A great fire blazed in the center of the camp, tall flames licking skyward, crackling with each gust of cold wind. Sparks drifted like fireflies before vanishing into the snow-chilled night. The smaller cooking fire had been put out hours ago, but this one roared bright and alive, a circle of warmth against the wilderness.

  “This is a good way to pass the time while the night is still young,” one of the copper-class adventurers said, rubbing his hands together and leaning toward the fire. “I’m curious to see how the new generation of academy students stack up against the older.”

  “But why Raydon?” Rondo asked, brows knitting. His bird shifted restlessly on his shoulder, sensing his unease.

  Another adventurer chuckled. “Because he said the rest of us aren’t a match for them. Imagine that! Didn’t know the famous knight of Kergastel is quite a jester.”

  The words stirred the crowd. Whispers ran like threads through the gathered circle of adventurers and students alike. Some laughed at the absurdity, others exchanged wary glances.

  At the far edge of the firelight, Kana finished buckling her bracers, her motions careful, deliberate. She’d swapped her usual clothes for something lighter, fitted with patches of reinforced leather over her ribs, forearms, and thighs—enough to protect her, but flexible enough to let her move.

  Across from her, Raydon adjusted the straps of his armor with calm precision. He had exchanged his tower shield for a smaller round one, plain and unadorned, and in his other hand he held a blunt training sword. Even so, he carried it with a weight that made it look like a deadly weapon.

  Kana raised her practice dagger. The steel was dulled, meant for sparring, yet it suddenly felt heavy in her grip. Her pulse hammered as she met Raydon’s steady gaze across the firelit clearing.

  Around them, the camp gathered, a loose ring of faces glowing orange from the flames. The copper-class adventurers leaned forward in anticipation. The academy students whispered to each other, half-excited, half-nervous. Even Suri stood quietly at the edge, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Boris grinned as if he’d been waiting for this all week.

  The fire popped, sending a spray of sparks into the night. The air grew tighter.

  “Begin when ready,” Rondo said at last, his voice carrying through the camp.

  Every whisper stilled. The night, save for the hiss of flames and the creak of leather armor, seemed to hold its breath.

  …..

  While Kana tightened the straps of her bracers, she glanced over her shoulder at Boris, who was sitting nearby with his arms crossed, yawning so wide it nearly cracked his jaw.

  “You sure you don’t want to experience sparring with a silver class adventurer?” she asked, adjusting the last buckle.

  Boris gave a long sigh, his voice carrying the weariness of someone unimpressed. “His class is [Knight]. A tank. It’s always boring to spar with them. Feels like you’re just hammering on a wall that doesn’t break. I’ve had enough of that with Leo.”

  Kana paused, frowning slightly. She had only sparred once or twice with tank classes before. True, she usually cut through them quickly—her speed overwhelming their defenses before they could react—but she’d never found it boring. There was always something thrilling in testing speed against sheer endurance.

  But Raydon wasn’t some ordinary wall.

  She could sense it even from across the fire. The way he stood, balanced on the balls of his feet as if his body was already in rhythm with the fight to come. His shield wasn’t raised, his sword wasn’t leveled, yet his presence pressed against her like a heavy mantle. The kind of weight only those who’d fought hundreds of battles carried.

  Raydon was probably the same, at her level—maybe higher. And if his stats leaned toward resilience, then she was about to face something she’d never truly tested before: a wall that could strike back.

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  Her pulse quickened. She flexed her dagger hand, forcing her grip to stay loose.

  Maybe Boris was right. Maybe tanks were boring in terms of one on one duel.

  ….

  Raydon Kelgaster’s path was already carved before him. His next step: earn a place among the Royal Knights. His father had once held that rank, carrying the honor of House Kelgaster with unshakable pride, until age forced him into retirement. Now the weight fell on Raydon’s shoulders. He wasn’t merely the strongest of his siblings—he was the one who would prove their house had not declined. That it still stood among the kingdom’s most powerful.

  Raydon carried his father’s habits as much as his ambitions. He remembered faces, names, the men and women who fought under him, and the debts owed when their battles claimed lives. He ensured their families received proper compensation—both honor and coin. Leadership, after all, was not just wielding a blade.

  The [Ring of Senses] reminded him of that responsibility every day. A family heirloom and proof of succession, it sharpened every sense he possessed—sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing—burning every moment, every person, into memory. He could recall a man’s voice as clearly as he could his scent, long after the battle was done.

  That was why, back in the central district, the familiar smell had stopped him cold.

  The Bear. The Dog. The Cat.

  The dungeon scrappers who once wore masks in that fruit dungeon. They had survived. More than survived—they were actually his younger brother’s classmates. And more than that: gold badge holders. A feat Raydon himself had not achieved during his academy years.

  It unsettled him. Not with envy, but with curiosity.

  He’d asked about them. His brother spoke proudly, confirming what Raydon already suspected—these three were far from ordinary. Principal Wor-en surely knew their value. They’d broken rules yet they’d been given a second chance.

  And now, fate had dropped them in his path again.

  He had wanted to test them all—Bear, Dog, and Cat—but only one had agreed to face him under the firelight.

  The red-eyed girl.

  Raydon’s grip tightened on his rounded shield, not out of aggression but anticipation. He wasn’t here to crush her. He was here to measure her. To see if the whispers of her strength carried truth.

  If she could match the weight of her title—gold badge holder.

  ….

  Kana wasted no time. The instant Raydon settled into his battle stance, she lunged forward.

  Her dagger flashed in sharp arcs, probing, darting—first a low feint at his leg, then a high cut at his shoulder. She moved like a rabbit weaving through tall grass, quick, erratic, never giving him a steady target. The sparks from the blade meeting shield rang out crisp against the quiet of the camp.

  Then she pushed harder. Faster.

  Her presence split—her body here, her intent there. Feints within feints, strikes layered so the real blade was always hidden behind false rhythm. To the onlookers, it was dazzling, a blur of motion. Even Boris found himself leaning forward, lips parting. This was Kana’s way—overwhelming, deceptive, relentless.

  At last, she found it. The flicker of space she had been hunting.

  Got him.

  Her dagger darted toward Raydon’s throat, so precise she was already picturing the end of the exchange—until she saw his eyes. Cold, sharp, tracking the blade in perfect sync.

  Then his foot slammed against her thigh.

  The shock of it jolted through her body, her strike dying mid-air. She lost balance but twisted with the fall, rolling, catching herself, springing back up on her feet before the dirt could claim her.

  The spectators exhaled as one, a mix of gasps and mutters. Even Suri sat upright, knuckles tight against her knees.

  Kana’s lips pressed into a grim line.

  A [Knight] was supposed to be sturdy, slow, predictable. Yet Raydon had read her as if her feints were written in ink, and moved in time with her speed as though her body had betrayed its intent before she struck.

  He wasn’t fooled by her traps. He wasn’t lagging behind her pace.

  No—he was keeping up.

  And that meant this duel wasn’t going to be simple.

  This will be a problem.

  …..

  The copper-class adventurers stood frozen, their mouths dry, unable to speak as the echoes of steel on steel still hung in the night air. The sight of that small, slender girl moving like a storm of blades left them uneasy. None of them could imagine surviving her in a duel, not even for a minute.

  “Kana, you can do it!” Toby’s voice broke the silence, his cheer thin but full of hope. Rin joined, her fists pumping the air, “Show him, Kana!”

  “Use your free hand!” Adam barked suddenly, leaning forward as though Kana might actually hear him mid-strike. “Grab his shield—grab anything! Don’t fight like a text book, use every part of your body!”

  Boris groaned and shook his head, his tone flat but edged with frustration. “This is why I hate sparring with tanks. You can hit them a hundred times and it feels like you’re dueling a stone wall.”

  “Stone wall? No.” One of the copper adventurers whispered, his eyes locked on Raydon’s stance. “That’s not a wall. That’s a predator waiting for the right strike.”

  “This is really good.” Suri cut in, her voice calm, oddly detached as she chewed on a skewer of cold meat. Her eyes didn’t leave the duel. “Honestly, it looks like they’re just dancing to me.”

  Some of the younger adventurers swallowed hard, torn between awe and disbelief. “Dancing?” one muttered. “If that’s dancing, I don’t ever want to be invited.”

  Every eye stayed fixed on the circle of firelight, the heat of the campfire paling compared to the sparks flying off Raydon’s shield as Kana circled him again.

  The air was thick with anticipation, like the night itself held its breath, waiting for the next clash.