The training grounds of Class Imperium buzzed with excitement. The early morning sun cast golden light on the ancient stone pillars and enchanted grass fields, while a crowd of noble students—heirs to Faeloria's most influential families—gathered around the dueling arena. Serenil, calm and composed, stood barefoot on the dueling circle's silver-inscribed edge. Across from him, Robert Siltharion twirled his practice spear with a devil-may-care grin.
"You sure about this, Serenil?" Robert asked, his wolf ears twitching. "I don't hold back once things get spicy."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Serenil replied, drawing Voidrender, its pale obsidian blade humming with restrained hunger.
Ned Myrkwyn, Jon Iskareth, and Peter Arkwell stood just outside the circle, observing intently. Jon folded his arms. "This will be educational."
Peter arched a brow, his slitted green eyes narrowing. "Or dangerous."
The Duel Begins
The whistle blew.
Serenil surged forward with his typical grace—elegant, fluid, and deadly. Voidrender cut through the air like a phantom crescent. But Robert's instincts were wild and untamed. With unnatural reflexes, he spun away, slamming his spear into the ground to pivot midair and land behind Serenil.
"You're fast," Serenil said, shifting his stance. "But this won't last."
Voidrender unleashed a crackling wave of spatial distortion—a slashing arc that tore the air open like paper. It should have ended the duel then and there.
But then, Robert smiled.
"Soul Gear: Aetherius Ruinhammer – The Crown of Reflected Doom."
In a flash of inverted light, his spear shattered—replaced by a monstrous twin-ended warhammer. One side, a brutal cleaver. The other, a celestial sledge. Both pulsed with twisted magical gravity.
A ripple spread across the dueling field. Hexmirror Crucible activated.
Voidrender's spatial slash struck Robert's field—and shattered like glass.
"What…?" Serenil muttered as his own spatial magic recoiled inward, the backlash slamming into his body with reversed force.
"Your spell," Robert said with a dangerous grin, "becomes your curse."
The Turning Tide
In seconds, Serenil found himself on the defensive.
Robert moved like a storm, hammer swings distorting the very air. Godrend Tremor echoed through the arena, each impact shaking reality itself. Even dragons would have trembled under such force.
Serenil danced, dodged, and countered, trying to land even a glancing blow with Voidrender. But the Hexmirror Field swallowed every spell, reversed it, and hurled it back at him twice as potent.
A teleport blink? Reversed into a spatial anchor.
A binding spell? Returned as a constriction.
Even Voidrender's infamous Void Rift Slash—an absolute space tear—was absorbed and mirrored as a Timestream Lock, briefly freezing Serenil's motion mid-swing.
Robert didn't press the killing blow. He stopped his hammer inches from Serenil's neck, grinning as it shimmered with celestial rage.
"You fight with elegance, Serenil," Robert said. "But sometimes, brute force and wild heart win over logic."
The Crowd Gasped
Jon nodded. "That's no ordinary Soul Gear…"
Peter, calm but intrigued, added, "Longinus-class. I've read of Aetherius. It's said to bring down gods."
Ned's eyes narrowed, serious. "Aetherius isn't just strong. It's dangerous. The backlash could tear him apart one day."
Serenil stood slowly, dusting himself off. "I underestimated you, Robert."
Robert slung the warhammer over his shoulder, its form dissipating. "You're not the first. But don't worry—now that we're friends, I've got your back."
Serenil chuckled. "You hit like a dragon in heat. But thanks."
From that day forward, Serenil knew—his bond with Robert and the others wasn't just of shared class or title. It was forged through combat, honor, and mutual respect.
And in time, the five boys would become brothers in all but blood.