulders, ribs, and knees all felt reinforced. There were even faint tracer lines that ran through the material, helping it flex with movement rather than restricting it.
It was as if the commoner version had its own dignity, as if the nobles who would mock them didn't care that we were allowed similar privileges to them.
That irritated me.
I rolled one shoulder, warming it up and said, "You know, it pains me to say it, but these clothes are useful."
"I know, right? The clothes they provide for sparring are so good!" Ilya said with a bright face.
I gave her a sideways look. "I was more talking about how the Academy has thought through the logistics of students regularly trying to beat down on each other."
"Oh... well, that too!" She said cheerfully.
I scoffed and looked down at my reinforced sleeves again.
"Although," I said, "I guess the Academy has to keep up the facade of fairness somehow."
Randel, who was standing just off the ring near a spectator's area with Junio, gave me a mixed look of amusement and exasperation.
"You really can't let go of all that for even one afternoon, can you?"
"No," I replied immediately. " I am a man of consistency."
"Haha, that's one word for it," Junio said in his usual calm voice.
He had changed into the same training clothes that Ilya and I had done, not sure why, as he wasn't even sparring, though somehow he did manage to look composed even in practice gear.
It was a talent I found suspicious on principle. No one should be able to look that calm while standing in a commoner sparring hall. It just didn't seem natural.
Still.
That wasn't the point right now.
The point right now was that Ilya had challenged me, I had accepted, and now there was a ring between us and just enough people watching to make losing extra annoying.
I hooked my thumbs into the edge of my side and nodded towards both Randel and Junio.
"You guys should referee."
They exchanged a brief look.
Then Randel shrugged. "Sure."
Junio nodded once. "I don't mind."
"Great," I said. "Then if I win, we'll have witnesses."
Ilya let out a bold gasp. "Oh? 'If' huh, I'm guessing you're not confident in winning"
I looked at her.
She put both hands on her hips and leaned forward just enough to make the challenge feel deliberate.
"You should be thankful, Ryn, I'm being very generous by letting you prepare yourself mentally," she said. "You should appreciate that."
"Ah," I said. "Mercy, is it?"
"Exactly!"
"Hm, well," I replied, allowing myself a slight grin, "I guess I'm looking forward to it."
That got a grin out of her, too.
Not a playful one this time.
A serious one.
'Oh? Looks like she can be serious sometimes.'
Randel stepped to the edge of the sparring ring, glanced between us, and raised one hand.
The ring itself was a broad circle of dark reinforced stone with faint lines that suppress Aether running through the floor in pale, linked arcs. Nothing too serious. The training rings in the commoner hall were designed for practicality, not spectacle. There was enough warning to stop anything terminal from happening, but probably not enough to save your pride.
Which, if anything, made them more dangerous.
Randel took a small breath.
Then said, clearly:
"Begin!"
I expected Ilya to move first.
But I did not expect her to move like that.
The instant Randel's word left the air, Ilya clapped her hands together in front, between her face and the top of her chest, her fingers locked in a posture that looked almost as if she was praying, but with her hands only.
There was definitely nothing peaceful about it.
There was too much intent in it.
Her expression sharpened all at once, the brightness in her face hardening into something focused and dangerous. Then she dropped both hands to the ground, and the ring answered her.
"Terra: Earthfang Volley!"
The floor split.
It wasn't even loud at first; there was just a sickening chain of ruptures ripping outward across the stone. The dark training ring cracked in a jagged line racing straight toward me, and then the earth burst upward in a violent series of rounded stone fangs, thick as my thigh and pointed like broken tusks. They didn't just rise. They hurled themselves forward, one after another, as if the ground had suddenly decided to become a sharply fanged predator.
A pack of them.
"What the hell—"
I threw myself sideways, rolling to reposition myself.
The first fang slammed into the spot where I had been standing, shattering into small stone shards and hurling debris near my face. The second fang erupted half a second later, then the third, then two more in rapid succession, the floor splitting beneath them in a chained, predatory rush that gave me no choice but to retreat and hope that I don't lose my footing.
"Damn, they're fast," I muttered with annoyance.
'Isn't this spell a bit too brutal for just a spar?'
I had enough time to think, and immediately took back any cheerful notion I had about this girl, before the next set of stone fangs ripped towards me.
I slashed my hand out on instinct.
"Ventus: Cutting Draft!"
A compressed wind blade snapped outward, carving the incoming stone fangs that were rising towards me, breaking the spear-shaped stone apart in a burst of jagged fragments. Another fang came immediately after it, causing me to pivot and put all my weight onto my back foot, sending out a second Cutting Draft across the ring.
The stone fang exploded.
Dust flared.
But Ilya didn't even give me a second to reset and start my next move.
Her palms were still pressed to the ground, and every time I thought the volley had ended, another chain of violent ruptures chased me across the sparring circle. Rounded spears of rock burst upward through stone and dirt alike, the ring floor becoming an endless line of fresh destruction under her control.
'Damn, she's making me roll around and dodge like an acrobat in a circus.'
The whole spell felt exactly like what it looked like.
It wasn't elegant.
It wasn't refined.
It was just relentless.
Too relentless.
It was all pressure and impact, each spear forcing movement, each movement making the next strike harder to avoid.
Harder to react.
I jumped upwards in hopes of gathering a moment to think of a plan of attack.
A stone fang shot up beneath me anyway, clipping close enough to tear dust and broken grit up around my boots. I twisted in the air and threw another Cutting Draft downward as I landed, shattering the next stone spear before it could fully form.
Then I was able to answer in kind.
I slashed two Cutting Drafts toward Ilya in fast succession, both aimed directly for her centerline.
She rolled away from the first one and dipped under the second with enough speed that I immediately reassessed my earlier impression of her.
She wasn't just aggressive.
She was good.