Sera's POV
A single second passed.
The air crackled with tension.
The warrior—the fool who dared insult me—stood frozen, his smirk faltering as I stared him down.
He had expected me to shrink away, to cower under his words. But now, with everyone's eyes on us, he realized his mistake.
Still, he tried to stand his ground. He scoffed, rolling his shoulders, attempting to look unaffected. "I don't need to repeat myself," he said, though there was a slight edge to his voice.
I smirked. Coward.
"That's what I thought," I said, my voice smooth and unwavering. "You bark loud, but when it's time to fight, you whimper like a pup."
Laughter rippled through the trainees. Some murmured in amusement, while others watched intently, waiting to see how far this would go.
The warrior's face darkened. "You're nothing but a spoiled Alpha's daughter," he spat. "You think you're strong because of your bloodline?
I took a step forward, my tone calm but laced with danger. "I know I'm strong because I've proven it. Have you?"
The tension thickened. His fists clenched at his sides.
I knew what was coming next.
Before he could lunge, a low, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Enough."
Lucian.
The crowd fell into immediate silence.
His golden eyes burned into both of us, a mix of boredom and irritation flickering across his sharp features.
"If you have this much energy to bicker, you might as well settle it properly."
The warrior stiffened. "Alpha King, I—"
"Fight," Lucian ordered.
A slow, dangerous smirk stretched across my lips.
The warrior's expression tightened, but he had no choice.
This would be over quickly.
The crowd cleared a space for us. The warrior shook out his arms, rolling his neck, trying to appear relaxed. But I saw the stiffness in his stance.
He was strong, but I was better.
"Try not to cry when you lose," he taunted.
I smirked. "Try not to break too quickly."
Lucian crossed his arms, watching with an unreadable expression.
"Begin," he commanded.
The warrior struck first.
I dodged easily, stepping aside before his fist could connect. He swung again—fast, but reckless. I ducked under his blow, countering with a sharp elbow to his ribs.
He staggered but recovered quickly. This time, he was smarter, waiting for me to move first.
Fine.
I gave him what he wanted.
I lunged, feinting left before twisting and striking from the right. My fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
He stumbled, wiping his mouth. A trace of blood stained his fingers.
His expression twisted into a snarl. He came at me again, faster, more aggressive. I dodged the first few strikes, but he managed to land a solid hit to my shoulder.
Pain sparked through me, but I ignored it.
I countered with a sharp kick to his knee, throwing him off balance. He recovered, but not fast enough.
I was already behind him.
One swift movement, and I swept his legs out from under him.
He hit the ground—hard.
I pressed my foot against his chest, pinning him in place. His breathing was ragged, his body tense beneath me.
It was over.
The silence stretched.
Lucian's gaze flickered with something unreadable.
I turned my head slightly. "Had enough?"
The warrior's face burned with humiliation, but he said nothing.
I stepped off him, letting him get up.
It should have ended there.
But it didn't.
I barely had time to register the movement.
There was a flash of steel.
A blade.
Not one of the training weapons.
This was hidden. Smuggled in.
He was behind me, moving fast—too fast.
I turned just as he lunged.
A blur of motion.
A sharp crack.
The sound of a bone snapping.
The knife clattered to the ground.
The warrior let out a strangled scream.
I blinked.
Someone had stopped him.
A figure stood beside me, gripping the warrior's wrist—no, breaking it.
His movements were graceful, almost effortless. He had disarmed the warrior in an instant, twisting his arm behind his back before driving him to his knees.
Then, just for good measure, he snapped his hand.
A sickening pop echoed through the air.
The warrior howled in agony.
The man released him, letting him collapse onto the dirt.
I turned to my savior.
And froze.
He was no ordinary trainee.
His presence was different—elegant, commanding, with a quiet sort of power that didn't need to be announced.
He had dark, almost midnight-blue hair, neatly tied back, and sharp, piercing green eyes that held a refined intelligence. His jawline was strong, his features aristocratic, almost too perfect to belong to a mere soldier.
He didn't just move with strength.
He moved with calculated precision.
His training gear was similar to ours, but the way he carried himself made it clear—he was no ordinary warrior.
He was dangerous.
And when he turned to me, his lips curved into a smile.
"A gentleman never lets a lady be stabbed in the back," he said smoothly, his voice deep and cultured.
I blinked.
Before I could respond, Lucian spoke.
His voice was cold. Irritated.
"Step back."
The Beta—because he had to be a Beta, no mere warrior fought like that—tilted his head slightly, as if amused by Lucian's tone.
Lucian stepped forward, his gaze locking onto the injured warrior still groaning on the ground.
"You smuggled a weapon into my training grounds?" His voice was deceptively calm.
The warrior stammered. "I—I didn't—"
Lucian didn't even let him finish.
"Take him," he ordered.
Two guards stepped forward immediately, grabbing the injured man and dragging him away.
There was no doubt about what would happen next.
He would be interrogated.
And knowing Lucian, that meant tortured.
Lucian watched as the warrior was taken, his expression unreadable.
Then, finally, his golden eyes flicked back to the Beta.
The irritation was still there, subtle but unmistakable.
But the Beta merely smiled again.
He turned to me.
"Forgive my late introduction," he said, inclining his head slightly. "Name's Kael."
Kael.
The name suited him.