Fractured Crown: I Became the Academy Villain Chapter 36 - Close Combat!

The mont Damon’s sigh faded, the air between him and Brakkar snapped tight.

Then—

The mont the distance closed, Damon stepped in with a sharp, probing jab aid at Brakkar’s face, testing the reaction rather than committing to power, but the beastman simply tilted his head aside as if the strike were too slow to matter, his counter already moving in the form of a heavy hook that tore through the air with enough force to make Damon slip instantly to the side.

Without breaking rhythm, Damon stepped inside the opening he had forced, his elbow driving cleanly into Brakkar’s ribs with a solid thud, followed imdiately by a rising knee toward the abdon, only for Brakkar’s hand to clamp down around his leg mid-motion, stopping it completely as their eyes t for a fraction of a second.

Damon twisted out of the hold instead of resisting it, his free leg snapping low in a quick sweep that struck with a sharp crk, but the beastman didn’t move an inch, his grin widening as he responded with a sudden headbutt that forced Damon to pull back just enough to avoid the full impact, though the grazing blow still rattled through him.

Damon answered imdiately, stepping back in with a tight hook that connected against the jaw with a clean crack, yet Brakkar’s head barely shifted, his expression unchanged as his fist ca down in response like a hamr, forcing Damon to raise his guard and absorb the impact with a heavy smash that pushed him back a step.

Then—

Both of them stood where they were, eyes locked, having already gauged enough in that brief exchange to know exactly what kind of opponent stood in front of them.

Damon stood still for a brief mont, his golden eyes fixed on Brakkar as the earlier exchange replayed itself in his mind as fragnts of understanding—weight distribution that barely shifted under impact, a center of gravity that felt immovable, reaction speed that did not rely on technique but on instinct sharpened through countless real fights, and most importantly, a body that did not avoid damage but simply endured it.

Heavy... durable... doesn’t flinch... and fights forward no matter what.

A faint breath escaped him.

So this is what raw, unfiltered combat looks like.

Brakkar rolled his neck once, the joints cracking audibly as his grin spread wider, his eyes locking onto Damon with a predatory glint.

"Warm-up’s ova..."

His voice ca out low and heavy, each word dragging with that thick beastman accent.

Damon’s lips curved in response, his own eyes sharpening as sothing within them ignited.

"Funny..."

He reached up, shrugging off his blazer and letting it fall carelessly to the ground before unbuttoning and discarding his waistcoat, his bare upper body exposed as the morning light traced the lines of his muscles, lean but defined, built not for brute force but for control.

"I was just gonna say that."

Then—

They moved again.

This ti, faster.

Damon stepped in first, his fists snapping forward in rapid succession, each strike clean and precise, only to et Brakkar’s forearms as the beastman blocked head-on, their limbs colliding with dull thuds as neither side gave ground, Damon’s foot pivoting as a low kick shot toward the leg, only for Brakkar to check it with a stomp of his own, the impact reverberating up Damon’s bones.

Brakkar answered imdiately.

A heavy punch tore forward—

Damon slipped.

Another followed—

Blocked.

A knee ca rising—

Damon twisted, his elbow snapping down across the thigh with a sharp crack, forcing a slight shift this ti as he capitalized instantly, stepping in and driving a short hook into the ribs.

THUD.

Brakkar grinned.

And drove forward.

Damon adjusted.

His foot planted, his body coiling—

Then he surged upward.

In one smooth motion, he stepped onto Brakkar’s thigh, using the sheer size of the beastman as leverage as he climbed up his fra and launched himself higher, his knee driving down toward the skull with brutal precision—

CRACK.

The impact landed.

But—

Brakkar caught him mid-air.

One massive hand clamped onto Damon’s torso before the follow-through could complete, and without hesitation, he slamd him down.

BOOM.

The ground shook as Damon’s body crashed into it, dust erupting around them—

—but Damon didn’t stay down.

His leg snapped out instantly in a low sweep aid at Brakkar’s base, forcing the beastman to shift his footing as Damon rolled and pushed himself back up in one fluid motion, already re-engaging before the dust had even settled.

The exchange continued.

Fast and relentless.

Strike after strike collided, blocks eting blows, short openings exploited and imdiately closed as neither allowed the other a mont to breathe, Damon’s movents growing sharper, faster, more instinctive as the fight dragged on, his thoughts gradually fading until there was nothing left but reaction, his body moving on its own, guided purely by experience.

Then—

He overstepped as a strike missed just slightly.

That was enough.

Brakkar’s hand shot forward.

Two thick fingers drove straight into Damon’s eye.

—PCK.

"Aaagh—!"

The scream tore out of Damon before he could suppress it, his body recoiling instinctively as pain exploded through his vision, blood imdiately beginning to drip from his left eye, blurring half his sight.

But even then—

He didn’t stop.

Damon lunged forward through the pain, his forehead crashing into Brakkar’s with a savage headbutt—

CRACK.

The impact rang through both of them, but Damon staggered slightly from it, his already disrupted balance faltering as dizziness crept in.

Through the haze, he heard Brakkar’s voice.

"Didn’t Ah say... use anythin’ ya can..."

And in that brief mont—

Brakkar moved.

A massive hand swung across Damon’s chest in a brutal, open-pald strike—

SMASH.

The force crushed into him like a battering ram.

Damon’s body lifted—

Then slamd heavily into the ground.

Damon’s chest rose and fell heavily against the ground, each breath dragging through him as if it had to force its way past the pain lodged deep within his ribs, and then, with a rough, uncontrollable cough, his upper body lifted slightly before falling back again, his muscles trembling beneath his skin as though they were protesting every movent, every breath, every attempt to rise.

His body scread.

Each inhale burned, each exhale felt incomplete, his head spinning faintly as the world around him swayed just enough to blur at the edges, while the blood trailing from his left eye continued to drip slowly, distorting half his vision into a haze of red and shadow.

Through that haze, faint voices began to seep in.

"—is he even human...?"

"Or so kind of beastman...?"

The murmurs spread quietly across the training ground, because at so point during that exchange, the other fights had stopped, students standing frozen in place as their attention had been drawn entirely toward the clash between Damon and Brakkar, their expressions shifting between shock, disbelief, and sothing closer to unease.

Then—

Brakkar’s voice cut through it all.

"Get up, boy..."

There was no mockery in it.

Only expectation.

"...or this is it fer ya."

Damon’s fingers dug into the dirt.

His body resisted.

Still—

He moved.

Slowly, unsteadily, he pushed himself up, his arms trembling under his own weight as he rose to one knee, then forced himself further, his legs shaking slightly before finally locking into place as he stood, though not without effort, not without the visible strain running through every part of him.

A heavy breath left him.

"...I can definitely endure more than you..."

His voice was rough but steady.

"...old man."

For a brief second, there was silence.

Then—

"HAHahahahahhahhha!"

Brakkar laughed.

His grin widened, his eyes burning with approval as he rolled his shoulders once more.

"Good... good!"

He stepped forward.

"Co!"

Damon adjusted his stance.

Despite the trembling in his body, despite the blurred vision and the pain still clawing at him, his posture steadied, his focus narrowing once again onto the figure in front of him.

And then—

They moved.

Or rather—

They tried to.

Because the mont both of them stepped forward to lunge at each other again, sothing shifted in the air itself, an invisible pressure descending over the training ground as their bodies suddenly felt heavier, their movents dragging unnaturally as if the very space around them had thickened.

Their feet left the ground.

Both of them lifted and suspended mid-motion.

For a brief, disorienting second, even Brakkar’s expression shifted.

Then—

A calm and warm voice followed completely out of place amidst the brutality.

"Isn’t it enough for today?"

Miss Elowen stepped into the field, her presence gentle yet absolute, her usual smile resting lightly on her lips as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

With a soft snap of her fingers—

The force vanished.

Brakkar dropped first.

THUD!

His heavy fra hit the ground solidly, barely affected.

Damon followed.

Not being able to balance himself, he landed on his back.

Damon groaned as the pain caught up with him the mont he hit the ground, his body protesting loudly as he forced himself to move, his arms pushing against the dirt as he slowly sat up, his head still spinning faintly while the dull ache in his ribs pulsed with every breath he took.

Before he could steady himself completely, Brakkar’s voice rolled out once more, low and heavy, carrying that sa grounded authority as before.

"We were just sparrin’..."

Miss Elowen’s gaze shifted toward him, her expression unchanged, her soft smile still resting in place as though the scene before her was nothing more than a mild inconvenience rather than a near one-sided beating.

"An arcane-rank hero like you sparring with a first-year..." she replied gently, tilting her head ever so slightly, "how amusing."

For a brief mont, Brakkar said nothing.

The massive beastman, who had monts ago been laughing mid-fight, now stood still, his earlier intensity settling into silence under her calm observation.

Damon, anwhile, pushed himself further, his legs unsteady but holding as he rose to his feet, his breathing still heavy though more controlled than before, his body aching but functional.

Elowen’s eyes shifted to him.

"Today we were supposed to have our first session," she said softly, her tone carrying a quiet finality as she observed his current state, the blood, the bruises, the barely concealed strain in his posture.

She let out a small sigh.

"But looking at you..."

Her gaze softened slightly.

"Just go to the infirmary and patch yourself up. We will have our session tomorrow."

Damon stood there for a mont, processing her words, weighing them silently as his breathing steadied just a little more, before giving a short nod without argunt.

He turned slightly—

Only for an annoyed voice to cut into the mont.

"Hmph..."

Khaira’s tone carried irritation, her arms crossed as her eyes remained locked onto him.

"If it was ... Ah would’ve definitely lasted longer..."

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable.

Damon paused.

Then slowly turned back toward her, his expression flattening as whatever patience he had left finally wore thin.

"But he didn’t choose you," he said calmly, though the edge in his voice was clear, "he chose ."

A brief pause followed.

Then—

"You bullwoman."

The reaction was imdiate.

Khaira’s fists clenched tightly, the muscles in her arms tensing as her eyes narrowed, a sharp twitch running through her expression as the air around her seed to heat slightly.

"Oh yeah...?" she said, her voice lowering, dangerous and eager all at once, "why don’t Ah prove it to him with my fists?"

Damon didn’t hesitate.

"Oh, yeah..." he replied, already stepping forward despite his condition, "co. Who’s afraid of you?"

The tension snapped instantly.

But before either of them could move—

Damon’s body lifted off the ground without warning, his feet leaving the earth as he found himself suspended mid-air, the invisible force holding him firmly in place before he could even react.

Elowen’s voice followed, still calm, still gentle.

"What did I tell you to do?"

And the next mont—

Damon disappeared.

Vanished from the training ground entirely, sent flying in a precise direction without even the chance to protest.