Caspian was tired. As he lay on the grass, staring up at the blue sky, Caspian could think of nothing except how exhausted he was, of how his muscles ached in places that he hadn't known could ache. Everything hurt. His back, his arms, his chest, his legs. It felt like someone had bludgeoned his chest with a warhammer. His shirt lay discarded on the ground beside him, and Caspian was positive that, were he to look down, he would see his chest covered in ugly bruises.

I lost...

In hindsight, Caspian knew that he would lose to Derek. The older man had far more experience than him. Even if he was weak, Derek would certainly have the advantage in tactics and adaptability. Of course, Erica's Knight was far from weak, as he'd quickly discovered. Despite all that, losing to Derek, to anybody, was a blow to Caspian's pride.

Sitting beside him was Derek. The man, his red armor as immaculate as it had been before the battle, didn't say a word as he rested on the grass. This gave Caspian plenty of time to think, and he had a lot to think about.

What was that attack that he used? It was almost like he launched a blast of compressed air from his sword, but that shouldn't be possible, should it? The amount of force one would need to generate to accomplish such a feat should not be humanly possible.

And yet, even though it shouldn't have been possible, that was clearly what had happened. Multiple times. Derek had swung his sword, and a powerful force of gale wind had been launched from it, smacking Caspian in the chest and sending him sprawling to the ground, depriving his lungs of oxygen. This had happened numerous times before Caspian had decided to call it quits.

"You were quite impressive," Derek said at last. "I can see why you're ranked second in the academy."

"Don't patronize me," Caspian mumbled. "I didn't land a single blow on you."

"That is to be expected. You are a talented young man, but you do not have the decades of experience that I do. If you did, then our spar could have gone either way."

Caspian knew that Derek was being polite. He hadn't landed a single blow on Derek in all of their spars. It was a real blow to his pride as someone striving to become a sorceress's knight.

"That attack you used against me," Caspian started, "the one that hit me from a range. What was that?"

"That was a technique that I created several years ago. I created it one day after fighting against someone who used a gun. The idea behind the technique is that I use the weight of my claymore and the strength in my arms to displace the air in front of me. By swinging fast enough, I can create a either a wind blade or an intense gale that extends my reach. It has it's drawbacks, of course, the biggest one being that it only gives me five extra meters of range, but against an opponent who uses a sword, I have a clear advantage."

Caspian understood the basic mechanics behind Derek's technique. By combining the weight of his blade with his own raw physical strength and the effects of gravity, Derek could swing his blade so quickly that it created a compressed blast of wind. It also explained why Derek wielded something as large and unwieldy as a claymore.

But it also comes with its own set of disadvantages. Derek can only create a wind blade by swinging his sword down. He can't generate enough power swinging it any other direction. This also means that if someone can predict when he'll launch an attack, they can easily dodge. However, he seems to have that covered by attacking only when he knows he's going to land a hit.

Throughout their spar, Derek had predicted Caspian's every move. No matter how unpredictable he tried to be, the red-clad knight was never surprised and always reacted more swiftly than what Caspian believed should have been possible, especially when he took the heavy red armor that Derek wore into consideration.

"The reason I could predict your movements isn't because you're too predictable," Derek said suddenly, almost as if he'd read Caspian's mind. "It's because you were so busy trying to be unpredictable that it made you easier to predict. Single combat is less about tactics and more about instincts. The more you think, the easier it becomes to see what you're thinking, and that makes it easier for opponents to read your movements."

"So, basically, you're telling me to think less and act more?"

"More or less." Derek's armor clinked together as he shrugged. "You did really well back when you were acting as Erica's temporary replacement. Back then, you were all instinct. It gave you an edge, but you seem to be overthinking things now."

Caspian twitched. It was true. Throughout their battle, he'd been constantly thinking, trying to analyze Derek's movements and determine the best way to defeat him. Perhaps it was because of his most recent failure that he was like this. Caspian couldn't deny that since he'd nearly been killed by those automatons, he'd been rethinking his strategy.

"I would have still lost even if I relied purely on instincts," Caspian said at last.

"Yes, you would have," Derek agreed. "But that's because I have a lot more experience, not because you're a bad fighter."

Caspian agreed with him on that. The way Derek moved, the way he fought, how he predicted Caspian's every move and responded too quickly for him to dodge, proved that he had a lot of experience when it came to fighting. That he'd also created a technique to hit people at long range stood as further testament to Derek's battle prowess.

Speaking of which...

"That... technique of yours," Caspian started, "is it possible for you to teach it?"

Derek tilted his head as if considering the question. "It's definitely not unteachable. However, I do not believe it would go well with your style. For starters, you use a broadsword, which doesn't have enough weight to generate that kind of force. It's not enough to just be strong. Even the strongest person in the world would be unable to create a wind blade or a shockwave if their weapon doesn't weigh enough."

Caspian didn't let Derek see how dejected that answer made him. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"Indeed. Now, then..." Derek stood up and stretched his arms, "it is getting quite late. I believe it's time I headed back to Lady Erica. Shall we do this again at the same time tomorrow?"

Grabbing his shirt, Caspian stood to his feet. "I would like that."

"In that case, we will meet here again tomorrow."

It was only after Derek had left that Caspian realized how late it was. He didn't know how many hours had past, but the sun was already high above his head, and his stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn't eaten yet. He'd need to have breakfast before he started his day, but he didn't know if the cafeteria was still open. They closed during the periods where students had class.

I might need to go into town to eat.

He didn't know if the thought pleased him all that much. Meals in town were expensive—for him. At least all of his meals at the academy were free, even if the staff treated him like he'd contracted a fatal plague.

After taking a shower, Caspian made his way down the empty halls. It must have been later than even he'd imagined. The entire dormitory hallway was deserted. More than likely, that meant all of the students were in class, which meant he was missing classes.

It's a good thing students who take part in the tournament are exempt from classes or I'd be in trouble.

"Caaaaa..."

Caspian paused as a strange sound came to him. It sounded a lot like a voice, but one that was coming to him from across a vast distance.

"... sppppppppp..."

The more he listened, the closer the voice became, until it was so loud that he could pinpoint its location.

"... iiiiii..."

Turning around, Caspian saw Christo barreling toward him in a full-on sprint.

"... aaaaaaaaaa—bwaf!"

Christo's sprint was canceled when his face met Caspian's foot.

***

"Faf waf freally mean, Cafian," Christo said as they walked down the hall.

Caspian was dressed in his military school uniform. He already missed his regular clothes. Christo strode beside him, rubbing his nose, from which blood leaked.

"You should know better than to run up to me like that," Caspian said plainly. "How many times have we done this? Seriously, do you even realize how annoying you are?"

"Hahaha!" Christo took Caspian's words like he always did—with plenty of humor. "What a cruel thing to say, but that's something I'm used to from you."

Caspian sighed. Did this boy ever act seriously? "So, were you looking for me, or did you just feel like acting the fool?"

"Why can't it be both?" Christo asked. "You weren't around for breakfast, and you completely missed our first two periods. I figured I would tell you that the headmaster is going to be making some big announcement at dinner. Our first period teacher told us that everyone is required to attend."

"Is that so?" Caspian muttered as they entered the lunchroom.

I wonder what that old man's announcement is all about?

***

Elincia never showed up that day. Caspian wondered if her absence was the reason that his day seemed to lag. He was sure that if Elincia had been with him, classes wouldn't have felt nearly as tedious.

Tedium of his everyday life aside, classes eventually ended and he headed to the cafeteria with Christo and the others.

The cafeteria opened up before him as he stepped inside, expanding to reveal the spacious interior. Caspian's feet tapped along the white marble tiles, the polished surface of which gleamed a dull orange as the evening sunlight reflected off of it. To his left, a series of large windows made the interior feel even more open than it would have felt otherwise. High overhead, the arced ceiling was revealed in all its splendor, decorated as it was with an intricate network of arches.

Many other students were already present. They filled the tables, chatting and laughing. Students weren't the only people in attendance, though. Standing at the staff table was the entire faculty, all of the sorceresses and their knights, including Erica, Dereke and a nervous looking Elincia. Tiffania was sitting on Erica's lap, and Collafloore stood behind them all.

There were several other individuals present. Further study of the people in question revealed that all of them were male, and some of them Caspian recognized. There was the young man who added "stylish" to his every sentence, the boy with the strange-looking long sword, and the other boy in the pitch-black one piece suit. It wasn't hard to deduce who these people were.

So, all of these people are the competition from the other academies...

They were an eclectic bunch, Caspian would give them that much. Aside from the one known as Adesh, the boy with the longsword, and the one in black, there were five others. A young man standing next to Adesh, his body wrapped in white robes. Two figures stood proud on Adesh's other side, a pair of blonds, one with a round shield and sword strapped to his back, the other holding a staff. At the far end were the last two. They stood silently, their bare chests puffed out in pride and on display, revealing hardened muscles and numerous battle scars.

"Ho! Looks like we've got quite the competition," Christo said as they sat down at the far end of the nearest table. The person closest to them noticed who'd just sat down and scooted away from them.

"I've already met one of them," Caspian admitted.

"Which one?"

"The blond one with the red jacket. His name's Adesh."

"Oh... how interesting. When did this happen, I wonder?"

Caspian said nothing. He was looking at Elincia. She sat between Erica and Sylvia, and if his eyes weren't deceiving him, she did not look comfortable. Every few seconds, she glanced at either Erica or Sylvia, both of whom radiated an unpleasant aura. Even Caspian, who sat furthest from the staff table, could feel the discontent rolling off of the two in waves.

"Worrying about your girlfriend?" Christo asked, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Yes." Caspian's simple answer shut the boy up. He must not have expected it.

As more people streamed in, the cafeteria quickly became full. The 150 students filled all of the seats at the table, with one unfortunate person sitting close to Caspian, though the boy did his best to ignore him. With everyone present, the headmaster stepped forward.

"Thank you all for coming so quickly." There was some sarcasm in the headmaster's voice—not that sarcasm from him was new. "Today is an occasion that many of you have waited for—a chance to prove that the years you have studied here have not been wasted. However, you are not the only ones who've been chosen for this momentous occasion. With us are eight other students from four other schools. They, too, have much to prove, and they have entered this tournament to compete with you. I would like to ask that you treat them kindly."

As the headmaster took a step back, Sylvia stood up and stepped forward. Trailing behind her was Elincia, who nervously wrung her hands together.

"Whoa," a person near Caspian muttered. "Check it out. It's Sylvia de Floresca."

"She's the strongest sorceress in the world."

"And that girl with her... isn't that the girl who's been spending a lot of time with the peasant lately?"

"It is. I'd heard she was a sorceress, but I didn't believe until the parade last night."

"Che, the frack's a sorceress doing hanging out with a pleb?"

"Disgraceful."

If it wouldn't have caused a scene, and if he hadn't promised Elincia, Caspian would have demolished every person who said something bad about his friend. Yet he also felt guilty. These people only spoke poorly of her because she was associated with him. Had they never reunited that day in Axium, she would not have had people speaking so ill of her.

No, I can't allow myself to think like this. Caspian shook his head. Even if we hadn't met in Axium, she would have eventually found me, which means her situation wouldn't have changed regardless.

"Throughout the years, Arcadia's Knight Academy has stood as an exemplar of education," Sylvia began, speaking in the slow, meticulous way that she always did. It was good to know that some things never changed. "The men who graduate from this academy often go on to accomplish great feats. Even those who do not become a sorceress's knight are lauded for their skills, which are carefully cultivated with years of intensive study and training. On this day, four of you will have a chance to prove your worth. Will the four competitors who have been chosen to participate please come to the front?"

Caspian and Christo stood to their feet, as did Julius and Darin. They made their way to the front of the cafeteria and stopped next to the contenders. Adesh must have recognized him, because the flamboyant young man turned and smiled.

"Hello again, my stylish contestant. I am pleased to know that you are one of the people I shall get to test my stylishly stylish fighting style against."

"Um," Caspian needed a moment to respond, "right. You too."

"Let us stylishly cross blades in the tournament."

"Okay..."

Weirdo, Caspian grumbled to himself. This young man, Adesh, might have been even weirder and more annoying than Christo—an impressive feat, to be sure.

A little ways from where he stood, the boy in the black bodysuit leaned into his companion's ear and whispered, "what the hell is with that weird catchphrase of his? Stylish? Really? Does he think that by adding stylish to his speech patterns, he'll actually become stylish himself?"

"You should not tease others for their manner of speech, Natsuo," the boy in red armor with the longsword said. "It is rude."

"Whatever. You're no fun," the one called Natsuo said with a sigh.

"Che, look at all these weaklings," one of the overly muscled boys growled. "If these are the people I'm competing against, winning this thing is going to be a cinch."

"Now, now, Heracles," his companion said, "we mustn't get cocky. It's not good sportsmanship."

The one known as Heracles was a hulking man. He stood well over everyone else, towering above them like a giant. He wore no shirt, and so his thick muscles were put on display. A pair of leather straps were slung across his back, gleaming in the light. Attached to the straps was a massive axe.

His companion was neither as tall nor as bulky. His body reminded Caspian of a whipcord, taught and strong, lithe. Messy blond hair hung down to his shoulders, which had numerous scars crisscrossing his skin. Unlike the one called Heracles, who carried only an axe, this one had one broadsword strapped to his right waist and a dagger sitting in a holster on his left thigh.

Caspian frowned. They look tough. However, those muscles mean they're power fighters.

Power fighters was a term used to describe warriors who fought with nothing but brute strength. Likewise, speed fighters were those who relied on speed in a fight. He couldn't figure out what type of fighters the others were, but those two were definitely the type who relied solely on their own physical prowess.

Turning back to the front, Caspian turned his attention to Elincia, who slowly walked up to stand before them. Her hands twitched as if she wanted to twiddle her fingers, but she forced them to relax. Slowly, as if seeking his assurance, her eyes sought his.

You can do this, Ele.

Caspian didn't know if this thoughts reached her, but perhaps she saw something in his eyes. She straightened her back and looked at the group before her.

"I... want to thank you all... for coming," she said haltingly. Caspian could sense the nervousness wafting off of her. "My name is Elincia... and one of you will become my... my Knight. I look forward to seeing the twelve of you prove your skills against each other."

As she spoke, her eyes sought Caspian's again. Within her blue orbs, he saw her soul laid bear. She was nervous, incredibly so. Elincia had never spoken in front of large crowds before, and Sylvia had apparently not allowed her outside of the mansion after he left. Isolated, alone, surrounded by nothing but servants, his friend's anxiety made far too much sense. For just a moment, Caspian felt resentment toward Sylvia for caging his friend like a bird with clipped wings.

When I become Ele's Knight, I'll make sure she's never locked away again, Caspian vowed to himself. It was a promise that he planned to keep—even if it killed him.