The air was cool, even under the midday sun.
I stood at the edge of the sparring field, my arms folded neatly behind me, the heels of my boots aligned with the stone edge like they always were. Precision was second nature. Just like spellcraft.
My name is Selena Weiss.
Heir to the Weiss bloodline. The next Mistress of the Magic Tower. And the best mage in Class A—perhaps the entire academy, if I'm honest. I don't speak that aloud. I don't need to.
Today just happened to be our crossover session. Knights and mages were to engage in mock duels, to better understand the flow of combat between melee and magic.
Normally, our class divides after theory into practical sessions—three times a week. Knights, mages, and priests all train separately according to their disciplines. But today was one of those rare joint lessons where we cross paths.
The other students milled about the training ground, searching for partners. Laughter. Chatter. Posturing. Typical.
I had no interest in most of them.
I had already met the few who were worth knowing.
Aiden Everhart—strong, composed, and strangely grounded for someone of his reputation. We had fought once in a sparring trial during our second week here. He held back. So did I. But I remembered how his sword moved. How his presence shifted. He wasn't just a warrior. He was a born combatant.
Then there was Kyle Drayden. A spearman and a strategist. Cold in a different way. Analytical. Meticulous. The grandson of the Iron Duke, and it showed. His footwork was efficient, his formations nearly textbook-perfect. While not a mage, his command over battlefield awareness and unit coordination was near genius. I respected that.
We trained together often. Our strengths complemented each other. Three prodigies, as the instructors called us. Though I detest that word.
My own performance at the academy had been what was expected. Flawless mana control, unmatched elemental conjuring. I didn't need validation. I already knew where I stood.
But then my eyes settled on someone else.
Luca Valentine.
He stood a little off to the side, looking vaguely uncomfortable, like a person who knew just enough to realize he didn't belong. Not the type to draw attention. Not someone who would be chosen for anything. And yet…
He intrigued me.
I remember it clearly—our very first lecture in Professor Seraphina's class. She had asked a complex question about mana compression theory. I had been ready to answer—formulating the precise structure of my reply—when he spoke first.
His explanation wasn't just accurate. It was perfect. Effortless.
And most alarming of all—it sounded like he wasn't even trying.
I had spent years mastering the intricacies of our art. He... tossed it off like idle commentary.
Who does that?
Then this morning, I overheard Aiden speaking about him. Aiden, who rarely takes note of anyone unless they present some kind of challenge. The tone in his voice—neutral, edged with curiosity—was strange.
Two things piqued my interest in a single week. That was rare.
So I acted.
I walked up to him, expression blank, posture sharp.
"You. Partner with me."
He blinked. "Wait—what?"
The confusion on his face was genuine. He looked around like he expected I had meant someone else. Foolish.
I didn't wait for him to understand.
"Good. Let's begin."
He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded. Hesitantly.
A flutter of uncertainty crossed his face—just for a moment. Like he wasn't sure how the day had spiraled in this direction.
He hadn't expected to be here.
But neither had I expected to notice someone like him.
Interesting how things unfold.
Let's see what you're made of, Luca Valentine.
Luca blinked, frozen.
His sword was raised awkwardly in front of him as he stood on the dueling platform—directly across from Selena Weiss.
Just moments ago, he'd been standing off to the side, chatting casually with Eric about food. Then, in the blink of an eye, Selena Weiss—of all people—had picked him for a duel.
Now here he was.
Staring down the heiress of the Magic Tower.
What... just happened?
His sword trembled slightly in his hand.
Across from him, Selena stood poised—white hair drifting in the breeze, her eyes cold as glacier-born steel.
Should I throw the sword and run?
No. Even if I want to, I can't.
Let's see how strong I've become.
He remembered the Elixir. He had taken it last night. According to the game's old item description, it would take a week to fully show results—but even now, he felt it.
His strength and stamina had grown. His sword felt lighter. His movements, more fluid.
Thanks to that cursed knight spirit, he was living proof.
Still...
Compared to the main characters, how far had he come?
He had no intention of befriending them. No plans of being a hero or interfering in the world's big plots.
All he wanted... was to survive.
And for that, he had to break the death flag looming over his head in Arc 3.
To do that, he had to be strong.
"Start!" the instructor's voice rang out.
A lance of frost tore through the air.
Luca barely deflected it, rolling to the side as lightning cracked where he'd stood. He leapt up and charged, sword poised for a strike—only to be met with a flurry of snow-laced wind that knocked him off-balance.
Selena didn't speak. Her hands moved in fluid, practiced motions, weaving another spell. Arcs of lightning surged outward.
Luca's sword caught one, deflecting it with a burst of sparks. His grip burned. His stance wavered.
He ducked low, rolled through a curtain of frost, and lunged forward—managing to close the gap for one swing.
Clang!
His sword met her magic barrier.
She countered instantly, a surge of cold magic erupting at point-blank.
Luca flew back, feet skidding, barely managing to stay upright.
Gasps echoed around the field.
Other students had stopped their duels.
All eyes were on them.
Luca panted, sweat dripping, bruises blooming. But he stood. Again and again.
Selena launched a barrage of frost shards, each one razor-sharp and guided by precision. Luca weaved through them, his footwork tighter now, his reflexes sharper—but barely.
He swung again. Selena countered with a wall of frost that shimmered like a frozen mirror, halting his advance mid-step.
Crack! Lightning shot down like a spear from the sky.
Luca twisted at the last second, the bolt grazing his shoulder and numbing his arm. He dropped to one knee, breathing hard, chest heaving.
A cry erupted from the watching crowd—but Luca pushed off the ground, teeth clenched.
He charged.
Swing.
Deflect.
Swing.
Dodge.
Every move met resistance. Every breath brought pain.
But he moved.
Then—
A final bolt of ice met his blade. The impact shattered his defense. His sword spun from his grip and clattered across the stone.
Luca stared at it. Then at Selena.
He sighed, breath ragged.
There's still a big gap between us.
Selena approached, eyes as unreadable as ever. She stopped, gazed at him a moment, and said simply:
"The sword doesn't suit you."
Then she walked away.
Luca blinked.
That's the second person to say that.
Even Eric—who spent most of his time joking—had said the same.
And now Selena.
Maybe… they're right.
The weapon never felt right. He'd picked it because he thought it was expected of a knight-type.
But now… now he was starting to look forward to the Weapon Selection Ceremony.
After all, the system would give them the weapon best suited to their soul.
Two days passed.
And at last—the Weapon Selection Ceremony began.