The Darklord Who Just Wanted a Nap
---
The Hall of Blades wasn't just a training ground—it was a proving ground. Shaped like a coliseum carved from obsidian and steelwood, it carried the weight of thousands of duels, victories, defeats, grudges, and bloodlines.
Its central platform hovered with anti-gravity runes and mana circuits engraved deep beneath the marble. Overhead, crystal chandeliers emitted soft blue light that rippled like water, setting the atmosphere cold and tense.
Today, it echoed with whispers and amusement.
"Kael Vaelthorn… against Lucien Drevarn."
Two names. One duel. Every student in Class Alpha—and several instructors—had stayed back to watch. The air was thick with expectation, mockery… and curiosity.
I stood at the edge of the platform, holding the practice sword Instructor Rehlan had handed me.
It was… light.
Too light.
I sighed. I'd barely slept.
Lucien, meanwhile, stood across from me in gleaming dueling armor laced with mana veins. His grip on the blade was tight, confident, performative. He paced like a peacock with something to prove.
He wanted blood.
I wanted a nap.
---
"Begin!"
Rehlan's voice boomed across the coliseum.
Lucien lunged first—fast, trained, and properly measured. His sword swung down in a two-step feint, aiming to strike and impress.
I side-stepped. A calm pivot. His blade cut air.
He swung again—low, then a high arc.
I shifted my heel, leaned slightly, and his sword whistled past me.
Again.
And again.
Three strikes. Four. Five.
Each one missed.
Not because I was faster.
But because I was… relaxed.
Watching.
Moving only as much as I needed.
No flashy techniques. No footwork forms. No pressure. Just instinct.
The crowd started murmuring.
---
"What's he doing?"
"He's not even parrying—"
"Wait—how's he dodging that cleanly?"
Lucien growled, frustration rising. His movements became sharper, more aggressive. He activated aura edging, letting his blade hum with minor energy—permissible in pre-trials.
He stabbed forward—clean and direct.
I stepped into the strike.
He gasped.
And I gently shifted my sword up, tapped his hand from underneath, and twisted my wrist. His blade flew from his grip and clattered across the floor.
Silence.
Lucien stumbled back, clutching his wrist in shock.
I stood still.
Didn't advance.
Didn't taunt.
I was just… done.
---
"Winner: Kael Vaelthorn."
Rehlan's voice held a strange edge.
The students were still trying to understand what happened. No one clapped. They were too confused.
Elira stared, eyes narrowed.
Raen leaned forward, brows furrowed.
Lyra… smiled, just slightly.
Lucien looked pale.
---
Instructor Rehlan's Note
In the instructor booth above, Rehlan scribbled quietly in a floating parchment.
> Subject Kael Vaelthorn. Unranked. Combat stance: Unorthodox. Movements: minimal. Aura suppression confirmed. Possible high-tier instinctual control or… suppressed bloodline trait? Monitor further.
He watched as Kael stepped off the platform with no trace of pride or aggression.
Just tired.
---
Outside the Hall
I stretched my arms as I walked out of the hall, yawning into the sky.
Lyra trailed behind me, still quiet. I glanced sideways.
"You okay?" I asked.
She nodded quickly, but her voice was soft. "You were… amazing. They all looked scared."
I shrugged. "It was just a warm-up. Nothing special."
Lyra blinked. "...That was special."
I frowned. "Really? Felt normal to me."
---
At the Academy Tower – Later That Night
High above the main halls, a tall woman with silver-white hair and glowing eyes watched a projection of the duel.
Principal Vaelaria Caelveron.
Beside her, the Vice Principal, an aged man with a crystal monocle, rubbed his chin.
"That boy… he doesn't know."
Vaelaria's gaze sharpened. "No. But the blood remembers."
She turned her eyes toward the stars outside.
"Let's see how long it takes before the world remembers, too."
---