Chapter 66: Scabbard Strike, The Arrogant Senior

The senior noble stared down at the piece of metal. A cruel, incredulous smile pulled at his lips. He looked back at Saile, fully expecting to see the trembling knees and fearful eyes of a cornered animal. Instead, he met a pair of cold, dead blue eyes that looked right through him.

"You want to throw your life away for a blind beggar?" the noble asked. He scooped the empty token from the stone and tossed it back. "I accept. Get in the ring, peasant."

The red-haired beast tamer from Class F hurried forward. She grabbed the blind

runecrafter by the arm, pulling him safely away from the stairs. She shot Saile a warning glance, her expression a mix of gratitude and raw pity.

"Don’t do this," the blind boy whispered, wiping a streak of dirt from his bruised cheek. "His armor is A-Rank. He will burn you alive."

"Keep your head down," Saile replied softly.

He walked up the stone stairs. His boots crunched on the packed dirt of the elevated platform. Runes etched into the marble borders hummed to life, projecting a translucent magical barrier around the arena to shield the spectators from stray spells. The crowd surged forward against the invisible wall, hungry for blood. They rattled their silver coins, placing loud bets on how many seconds the freshman would last.

"He thinks he is walking to an execution," Naicul murmured. The ancient God sounded bored, his tone echoing in the deep recesses of Saile’s mind. "Show him the difference between a spark and the sun."

"I am not going to kill him," Saile replied mentally, keeping his thoughts locked tight. "I just need his wallet."

At the edge of the ring sat a long wooden rack. It held blunt iron broadswords, dull spears, and cracked wooden training blades. Saile was completely unarmed. His rusted iron prop lay discarded in the dirt below, and his true weapon, the Epic-grade Calamity Fang, remained securely hidden beneath his mattress in the lower dormitories.

He reached out and grabbed a cheap wooden longsword.

He did not draw the dull blade from its matching wooden scabbard. He merely held

the sheathed weapon loosely in his right hand, letting it hang by his side as he walked toward the center of the ring.

The senior laughed out loud. He drew a polished steel rapier from his hip. The finely crafted metal caught the afternoon sun, gleaming with lethal intent.

"My name is Julian of House Vance," the noble declared. He raised his chin, playing directly to the captive audience. "I am going to enjoy teaching you your place in this academy."

Julian flared his mana core. A brilliant aura of white and orange erupted around his body. The A-Rank Holy Armor materialized, forming burning plates of solid light over his chest, arms, and shoulders. The heat radiating from his core washed across the arena, drying the sweat on Saile’s neck and superheating the oxygen within the barrier.

The crowd of wealthy students erupted into cheers. They chanted Julian’s name, their voices overlapping in a chaotic, bloodthirsty rhythm.

Saile stood thirty feet away. He pushed a microscopic fraction of his dark core through the silver elven choker. A sputtering yellow glow traced his knuckles. It looked like a dying match next to Julian’s roaring bonfire.

"A C-Rank light user," Julian sneered, his eyes filled with contempt. "You lack the mana to even draw a real sword. Let me show you true firepower."

Julian lunged.

He thrust his rapier forward with a practiced, arrogant flourish. A blazing spell of holy fire shot from the tip of his blade, expanding into a roaring inferno. The flames rushed across the packed dirt, seeking to consume Saile

whole. The heat blistered the air, turning the enclosed arena into a furnace.

Saile did not brace for the impact. He did not raise his arms to shield his face, nor did he retreat.

To his Diamond-Tier perception, the roaring fire moved sluggishly. He saw the uneven distribution of mana within the flames. He saw the sloppy footwork Julian used to cast the spell, leaving his left flank entirely exposed.

Saile channeled a sliver of kinetic energy into his calves.

[Skill Activated: Phantom Step (C-Grade)]

The air snapped like a breaking whip.

A sharp sonic boom ruptured the noise of the arena. The sheer physical force of his launch kicked up a localized sandstorm, tearing the incoming wave of holy fire in half.

Saile vanished.

He did not just move fast. To the human eyes watching from the courtyard, he simply ceased to exist.

Julian blinked. His roaring fire spell hit the arena wall and dissipated against the magical barrier, leaving a scorch mark on the stone. The spot where the blonde freshman had stood was entirely empty.

"Looking for me?" a flat voice asked.

Julian’s blood ran cold. The voice came from right beside his left ear.

The senior noble spun around, swinging his steel rapier in a panicked, horizontal arc. He poured his A-Rank holy magic into the strike, aiming to cut the boy in two.

Saile did not dodge the desperate swing. He raised his right hand.

He parried the glowing steel blade with his wooden scabbard.

Clack.

The sharp sound of steel biting into wood echoed across the platform. Saile applied a fraction of compressed friction through his fake light aura, hardening the cheap wood just enough to prevent the holy fire from slicing through the scabbard.

Julian’s eyes widened in raw terror. A peasant holding a sheathed training sword

had just stopped a full-powered A-Rank strike dead in its tracks. The kinetic recoil shivered up Julian’s arm, numbing his fingers and jarring his shoulder.

Saile gave him no quarter.

He dropped his center of gravity. His left boot swept out in a fluid, punishing arc, catching Julian right behind the ankles.

The flashy A-Rank Holy Armor offered zero defense against raw, unforgiving physics. Julian’s feet flew out from under him. The noble hung suspended in the air for a fraction of a second, his arrogant expression melting into unadulterated panic.

Before Julian’s back could even hit the dirt, Saile stepped inside his collapsing guard.

He raised his free hand. He drove the rigid edge of his palm into the side of Julian’s neck.

It was a surgical, brutal chop. It targeted the exact cluster of nerves beneath the jawline, delivered with enough restrained force to neutralize without killing.

Smack.

The impact severed Julian’s consciousness before his brain even registered the pain. The holy fire armor shattered into a mist of fading light, raining harmless sparks over the arena floor. The senior noble crashed into the dirt, entirely limp. His expensive steel rapier bounced once and lay still.

The fight lasted less than two seconds.

The Duel Arena plunged into a staggering, breathless silence.

The cheering stopped. Coins slipped from numb fingers, clattering onto the stone bleachers. Hundreds of wealthy, pampered prodigies stared at the arena floor, unable to comprehend the sequence of events their eyes had just witnessed.

A street orphan had not cast a single offensive spell. He had not drawn a blade. He had bypassed an A-Rank fire spell and knocked out a senior noble with a piece of wood and a bare hand.

Saile stood over the unconscious body. He did not smile. He claimed no glory. He simply reached down and plucked the golden brass token from Julian’s limp fingers.

He pulled his own token from his pocket and pressed the two metals together.

A chime rang out in the quiet courtyard. A bright golden light flashed, signaling the transfer of wealth.

[Merit Points Acquired: 4,500]

"A decent haul," Naicul murmured, his tone dropping into a dark chuckle. "That buys us a map and a key to the lower doors. The library awaits."

Saile tossed the empty token onto Julian’s chest. He turned his back on the unconscious noble and walked toward the arena stairs. He dropped the dented wooden scabbard back onto the weapon rack. It clattered against the iron stand, the sound echoing loud in the silent courtyard.

The crowd parted for him. Students shrank back against the marble pillars, their eyes wide with fear and confusion as the blonde boy descended the steps and walked past them.

High above the courtyard, resting in the deep shadows of the VIP balcony, someone was watching.

Aira leaned against the carved stone railing. Her pristine silver armor caught the afternoon sun, but she stood far back enough to remain unnoticed by the mob below.

She did not look at the fallen noble. Her piercing, SSS-Rank golden eyes were locked entirely on Saile.

She replayed the two-second duel in her mind. She analyzed the footwork. She studied the brutal, surgical efficiency of the neck chop.

"That was not a lucky strike," Aira whispered to herself.

She traced a gloved finger under her right eye, wiping away a phantom ache. Her Eyes of Truth had caught the blur of movement. They had seen the pathetic yellow spark of Light magic the boy projected to harden the wooden scabbard.

But her instincts screamed a different story.

A mere C-Rank commoner did not move fast enough to break the sound barrier. A street orphan did not possess the martial discipline to parry enchanted steel with cheap wood. And they certainly did not fight with the cold, unfeeling apathy of a veteran executioner.

Aira watched the boy disappear into the dark archway leading to the lower dormitories. Her golden eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits.

Gabriel was a liar. He was a puzzle wrapped in a peasant’s tunic.

The Holy Saintess had just found her newest obsession.