Zayle slipped deeper into the academy's outer training grounds, moving quickly but not rushed. His ribs ached from the last fight, his knuckles were scraped, and he had dirt in places where dirt should never be. But his steps were steady, his breathing even.
He'd been beaten, chased, insulted…and somehow it only made his blood run hotter.
If this was the academy's idea of a welcome, he planned to return the favor.
The abandoned training yard lay behind the storeroom building, where old equipment was tossed aside and weeds grew freely between cracked stone tiles. It was a forgotten corner that most students didn't even know existed.
Perfect for secret training.
The yard was quiet, with only the fading light spilling across the uneven ground. Rusted training dummies slumped forward like defeated warriors. An old weapon rack leaned sideways, holding nothing but a single splintered spear.
Zayle stepped into the center, loosening his shoulders.
His bruises pulsed.
His fingers were stiff.
His spirit energy still throbbed from the system's recent enhancement.
But none of it mattered.
When he wasn't strong enough, he trained until he was.
He drew in a breath and closed his eyes.
The soft chime of the system echoed in his mind.
System Notice: New Sub-Task GeneratedSub-Task: Overcome Adversity Level 1Objective: Push your body beyond its current limits through self-directed training.Reward: +2 Agility, +1 Stamina, +1 Perception.Failure: No penalty.
Zayle exhaled.
Training rewards again. Good. This system wasn't just trying to keep him alive. It was pushing him, pulling him, sharpening him in every way it could. Sometimes gently. Sometimes brutally.
Just like the world outside.
Zayle stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, and started with basic footwork: forward, back, sidestep, pivot. He moved across the cracked tiles, letting his body adjust to the new stat balance. His reaction speed had improved, especially after the earlier fight and system boost.
His steps were lighter.
His balance is sharper.
His perception… clearer.
He noticed everything now—the rustle of leaves at the yard's edge, the shifting shadow of a loose plank, the faint chill of evening air rolling across the ground.
He pushed himself faster, moving between battered training dummies, weaving in and out, imagining real enemies. He slashed, blocked, turned, dodged invisible blows. Dust kicked up around him. Sweat trickled down his temple.
His ribs protested. His muscles burned.
Good.
Pain meant progress.
After several minutes, he paused to catch his breath—and froze.
The sensation was faint, but distinct: someone watching.
Not from far away.
Not a curious passerby.
Up close.
Deliberate.
Hidden.
Zayle didn't lift his head immediately. Instead, he kept moving, pretending to continue his drills, but his perception traced the source.
Three signatures.
Upperclassmen.
The same kind of arrogant, jealous troublemakers he'd fought earlier, but these weren't the same faces. These ones felt stronger, colder, more practiced.
And they weren't watching for fun.
They were waiting for the right moment.
Zayle swung his practice sword in a slow arc, letting the reflection in the metal confirm what his instincts had already said.
There—behind the leaning weapon rack.
And another near the broken pillar.
And one perched on the wall like a smug alley cat.
Their uniforms marked them as Year Two. Stronger. Better trained. More experienced.
Which meant they were even more annoying.
Zayle stopped moving.
"You guys done hiding," he said calmly, "or do you need a written invitation?"
A low chuckle echoed from the wall.
"Sharp senses for a first year."
"Too sharp," another said from the shadows. "He's been causing a lot of noise lately."
"Beat Kharon earlier today," the third said. "Arrogant for someone so new."
Zayle scratched his cheek. "Kharon jumped me with four people. If anything, I'm disappointed."
A voice scoffed. "You don't know your place."
Zayle looked around at the abandoned yard. "Well, I was trying to find my place, but three stalkers jumped into my evening plans."
The upperclassman on the wall hopped down, landing with a soft thud. He had short, swept-back dark hair and a lean, wiry build. His eyes had the kind of sharpness that came from fighting often—and winning.
Name tag: Arden Voss.
Zayle had heard that name. Arden was known for being fast, vicious, and endlessly competitive. The kind of guy who hated anyone with potential that wasn't his.
"Cross," Arden said. "You're gaining too much attention. Teachers talk. Students talk. Even the combat instructors talk."
"Wow," Zayle said. "Didn't know I was this popular."
"You're not popular," Arden said. "You're a problem. And problems get fixed."
The other two upperclassmen stepped out.
One was broad-shouldered with a heavy mace resting casually on his shoulder.The other carried a long staff, swirling faint spirit energy around the tip.
All three. Surrounding him.
They weren't here to scare him.
They were here to put him down.
Zayle took a slow breath.
His ribs still hurt. His muscles were tired. His energy wasn't fully recovered.
But running wasn't an option.
Begging wasn't in his nature.
If they wanted to pick a fight, he'd give them one they'd remember.
Arden stepped forward. "We'll make this simple. You kneel, admit you're not qualified to be here, and stop acting like you're something special—"
Zayle tilted his head. "Or?"
Arden blinked. "Or what?"
"Or what's the second option?"
The three stiffened.
Zayle smiled.
"Because I'm not really in a kneeling mood."
The mace user stepped forward. "Then we break your kneecaps."
Zayle's smile sharpened. "Great. I prefer honesty."
He lowered his stance slightly.
"Come on, then."
The moment the words left his mouth, Arden shot forward like a whip. His speed was impressive—Year Two level agility, enhanced by spirit flow. He aimed directly at Zayle's rib, a perfect, controlled strike meant to end the fight early.
Zayle shifted his weight left, letting Arden's hand brush past him. He stepped into Arden's blind spot, elbow swinging toward his jaw.
Arden barely dodged. His eyes widened slightly.
"You're fast."
Zayle shrugged. "I practice not getting punched."
The mace user rushed him next, swinging the heavy weapon in a wide arc. Zayle ducked under it, feeling the air pressure brush his hair.
He darted forward and stomped on the man's foot.
The upperclassman howled. "You little—"
"Cheap tricks are still tricks," Zayle said.
Before he could recover, the staff wielder rushed in, thrusting the glowing staff toward Zayle's chest. Zayle pivoted, but the staff grazed his shoulder, sending a pulse of spirit energy through him.
His arm numbed for a moment.
That one hurt.
The staff wielder smirked. "You can dodge one. Can you dodge all three?"
Zayle shook out the numbness from his fingers. "Guess we'll find out."
The fight exploded into motion again.
Three enemies.
Three angles.
Three different weapon styles.
And Zayle, bruised and exhausted, caught in the center.
But even tired, even outnumbered, his instincts were sharp. He used the terrain, letting the broken pillar block the mace user's line, then slipping behind a rusted dummy to avoid a staff thrust.
Arden kept pushing from the front, attacking with precise, rapid strikes.
The mace user hit hard but was slow.
The staff wielder controlled distance.
A perfect trap.
But Zayle wasn't aiming to overpower them. He aimed to disrupt them.
Break rhythm.
Break formation.
Make them trip over each other.
When Arden lunged forward again, Zayle jumped back—straight into the mace user's incoming swing.
Arden cursed. "Idiot! Don't swing when I'm—"
Zayle ducked, letting the mace miss him and nearly take Arden's head off.
Arden snarled. "You two are useless."
"Stop moving so much!" the mace user yelled.
"Maybe hit the enemy next time!" Arden snapped.
Zayle blinked. "Wow. You guys fight each other more than me."
The staff wielder sent a burst of spirit energy toward Zayle. Zayle rolled aside, but the impact cracked the ground where he'd been standing.
He stood again, chest heaving.
This was bad.
Three-on-one, tired, wounded.
He didn't have many clean hits to spare.
But he didn't need many.
Just one good opportunity.
The staff wielder thrust forward again. Zayle grabbed a loose stone from the ground and threw it directly into his face.
"Ow—!"
"Dirty trick!" the mace user shouted.
Zayle replied, "You're beating up a first year in the dark. Please don't pretend you have standards."
In that moment of confusion, Zayle lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into the staff wielder's stomach, knocking him down.
The mace user charged.
Zayle sidestepped.
Arden came from the left.
Zayle pivoted.
But then,
finally,
someone landed a blow.
Arden's fist struck Zayle across the cheek.
Zayle's vision sparked.
He staggered back.
His breathing roughened.
Arden wiped sweat from his brow. "You're tough. But you're still just a kid."
"Funny," Zayle said, spitting blood. "You sound scared."
Arden growled.
He came forward again.
But before he could strike—
A sharp chime echoed inside Zayle's mind.
System Notice: Sub-task Progress 94 percent.Condition: Body under extreme stress.Recommendation: Surpass current limit.
Zayle inhaled deeply. Pain sharpened into clarity.
He'd been waiting for this moment.
He braced his stance, eyes locked on Arden.
No running.
No begging.
No kneeling.
Just grit.
Instinct.
And the refusal to lose.
Arden struck first.
Zayle parried with his forearm, ignoring the sting. He twisted his torso and slammed his knee upward, catching Arden in the stomach.
Arden gasped.
Zayle spun, kicking the staff wielder back down as he tried to rise.
The mace user charged—
Zayle grabbed the broken spear shaft lying on the ground and jammed it into the earth, using it as a pivot to swing himself around and crash his heel into the mace user's jaw.
The man collapsed like a sack of bricks.
Arden froze.
Zayle's chest rose and fell. His body screamed at him to stop.
But he raised his fists anyway.
"Round two?"
Arden hesitated.
Just a second.
But enough.
Zayle dashed forward, landing a clean punch across Arden's jaw. The older student stumbled, eyes wide, then hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Silence filled the abandoned yard.
Zayle stood among three defeated upperclassmen, bruised, bleeding, exhausted…but grinning.
Then the system chimed again.
System Notice: Sub-Task CompleteReward Granted:+2 Agility+1 Stamina+1 Perception
Stat Update:Strength: 35Agility: 30Stamina: 20Spirit: 27Perception: 23
Visible to others (post-ring):Strength: 20Agility: 16Stamina: 11Spirit: 15Perception: 12
Zayle exhaled slowly, letting the numbers settle in his mind.
Good.
He stepped over the groaning bodies, leaving the yard quietly.
No witnesses.
No announcements.
Just another evening where Zayle Cross made new enemies…and grew stronger while doing it.