Combat Class Begins
Finally, after breakfast, it was time for combat class.
Kyle had chosen Physical Enhancement and Mana Control as his core training subjects. While Mana Control was essential for refining familiar-linked abilities, the Physical Enhancement class was designed to push a student's body to its absolute limits—strengthening endurance, reflexes, and raw power.
The Physical Enhancement Hall was located away from the main school building, housed in a separate structure of its own. Unlike the academy's sleek modern architecture, this hall had an old-world atmosphere. The exterior resembled an ancient palace, its stone walls etched with intricate carvings of warriors and beasts locked in battle. Towering twin doors stood at the entrance, each adorned with glowing runes.
To gain entry, students had to scan their academy-issued watches against a panel, prompting the massive doors to slide open with a deep rumbling sound.
The inside of the hall was an entirely different sight. The grand, western-style exterior contrasted sharply with its spartan interior—a vast open training space, high ceilings stretching fifteen meters overhead, and reinforced stone floors designed to withstand even the most intense combat.
At the far end of the hall stood a lone figure.
A man with jet-black hair and sharp brown eyes leaned against the wall, arms crossed. A striking blue crystalline gauntlet encased his right hand, its jagged design looking as if it had been forged from the remains of some alien beast. Even without speaking, his presence radiated authority.
Kyle immediately assumed this man was their instructor. He was the oldest in the room and carried himself with an unshakable confidence that set him apart from the students.
As students trickled in, the hall filled with murmurs of conversation. Some stretched, others gathered in groups, discussing their expectations for the class.
Vivian Marchand was among the arrivals.
Spotting Kyle near the edge of the room, she waved cheerfully—far more energetic than Jace's earlier quiet approach. Unlike Jace's interaction, however, her greeting didn't draw much attention. Many of the students dismissed her due to her reputation. Her Silverwing Moth was weak in combat, and at Level 2.5, her physical strength and speed were lacking despite her commendable willpower.
Kyle gave her a small nod in return, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He had expected Darius Holt and Jace Torren to attend Familiar Control instead of Physical Enhancement, yet here they were.
Jace stood beside Kyle, talking animatedly, but Kyle only caught fragments of his words—his mind elsewhere. Meanwhile, Darius stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd. Every so often, his electric-blue eyes flickered toward Kyle, unreadable.
Kyle noticed.
So, I'm not the only one paying attention.
Before he could think further, a sharp, piercing whistle cut through the hall.
The black-haired instructor strode to the center of the room, his blue gauntlet gleaming under the lights. Beside him walked a massive Ashen Direwolf, its fur a mixture of smoke and embers. Its glowing amber eyes swept across the students, radiating silent dominance.
The murmurs ceased.
"Listen up," the instructor's voice rang out, cutting through the tension. "I am Instructor Rowan Calder. Today marks the start of your combat training." His eyes swept over the students—cold, assessing. "Whether you think you're ready or not, I don't care. The battlefield won't wait for you to be prepared."
The students instinctively straightened, sensing the weight of his words.
"Some of you believe you already have what it takes," Calder continued, his voice razor-sharp. "Some of you have trained your whole lives for this. Others? You're just barely learning to stand. But let me tell you now—none of you are ready."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, but no one dared to argue.
"That's what today is for," he declared. "You're going to spar. You're going to test your limits. And you're going to learn what it actually means to fight. Because the moment you step onto a real battlefield, hesitation will get you killed."
Vivian suppressed a smirk. Calder was as blunt as ever—he never sugarcoated anything.
"Pairings have already been determined," Calder continued. "When your name is called, step forward. No holding back—this is real combat training. If you're weak, you'll learn that quickly."
Kyle's mind drifted elsewhere as the names started being called.
The bet.
He had completely forgotten about it. The morning had been chaotic, and between waking up, breakfast, and arriving at class, the entire gamble with Darius had slipped his mind.
His thoughts scattered as his own name rang out.
"Kyle Corvayn and Darius Holt."
Kyle blinked.
Darius smirked.
Kyle exhaled sharply, suddenly remembering the bet. He glanced at Darius, who was already rolling his shoulders, stepping forward with a confident stride.
Kyle clenched his fists.
So much for taking it easy today.
Vivian's breath hitched slightly. Perfect. She leaned forward slightly, her Silverwing Moth fluttering restlessly on her shoulder.
She had been watching Kyle since last night, ever since she saw that strange event unfold. She knew he was hiding something. And now?
Now, she was going to find out what.
Darius stopped a few feet away from Kyle, rolling his neck as if he were merely warming up. His Stormfang Panther had not yet been summoned, but electricity crackled faintly around his fingertips.
"You ready?" Darius asked, his tone casual, but his stance razor-sharp.
Kyle met his gaze, then let out a slow breath.
"Guess we'll find out."
Rowan Calder observed them both, then gave a sharp nod.
"Begin."