The training fields of Arouz Academy were nothing like the magic arena Mavis had just survived. The magic exam field had been neat, organized, and measured; the physical exam field felt like another world entirely. It sprawled across the outskirts of the academy grounds like a miniature kingdom of its own—flat arenas of packed dirt, tall wooden towers for announcers, rows of weapon racks, cooling stations, bandaged instructors, and bleachers filled with students already cheering as if the tournament had begun hours ago.
The smell of sweat, dust, and sharpened metal hit Mavis first. She inhaled deeply, almost comforted by it. Fog monsters back home had no smell, no warmth, no breath. Humans, on the other hand, were loud, reckless, and painfully alive. That was something she was still adjusting to.
Alya walked beside her, tail flicking with excitement as she scanned the field. "You sure you want to do this?" she asked, already knowing the answer but compelled to ask anyway.
Mavis grinned. "Of course. You said this was optional, right? I don't want to look like I can only sling water around."
"You threw a lake at an instructor, Mavis," Alya deadpanned. "You'll be fine."
"That wasn't intentional."
"Exactly."
They reached the weapon racks—three long rows of gleaming blades, staffs, spears, training axes, bows, daggers, and things Mavis couldn't name. Each weapon was marked with the academy's crest, enchanted with a weak mana field to prevent fatal injuries. Supposedly. The instructors made that clear: "We're preventing fatal injuries—not normal ones. Expect bruises."
Mavis scanned the weapon selection, fingers brushing along different hilts. Spears felt awkward—too long. Axes felt too heavy. Daggers were familiar, but too small to be useful in a tournament. Her hand stopped when she felt the rough leather of a sword hilt. Not elegant. Not finely balanced like the others. Plain, sturdy, reliable.
She picked it up and tested its weight. Heavy, but manageable. The blade wasn't polished; it was meant for training, not presentation. She twirled it easily and nodded.
Alya, watching from behind the rack, raised a brow. "You really are a pirate."
"I'm not a pirate," Mavis said, though she failed to hide her amusement. "I just know how to use this one."
"You know how to swing it, you mean."
Mavis shrugged. "Close enough."
Students continued selecting weapons, some with eager confidence, others with shaking hands. A blond noble chose a rapier and practiced flicking it dramatically. A muscular Fides student selected a massive greatsword that looked like it could break the floor. A beastman girl carried a staff twice her height, beaming proudly.
A loud bell rang across the field. The crowd hushed. Mavis followed the students toward the center arena—a circular battleground surrounded by high wooden walls and bleachers filled with nobles, commoners, beastfolk, and instructors.
High above them, a man in a crisp uniform stepped onto the announcer's platform. The Academy crest gleamed on the breast of his coat, and he held a long scroll in one hand.
"Welcome, students, to the Arouz Academy Preliminary Combat Tournament!" His voice boomed magically, echoing across the field. Cheers erupted around them. The announcer waited for the noise to settle before continuing, "This tournament will determine your ranking in the physical exam! Today, you prove your strength, speed, strategy, and discipline!"
Mavis listened carefully as he unrolled the scroll.
"The rules are as follows:
"One — You will be placed into bracket groups of ten. Each victory allows you to advance to the next round.
"Two — Killing, maiming, or permanently injuring your opponent is strictly forbidden. This is an examination, not a battlefield.
"Three — Any attack that proves lethal, intentional or not, will result in immediate disqualification and expulsion from Arouz Academy.
"Four — Weapons have been enchanted to dull fatal blows, but do not assume you cannot harm each other. Fight responsibly.
"Five — Matches end upon knockout, surrender, ring-out, or instructor interference.
"Six — Students may use weapon skills or body techniques, but no magic of any kind."
Alya leaned over the rail of the bleachers. "No magic, Mavis. Literally none. Don't water-blast someone in the face."
"I won't," Mavis muttered, though the idea was admittedly tempting.
The announcer raised his hand. "After the tournament concludes, there will be an endurance test. Students will run laps across the academy's training track. Placement in both events determines your final physical rank."
Groans rippled through the stands. Mavis felt oddly excited—she survived her entire childhood by running, climbing, and wrestling fog beasts. This should be simple.
"In ten minutes," the announcer finished, "the matches begin. Prepare yourselves!"
The crowd cheered again. Mavis stepped back, exhaling. Alya waved from the bleachers, tail wagging in anticipation. "Good luck! Don't get killed!"
"Very encouraging," Mavis called back.
"I do my best!"
An instructor approached, dividing students into their bracket groups. Mavis was placed in a group of ten mixed students: nobles, commoners, beastfolk, and one particularly angry-looking girl with a pair of hedgehog-like quills along her arms.
Mavis eyed them. Some looked skilled, some nervous. One boy twirled his sword like he practiced every morning. Another fiddled with his shield straps until they nearly fell off.
Mavis realized suddenly—she wasn't used to fighting humans at all. Fog beasts were predictable, slow, and monstrous. Humans had technique, finesse, and unparalleled ability to scream while swinging a sword.
Her stomach knotted. The sword in her hand felt heavier now, less familiar.
But it was too late to reconsider.
The announcer called out, "Round One! Group Twelve—step into the arena!"
Mavis walked into the circular battleground, feeling sand shift beneath her boots. Ten marked circles dotted the field. Their starting positions.
A bell chimed.
"Begin!"
Mavis raised her sword just in time to block a quick downward strike. The impact rattled her arm, surprising her. The girl attacking her moved fast—much faster than the beasts back home. The girl flicked her blade up, attempting to throw Mavis off balance.
Mavis stepped backward, but another opponent closed from her right. She reacted instinctively, sweeping her leg low and catching the second opponent off-guard. He yelped as he tripped forward, tumbling across the sand.
Gasps erupted from the students watching.
"Hey! You can't tackle people! This isn't a street fight!" someone yelled.
Mavis ignored them. Her entire life had been survival. Kill the monster before it kills you. Disable the enemy fast. Don't give them time to counter.
Her opponent's sword came down again. Mavis parried, then moved in too close for a normal swordsman—her shoulder slammed into the girl's chest, knocking the wind from her. The girl stumbled backward, falling hard.
The crowd reacted immediately.
"BARBARIC!" someone shouted.
"She's not fighting—she's brawling!"
"That's not swordsmanship!"
"Who taught her that? A pack of wolves?!"
Mavis didn't have time to care. The second opponent lunged again, recovered from his fall. Mavis ducked, twisted, and delivered a precise blunt strike to his ribs using the sword's hilt. He doubled over, crying out.
The announcer's voice boomed from above. "Contestant 217! You are reminded that lethal combat is forbidden! You are dangerously close to violation!"
Mavis froze.
She had forgotten.
These weren't monsters.
Human bodies broke easily.
She stepped back, suddenly cautious. Her opponents hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, unsure whether to attack her or flee.
One boy whispered, "She's fighting like she's trying to kill us…"
She didn't mean to. Her movements were instinctive, born of necessity, not training. Everything she knew about fighting came from cold nights and fog beasts clawing at her friends.
She forced herself to steady her breathing. "Right. Not monsters. Don't kill. Don't break anything. Just… ouch them gently."
Not exactly her specialty.
She tried again with more restraint, relying on dodging instead of counterattacks. It worked for a moment—until one opponent caught her with a lucky hit across her forearm. Pain sparked sharply, and for a moment she forgot every rule the announcer had listed.
Her instincts snapped.
She pivoted, grabbed the attacker's wrist, and twisted—hard.
The boy cried out.
Mavis released him instantly, horrified.
"Contestant 217!" the announcer bellowed. "If you break someone's arm, you will be removed from this tournament!"
"Sorry!" Mavis yelled back, voice cracking. "I'm working on it!"
Her other opponents approached more cautiously now, circling her. This time, Mavis lowered her weapon and waited for them to come. She deflected cleanly, stepped aside, and used their momentum against them. It wasn't elegant, but it was controlled.
One by one, her opponents fell or surrendered. When the final contestant dropped to his knees in exhaustion, the announcer struck a bell.
"Group Twelve—winner: Contestant 217."
Mavis didn't feel triumphant. She felt… wrong. Fighting monsters had been survival. Fighting humans felt unsettling, awkward, and dangerous in an entirely different way.
She sheathed her sword and walked out of the arena, her breath heavy. Alya rushed to meet her, nearly tumbling down the bleacher steps. "That was amazing! Terrifying! But amazing! You really are a pirate!"
"I told you, I'm not a pirate."
"You swung that sword like you were chasing debtors across a ship."
Mavis sighed. "I need to practice… human fighting."
Alya blinked. "You mean not trying to end someone in five seconds?"
"Yes. That."
Alya shrugged. "Well, you won your first round! And look—other tournaments are starting. Let's watch!"
Mavis let herself relax as they walked back to the stands. They watched a Fides boy with a massive greatsword cleave through opponents with clean, practiced swings. A Castimonia girl fought using only defensive maneuvers, letting her enemies tire themselves out. A Dolus noble used trick footwork and feints that made his matches unpredictable.
Every fight felt different. Every kingdom had its own rhythm.
And somewhere in the highest seating, Princess Seraphina watched quietly, her hazel eyes following each match with practiced focus.
Mavis found her gaze lingering again before she quickly looked away.
Alya nudged her. "Crushing on royalty already?"
"What? No. I was just—studying."
"Her face?"
"Shut up."
Alya laughed.
Mavis didn't admit it aloud, but as she sat among the other students watching the next rounds, nerves fluttered in her stomach.
Because this was only the first match.
She had more ahead.
And a whole academy watching.