The next day, Tempest walked toward the Dark Scales courtyard. As she passed groups of students, she caught pieces of their conversations.
"Did you hear? Someone tried to break into the inner courtyard."
"No way! That's crazy. Tell me more."
"They say the intruder was strong. The Masters couldn't even track them."
"If the Masters couldn't find them, that person must be powerful."
The rumors followed her like echoes, filling the air with tension. Tempest kept walking, her mind alert.
Then, she felt it—a heavy aura pressing down on her, strong enough to make her stop. She looked up.
In front of her stood a dragon in human form. He was tall, with broad shoulders, dressed in flowing silver robes. On his chest was the emblem of a second-year student. His face looked almost unreal: sharp jaw, pale lips, skin like polished stone. His eyes were striking—two silver snake-shaped pupils in each eye, glowing faintly. Two silver horns curved from his forehead, and his long silver hair flowed all the way down to his legs. He moved with calm grace, every step smooth and elegant.
Tempest narrowed her eyes. The courtyard was empty now. It was just the two of them. He seemed to notice the same thing.
Without warning, he attacked. His strike was fast, like lightning. Tempest reacted on pure instinct, pulling out her blade and blocking. The clash rang out like thunder, sending a shockwave across the academy. The ground shook, and the walls trembled.
High above, three guardian dragons stirred. Their wings spread wide, and they flew down from the walls, roaring as they came.
Tempest and the silver dragon-born stepped back from each other. She felt no hatred in his attack—only challenge. Her heart raced with excitement. She shifted her stance, ready to fight. His eyes narrowed, sharp and focused.
Tempest struck first. She swung her sword, releasing a slash of dark red energy that tore through the air. The attack rushed toward him like a storm. His eyes widened in surprise. Instead of blocking, he dodged, the crimson slash cutting into the stone behind him.
The guardian dragons arrived just in time. With ancient power, they opened a portal, pulling Tempest and her opponent into another dimension. The courtyard faded away, replaced by a vast battlefield where they could fight freely. The sky stretched endlessly, the ground unmarked, the air thick with raw energy.
Tempest tightened her grip on her sword. Her blood burned with excitement. Across from her, the silver-haired dragon stood tall, his hair flowing in the strange wind. Both of them were ready. The real battle was about to begin.
"Don't hold back"
"With pleasure," Tempest replied, her voice steady but filled with excitement.
The silver-haired dragon drew his weapon. It was no ordinary blade—it was a Holy Sword, the Obsidian-tier Holy Hail. Its surface glowed with a radiant light, pure and sharp, as if blessed by the heavens themselves. The sword was massive, equal in size to Tempest's dark blade, but opposite in nature. Where her weapon pulsed with shadow and crimson energy, his shone with brilliance and holy power.
Two forces—light and dark—stood face to face.
Without hesitation, they charged. Their movements were so fast that the human eye could barely follow. Steel clashed against steel, each strike ringing like thunder. Sparks burst into the air with every collision, scattering like fireflies in the dim battlefield.
Tempest's face lit up with joy. Her opponent's expression mirrored hers—both of them were smiling, not out of mockery, but from the thrill of combat. This was not a fight of hatred, but of pure challenge, a test of strength and spirit.
The battle raged on, their swords dancing in blinding arcs. The ground shook beneath their feet, the air split with each strike. Yet as the minutes passed, the dragon's breath grew heavier. His movements slowed, his body beginning to show strain.
Finally, he staggered back, retreating a few steps. His chest rose and fell sharply, exhaustion weighing on him. A thin line of blood slipped from his lips, bright against his pale skin.
Tempest lowered her blade slightly, her eyes gleaming—not with cruelty, but with respect. The fight had pushed them both, and she could feel the bond of warriors forming in the clash of their blades.