Allen knew this was his chance.
Maybe the Professor had finally realized that Allen wasn’t cut out to be a defender. Or perhaps he thought Altia wasn’t the right choice for the lead attacker?
He wasn’t trying to judge anyone. He was just going over all the possible reasons that had brought him here—standing before the Professor, who had tasked him with protecting three students from being captured by the so-called terrorist: Adrian.
The other students who had co to train were now watching closely. All eyes were on this test.
But Allen was slowly getting used to having people around, watching him. The weight of their eyes no longer made him freeze.
This ti, he was ready to give it everything he had. He wanted to prove himself.
"Are you ready?" Adrian asked.
Allen looked over his shoulder at the three students behind him.
They stood still, spaced out at a safe distance from each other.
Allen tightened his grip on the wooden sword and gave a firm nod.
"Yes, I’m ready."
As those words left his lips, Adrian charged forward, gripping the revolver with both hands.
His stance was clear—he was going on the offense. He was ready to show exactly why he was the best choice for the role of the ambusher.
’He’s not coming at head-on. That much is certain,’ Allen thought, already bracing for a spell. From what he had observed, the Professor could wield any elent through that armant.
But even as they closed the distance, Adrian showed no sign of dodging or drawing his weapon.
Allen narrowed his eyes in confusion. Still, he lifted his wooden sword and swung it—aiming for the Professor’s shoulder.
But—
"Huh?!"
The man turned into a cloud of dark mist the mont the blade connected, leaving Allen stunned.
"You lost one," ca a voice from behind.
Allen spun on his heels—and just as he feared, the brown-haired Professor was now behind one of the students, his hand resting casually on the student’s shoulder.
The students around them were all surprised and impressed too.
The hall was abuzz with questions and assumptions.
"How did you do that? I never saw you use the armant," Allen asked, heart racing. He quickly realized it must’ve been a Darkness elent spell—an illusion, most likely triggered by the armant.
A mid-level technique, maybe.
But still... that weapon made a distinct sound when activated. And he hadn’t heard it at all.
Adrian shrugged casually.
"I used it before the assessnt began. And I don’t think you can bla for that."
Allen opened his mouth to argue—but then shut it and nodded instead.
He should’ve expected that. This wasn’t just about passing a test. If he wanted to survive and win, he needed to expect everything.
After a short pause, Allen asked quietly, "Should we try again?"
Adrian gave a slight nod. "You’ve got two more chances."
Allen nodded back, his eyes steady as he watched the man step toward him.
Adrian drew out his runic pencil and took Allen’s sword. "Here," he said, inscribing quickly before handing it back, "I’ve added a rune to it. You can use only one spell—so choose wisely."
Normally, Allen might’ve insisted he didn’t need runes. That his skills alone were enough.
But not this ti.
This ti, he was listening to his instincts. Not his pride.
"Thank you, sir," he said, taking the weapon with a small bow.
Adrian stepped back, giving him space.
The gym fell into silence again, tension humming in the air. Everyone was waiting to see how the second round would unfold.
Allen exhaled deeply.
This ti, Adrian didn’t chant a spell beforehand. That ant he was planning sothing different.
’I’ve got this,’ Allen told himself, bracing his stance—then charged forward like lightning.
His speed made heads turn. There was no hesitation. No second-guessing.
Only resolve.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. Without a word, he raised his revolver and fired—not at Allen, but toward the ceiling.
A sharp *bang* echoed, followed by the sudden flare of a massive magic circle forming high above.
Allen glanced up mid-run. A powerful spell.
But he’d done the math.
If he was right, that circle wouldn’t reach the two mock hostages set up as part of the test.
So he didn’t stop.
"Watch out!" soone shouted from the sidelines.
Allen didn’t need the warning.
He’d already sensed the danger.
With quick instinct, he veered sharply to the right—just before a small ice shard slamd into the floor where he would have been.
*CRACK!*
The shard splintered upon the impact. Then more ca.
Shards rained down from the ceiling like icy spears, exploding as they struck the stone floor.
But Allen didn’t falter.
He weaved between them—left, right, duck, roll.
Each move was clean, calculated. No wasted motion. His focus was absolute.
And through it all, he never stopped moving forward.
He reached close—closer than before.
The runes on his blade lit up, and flas burst to life, dancing along the edge of his sword.
With a shout, Allen swung.
Adrian jumped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. The heat brushed his coat, and for a mont, sparks lit the space between them.
Allen didn’t stop. He stepped in again, slashing sideways, then twisting for a low strike.
Adrian dodged, but not without effort. His movents were sharp, but Allen was faster now—sharper.
The blade whirled toward him again. Adrian ducked, then leaned back as the flaming sword passed an inch from his nose.
Each strike forced him to adjust, to react. Allen was like soone who had trained for years. He was showing why he was called the greatest swordsman of the Runebound.
His footwork was clean, his grip strong. Every swing carried intent.
Adrian deflected the strike with the barrel of his revolver—then fired.
Tha!
Allen jerked his head to the side, the bullet whizzing past his ear.
He didn’t stop.
With a burst of strength, he shoved Adrian back and charged forward again.
The flas on his sword blazed brighter, licking the air wildly. But he could feel it—ti was running out. The runes were fading. Soon, the fire would vanish.
He gripped the sword with both hands, heart pounding in his chest.
This was it.
One final strike to prove himself.
To prove he was more than just potential.
He roared, "Haaa—!"
Clack.
His swing stopped. Just like that.
Held.
By hand.
Adrian’s hand.
The professor had caught the flaming blade with his bare palm. No barrier. No armor. Just skin—and steel-like will.
The fire flickered once, then vanished.
The runes died out.
Allen stared in disbelief as Adrian stood there, completely unfazed.
"You lost, Allen," Adrian said calmly.
A cold shiver crawled down Allen’s spine.
Sothing felt... wrong.
Very wrong.
He turned, slowly, dread curling in his gut.
And then he saw it.
One of the hostages—fallen. Ice had surrounded their upper body, and caged them.
The bullet hadn’t been aid at him.
It was never ant to be.
It was ant for the hostage.
Allen’s throat went dry.
His legs felt weak.
He’d failed again.
Even with speed, even with fire, even with all his growth—he couldn’t protect the very thing that mattered.
He clenched his fists, trembling.
And once more...
He lost.
°°°°°°°°
A/N:- Thanks for reading.
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