A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd at the sight.

"Is that what he's using?"

"He's going to lose before the fight even starts."

"Maybe he doesn't even know how to use a real sword."

Stanley scoffed, rolling his wrist as he raised his wooden blade. His lips curled into a mocking grin.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" he said, his voice dripping with derision. "Sting me?"

Stanley chuckled at his own joke, puffing his chest out proudly.

A few of the students surrounding them followed along with snickers of their own, their laughter echoing in the classroom.

Damien didn't seem fazed in the slightest.

Instead, he smiled calmly, resting the short wooden rod lightly on his shoulder.

"This…" he said, his tone low and confident, "is more than enough to handle a brat like you."

The laughter around them stopped.

Stanley's smirk faltered, his face hardening almost instantly. His brows twitched in irritation, and a cold gleam flickered across his eyes.

'That arrogance…' he thought, gripping his sword tighter. 'I'll make you eat it.'

A heavy silence settled across the class.

The instructor, standing at the front with his hands clasped behind his back, glanced between the two boys.

He seemed almost amused by the tension building between them.

Then, slowly, he raised one hand.

"Start."

The word was calm and short—but it sliced through the silence like a blade.

Stanley moved first.

His body shot forward in a sharp burst of motion, the soles of his shoes scraping against the floor as he lunged straight at Damien.

His wooden sword was poised, its tip glinting faintly under the light as he thrust directly toward Damien's chest with precision born of years of training.

The students watching gasped in excitement.

Damien, however, didn't even blink. His hand moved slightly, raising the short wooden rod in what seemed like a simple parry motion.

Stanley scoffed at the attempt, his lips curling in derision.

Foolish.' he thought.

With a quick twist of his feet, he sidestepped, moving to Damien's left flank.

His blade pivoted and slashed toward Damien's ribs in a smooth, practiced motion.

'I've been training with the sword since I was a kid,' Stanley thought, the grin returning to his face. 'You can't read my movements!'

And yet—just as that thought crossed his mind—Damien's head turned toward him.

Their eyes met.

In that instant, Stanley froze.

He couldn't explain it, but there was something in Damien's gaze that sent a chill straight down his spine.

It was as if those eyes could see straight through him—his technique, his movements, his thoughts.

Before he could even process it, Damien moved.

Whack!

The sound of wood striking flesh echoed through the room.

Damien's short staff had already swung in a smooth, precise arc, smacking Stanley right at the side of his neck.

Stanley's breath hitched as pain shot through his body.

His grip on his sword loosened, the weapon dropping to the ground, and his vision blurred.

Thud!

He hit the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing slightly against the smooth floor as his body followed after.

A stunned silence filled the air.

Damien stood still, lowering his weapon lazily. His sharp eyes gazed down at the boy sprawled before him, and a faint sneer crossed his lips.

'Slightly impressive footwork,' he thought. But that's nothing against me.

Stanley could try all he wanted, but the gap between he and Damien, was even wider than that of heaven and earth.

Damien had lived more lives as a swordman on the battlefield than Stanley had wielded a blade, so his movements techniques were nothing before Damien.

Stanley groaned from the floor, clutching his neck as he struggled to process what had just happened.

"I… lost…" he muttered weakly, disbelief etched across his face.

He could barely comprehend it.

The duel had just begun.

And before he could even he could land a single blow, Damien had already knocked him down.

Just like that, the duel was over.

The rule was simple: the one who forced their opponent to the ground, or made them surrender, won.

And Damien had done it in a single, effortless move.

The silence that followed Stanley's fall was thick and tense.

All eyes were glued to the center of the room, where Damien stood calm and composed, while Stanley lay sprawled on the ground, panting heavily.

The instructor, who had been watching with sharp interest from the side, finally broke the stillness.

His voice was steady, carrying easily through the wide classroom.

"The duel is over," he said firmly. "Damien won."

A wave of whispers immediately rippled through the class.

Stanley's eyes trembled, his body stiffening as the weight of those words sank in.

He slowly pushed himself off the floor, his breathing uneven, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them around the wooden sword.

He could feel their gazes on him—the disbelief, the murmurs, the shock that he, Stanley Dame, had lost.

'I lost…?' he mumbled inwardly, feeling his stomach twist at the mere thought.

His teeth ground together in frustration, and he glared up at Damien, who was still standing calmly a few steps away, a faint smirk resting on his lips.

"You… you cheated…" Stanley spat, his voice rough and strained.

He picked up his wooden sword, which he had dropped on the ground earlier and pointed it at Damien.

"I don't accept this! You cheated… I know it!" he said, his hands trembling as he spoke.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his expression almost mocking as a small chuckle escaped him.

"Cheated?" he said with a smirk. "You're too weak for me to bother doing that. Just accept the result."

Stanley's nostrils flared in rage, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the hilt tighter.

The instructor's eyes flashed briefly with a mix of disapproval and interest. He took a step forward, his calm tone cutting through the whispers.

"Enough," he said. "Damien didn't cheat. He only caught you off guard."

Stanley froze, his mouth hanging open for a moment.

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