GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Vol 2 - Chapter XXII.V - Class & Quarter

The truth? This was nothing but theater. Father had arranged for preliminary readings weeks ago, ensuring the Academy would recognize the "exceptional" Atherwind talent. We'd practiced with similar crystals in our manor, fine-tuning my approach to maximize the display.

"That intensity," one of the senior mages murmured. "The crystal's practically humming."

I nodded slightly in acknowledgment, playing my part perfectly. As I turned to rejoin the elite candidates, my gaze found Vel's across the field.

The difference between us was obvious—me standing in the crystal's golden glow, celebrated as a prodigy, while Vel remained among those barely deemed worthy of training.

But only I knew how many hours of conditioning it had taken to achieve this "natural talent."

I faced Kolrak Etemir across the training circle. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a fire affinity that had flashed impressively during the crystal reading. Kolrak's overconfident smirk and the way he spun his practice sword in a useless flourish told me everything I needed to know. Students around the circle leaned forward, anticipating the match.

"Begin when ready," Instructor Morana announced, stepping back from the circle.

I didn't move immediately. I had learned the value of patience, unlike the younger me who would have charged in recklessly. Kolrak shifted his weight, eager to begin. He wanted this over quickly.

"What's wrong, Atherwind?" Kolrak taunted. "Afraid to get that pretty uniform dirty?"

I remained silent, which only irritated him further. His lunge was a textbook error—a standard thrust followed by a wide, sweeping arc. He might as well have announced his strategy.

Instead of retreating, I sidestepped, allowing his momentum to carry him past. My counterattack was measured, controlled. I wanted to see what he could do first.

Three exchanges later, I understood his style completely. Kolrak favored power over finesse—similar to my own sword style, but crude and unrefined. My training had taught me to temper raw strength with precision. Each attack came harder than the last, his frustration mounting with every miss.

"Stop dancing and fight!" he growled, sweat beading on his forehead.

I smiled then, the first genuine expression I'd allowed myself since entering the Academy. Now to show them what an Atherwind could do.

I closed the distance, my blade a blur of calculated strikes that forced him onto the back foot. He was reacting, not thinking. The opening I needed.

When he attempted a counterattack—a predictable overhead swing—I didn't just evade; I moved into position for my finishing technique.

I channeled my light affinity into my blade. The steel began to glow, casting white light that would mask my next movements. The precise stances and footwork had burned into my muscle memory through countless hours of practice. Light trails followed the sword's path, designed to confuse and disorient.

"Cross Flash!" I called out, executing two rapid slashes that created intersecting paths of light.

Kolrak almost reacted to the incoming strikes, but the blinding light trails forced him to cover his eyes instinctively. The technique struck him cleanly while he was defenseless, intersecting slashes creating a burst of concentrated light. He stumbled backward and fell, the protective charm around him glowing bright red to signal my victory.

The sound of sword clashes nearby drew my attention away from my own victory. In the standard candidates' area, another duel was underway. The fighter's stance made me freeze.