SWNOVELXO Chapter 31: Begin
The air was heavy with expectation, thick enough to taste.
The Martial Ring, a massive stone circle in the southern wing of the Cradle, buzzed with electric energy. It was usually reserved for older trainees and finalists, but today, the four second-years had been summoned for something special. Something that would define their futures.
The Class Captain Selection Match.
Stone stands circled the arena like the ribs of some ancient beast, filled with instructors, a few senior trainees, and even some curious support staff who had abandoned their duties to witness history in the making. At the highest balcony, seated in a throne-like chair carved from blacksteel, was Veltrissa hersel, her presence alone enough to make the air feel denser, like breathing underwater. Her expression was unreadable as carved stone, but her sharp gaze never strayed far from the four young warriors standing in the ring below.
Ares stood next to Maelia, his knuckles white as he gripped the leather-wrapped hilt of his short sword. Sylas stood off to the side, spear held with casual precision, his face calm as a still pond before a storm. And Lysandra... she looked like thunder on two legs, her rapier gleaming like captured starlight, her jaw tight with barely restrained pride and fury.
At the center of the ring, Jareth and Sinclair stood like twin shadows of fate itself.
"Listen closely," Jareth said, his voice carrying with the weight of finality, echoing off the stone walls. "This is a rotational elimination format. Every trainee will face the others. Lose two matches, and you're out. Win three… and you stand alone as class captain."
Sinclair's green eyes sparkled with sharp interest, like a cat watching mice. "We will only intervene when things get completely out of hand. Otherwise, no interference. No help. Win or lose by your own strength." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Let the matches begin."
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Match One: Ares vs. Maelia
The two stepped forward into the ring, their footsteps echoing like drumbeats. The crowd fell silent, every breath held. Ares offered Maelia a respectful nod, warrior to warrior.
She responded with that cheeky grin that had gotten her in trouble more times than she could count. "I've been waiting for this chance, Ares. Don't go easy on me."
Ares didn't answer with words. Instead, he exploded into motion, a low, predatory dash with lightning crackling around his boots like blue fire. His speed was incredible, but Maelia was ready for him.
*THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!*
Three arrows cut through the air in perfect succession, each one aimed to pin him down or slow his advance. Ares twisted his body like a dancer, rolling under the first arrow so close he felt the fletching brush his hair. The second arrow came straight for his chest, and he brought up his sword in a desperate parry, using a controlled burst of flame to deflect it off course in a shower of sparks.
The third arrow bit deep into his shoulder, drawing blood and sending a sharp spike of pain down his arm. But he didn't stop. Pain was just another obstacle to overcome.
He closed the distance between them in three explosive steps, his sword cutting through the air in a silver arc. This was his world, close combat, where his mixed elements could shine.
Maelia tried to backpedal, reaching for another arrow, but Ares was already inside her guard. With a lightning-quick feint to the left, he made her think he was going for her bow arm. When she moved to protect it, he pivoted and swept his blade upward, catching her bow and sending it spinning through the air to clatter against the arena wall.
Before she could draw the curved dagger at her hip, Ares had the tip of his blade pressed gently against her chest, right over her heart. Both of them were breathing hard, sweat beading on their foreheads.
"Forfeit," he said softly, with genuine respect in his voice.
Maelia looked down at the sword point, then back up at his face. She gave him a rueful smile and raised her hands. "I Forfeit. Well fought."
The crowd erupted in appreciative murmurs. First blood to Ares.
Winner: Ares.
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Match Two: Sylas vs. Lysandra
The arena fell into an almost religious silence as these two stepped into the ring. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Sylas and Lysandra circled each other like predators, their movements fluid and hypnotic. There was no need for words between them, their weapons would do all the talking.
Lysandra struck first, like lightning made flesh. Her rapier lanced forward in a lightning-infused thrust aimed directly at Sylas' heart, the blade crackling with electric energy that made the air smell of ozone and burnt metal.
But Sylas moved like water around stone. He redirected the deadly blow with the ironwood shaft of his spear, the impact sending vibrations up both their arms. In the same fluid motion, he channeled wind mana through his weapon, creating a sudden gust that threw Lysandra off balance, her perfect stance wavering for just a moment.
She recovered with the grace of a born warrior, her feet finding purchase as she flowed into another attack. Her rapier became a silver blur, striking again and again with sharp, elegant motions that would have skewered a lesser opponent ten times over.
But Sylas was an artist of control, a master of reading his opponent's rhythm.
He absorbed each of her lightning-fast bursts of speed like a stone accepts rain, weaving through her attacks, his spear moving in defensive patterns that looked almost like a deadly dance. His dark eyes tracked every movement, reading her patterns, waiting for the perfect moment.
Then, with a deceptively simple twirl of his spear that made it sing through the air, he struck. The wooden shaft cracked against her shoulder with a sound like breaking branches, and in the same motion, he swept her legs out from under her with a technique that was pure poetry in motion.
Lysandra hit the arena floor with a grunt that knocked the wind from her lungs, her rapier skittering away across the stone.
She lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, then let out a frustrated sound. "Tch. I forfeit."
Winner: Sylas.
Lysandra stood slowly, rolling her shoulder to work out the pain. But instead of looking at Sylas with respect for his victory, she turned her gaze to Ares. The silent blame in her eyes was unmistakable and burning hot, as if somehow, this was all his fault.
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Match Three: Ares vs. Lysandra
The ring practically vibrated with tension as these two faced off like gathering thunderclouds before a storm. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
Lysandra's lightning-blue eyes sparked with barely contained fury, her grip on her rapier so tight her knuckles had gone white. "Try not to disappoint me, 'anomaly'."
Ares said nothing, but his stance shifted into something solid and unbreakable. His breathing was steady, controlled. He had learned to find calm in the center of chaos.
The match exploded into motion with the fury of a lightning strike.
Lysandra came at him like a woman possessed, her rapier lashing out in precise, high-speed lunges that made the air whistle. Each thrust was aimed to kill, only held back by the arena's protective enchantments. Her blade danced like silver lightning, faster than most eyes could follow.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Ares blocked the first three strikes, his sword ringing like a bell with each impact. The force of her attacks sent shockwaves up his arms, but he held firm. When the fourth thrust came screaming toward his ribs, he ducked low, feeling the point pass inches from his ear.
He retaliated with a wide, flaming arc that painted the air orange and red, the heat making the nearby spectators lean back. The fire roared like a living thing as it swept toward Lysandra.
She hissed like an angry cat and twisted past the flames with inhuman grace, the fire singing the edge of her training uniform. Without missing a beat, she jabbed toward his exposed side, only for Ares to vanish in a blur of crackling static and sparking lightning.
He reappeared behind her like a ghost made of electricity, his sword already in motion. The blade caught her across the back with a glancing blow that sent her stumbling forward, a red line blooming across her shirt.
"You've improved," she said, breathless but not beaten, whirling to face him again.
"So have you," he replied honestly, stepping forward with renewed confidence.
Lysandra fought with the precision of a master surgeon. Although they had both trained under the same master, Ares had taken Jareth's merciless training seriously, he had endured the man's wrath and endless corrections, and his footwork now carried the rhythm of pure instinct.
The exchange grew brutal and beautiful, a deadly dance that had the entire crowd on their feet. Sparks flew, both literal and metaphorical, as steel met steel and elements clashed against each other.
Finally, Ares saw his opening. He channeled lightning through his entire body, his muscles crackling with electric energy, and launched himself forward in a devastating charge. The shockwave that erupted from his feet cracked the arena stones and sent Lysandra tumbling backward through the air like a rag doll.
Her lightning sputtered and died as she hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop several feet away. She tried to rise, managed to get to one knee, then collapsed again, one hand gripping the floor to keep from falling completely.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her breath came in ragged gasps.
"…I Forfeit," she muttered through gritted teeth, the words tasting like poison.
Winner: Ares.
Two losses. Lysandra was eliminated.
She walked off the arena floor without a word, but her eyes burned like blue fire as she glanced back at Ares. That look promised future retribution, a debt that would someday be collected.
---
Match Four: Sylas vs. Maelia
Maelia stepped back into the ring, her face flushed but determined. She had watched the brutal match between Ares and Lysandra, and she knew what she was up against.
She looked at Sylas and gave him a tired smile. "Guess I'm your stepping stone now, huh?"
Sylas tilted his head, his expression thoughtful but not unkind. "You're a test I need to pass. Let's begin."
Maelia opened with everything she had, rapid-fire arrows that filled the air like angry wasps. She used wind-enhanced shots to make them curve and twist in impossible ways, trying to confuse and overwhelm her opponent with sheer volume.
But Sylas moved through the storm of arrows like he was dancing. His spear became a spinning shield, deflecting projectiles with casual precision. In three flowing steps, he closed the distance and spun inside her firing radius, where her bow became a liability instead of an advantage.
He didn't toy with her. He didn't hesitate or show mercy.
One clean strike to her ribs with the butt of his spear, hard enough to crack bone. Her bow went flying from nerveless fingers. Before she could even think about drawing her backup weapon, the spear point was at her throat.
She fell to one knee, gasping for breath, her hand pressed against her injured ribs. "I... forfeit."
Winner: Sylas.
Two losses for Maelia. She was eliminated, her tournament dreams crushed but her spirit still intact.
---
Only two warriors remained standing.
Jareth stepped forward, his weathered face serious as death itself. The entire arena had gone silent, even the wind had stopped blowing.
"Final match," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the stands. "Ares Eisenklinge versus Sylas de Eisenklinge. The winner becomes your class captain and will represent the second years in all academy matters."
Sinclair stepped back to the edge of the ring, her arms crossed, her green eyes bright with interest. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
Ares and Sylas walked to the center of the ring, stopping just a few feet apart. They stared each other down, two young warriors who had pushed themselves to this final moment.
No anger burned between them. No trash talk or posturing.
Just quiet, mutual respect and iron determination.
The final battle was about to begin.
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A/N – Was it fire or mid? Don't just vanish—powerstone, comment, review. Let me feel your presence.