Five against two. Brian, Jean, Barry, Alba, and Ryan. Vincent knew their classes, knew what skills to expect, more or less. He wasn't afraid, especially with her by his side. One way or another, they would win this one, just like they had beaten the dragon, together. Because they were better people, because they were a better team. He believed it.

  A Barbarian, a Knight, a Champion—a class not very different from Knights. The main difference was that while half of a Knight's skills were tied to their sword one way or another, a Champion could just as easily wield spears, axes, bows, any other kind of weapon. Not a simple knight, but someone who could live and breathe battle, in any situation. In theory.

  One of them was a Rogue, which suited them perfectly, because they were cheaters, cowards, but it also suited him, because Rogues, well, their specialty wasn't direct fights, that was for sure. They were supposed to attack from the shadows.

  So it was more like four against two, almost.

  Vincent stepped forward, drawing his sword, raising his shield in his other hand. The president had counted down, but the fight hadn't started yet. They moved slowly, sizing each other up, as if all seven were waiting for a mysterious signal to dash forward.

  In any case, that's how it happened. Without knowing why, Vincent knew the time had come. And he lunged, just as his opponents did. And so did Ayame, as if they had rehearsed it.

  It was always a spectacle to watch her move.

  Vincent was going to charge one of those sons of bitches shield first rather than sword.

  But then, he felt a weight on his back. The weight of another person. The Rogue, Ryan, to be exact. Even with so many eyes on him, he had skills to escape sight, to get close. Rogues might not hold up in prolonged head-on fights, but precisely because of that, they were equipped to do everything possible to end them quickly.

  That thought crossed his mind as he felt the son of a bitch's daggers approaching his neck. His pulse quickened. As if his throat was about to be cut. As if he were about to be executed, in front of dozens of people. This wasn't a life-or-death situation, but his adrenaline disagreed.

  Vincent jumped backward and down, crushing Ryan beneath his body against the ground. One of the daggers slipped from his grasp. It flew far away. The other, after a quick grunt, continued its path. Vincent stopped it, grabbing the blade with one hand.

  Ayame, meanwhile, didn't even turn around. She flew against the other four. Good, that meant she trusted him, that he could handle it, handle himself. That was great.

  Ryan's knife scraped his gauntlet, sending sparks flying. Of course, he hadn't stopped it with his bare hand. And the knife wasn't enough to pierce his armor, armor of its quality. Vincent activated Hot Hands, and the heat became so intense that the Rogue quickly had to drop the last knife too. So now he was defenseless and beneath him.

  "You haven't learned anything from when I defeated Paul," Vincent said; it wasn't a question.

  And then he struck Ryan, not with the sword, not even with the pommel, but with the shield, just like back then. The edges of the shield would do more damage than the sword's pommel.

  "Do you think it was a fluke, a matter of luck or what? What did you think you'd achieve by getting so close to me?"

  And while he spoke, mostly to enrage, unbalance, and distract him, he continued hitting him with the shield, naturally. The rules of the fight were the same as any training bout in Runehaven. Meaning, he couldn't lower his hit points below 50. That's why he paid close attention.

  There was nothing to indicate it directly, but President Elizabeth had a device to read everyone's hit points. As the judge of the combat, she would sound the alarm. So he just had to listen for her voice, nothing more. He couldn't see the precise amount, not like he could see his own hit points, but soon Vincent had the feeling he was getting close.

  So, of course, then Alba came flying, landing right in front of him. He fought with two swords and was the one belonging to the Champion class. It wasn't a coincidence.

  Ayame had thrown him towards him.

  Okay, Vincent thought, she trusts me, maybe a little too much. But it was expected and only fair. If he wanted to call himself her partner, he had to prove he could keep up. She was fighting fiercely against three at once, while he only had to deal with two. One and a half, even, considering how close to defeat Ryan must be.

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  I can do this, I can do this, and I will.

  He discarded all his thoughts. He focused solely on crushing the things in front of him. Alba lunged at him, brandishing his swords. Vincent dodged, rolling aside. Keeping his distance.

  Ryan crawled like a worm to retrieve his daggers. With trembling hands; his palm must still hurt, burn. And also the speed and ease with which he had been defeated, Vincent supposed. Although he was just a coward who attacked from behind. He was destined to be so by his class. Or not. In any case…

  Vincent dodged for a good while, but eventually, he was forced to block blows. One with the shield, another with his own sword. What advantage could he see in using two swords? Beyond the related skills he surely had. He didn't see the logic.

  They exchanged a dozen blows in seconds, without hitting each other. Vincent had the feeling he would be overwhelmed, but he remained calm and did what he had to do.

  Even as Alba dropped to the ground, Ryan's daggers came flying at him. Vincent blocked them with his shield, leaving them stuck in the surface, and then threw the shield against Alba's legs, sweeping them out from under him. Vincent rushed forward and kicked Alba in the mouth before he could recover, get back on his feet.

  The daggers had been lost behind him. The daggers flew backward, tearing themselves from his shield and returning to their wielder. But it didn't seem like a big deal. It didn't scare him at all.

  Vincent retrieved his shield, a bit battered, and straddled Alba, pressing the shield against his throat, hitting him with the sword pommel at the same time… he stopped the punching part.

  "Alba is out!" the Student Council President announced.

  Vincent stopped attacking, pulling back. Alba stood up and staggered out of the arena, gritting his teeth, but knowing he couldn't ignore the rules and try to continue, not with such a large audience, not with Elizabeth right there. The students treated her as if she had the authority of a teacher, from what he'd seen. Certainly, most respected her more than the actual teachers.

  Indeed, Ryan appeared before him, replacing the fallen enemy. The speed with which he wielded the daggers was terrifying, but his movements were relatively predictable. Vincent couldn't dodge or block them perfectly, especially at such close range. And so, the length of his weapon almost worked against him. What did it matter? He could take a few hits. He still had 80 hit points. He was fine. It wasn't a big deal at all.

  Ryan disappeared just as he was about to land a good hit. And appeared behind him, in his shadow, as if he had traveled through it. And that was the truth.

  No. He marked his right cheek with a swift slash of his daggers. Vincent watched his HP drop to 70%. Still well above the limit. Still, for a couple of shallow cuts on his cheek, it seemed like it had dropped too much. No, better not panic. None of that.

  Ayame was fighting, giving her all. He had to match her effort. No, strive even harder.

  As much as he tried to keep his distance, Ryan stuck to him like glue, naturally, since his weapons were a pair of daggers. This was his ideal range. He couldn't stretch it even by a couple of inches. Still, it would also be his undoing. He knew it.

  Vincent opened his mouth and during the next attack, caught one of the daggers in his mouth. His teeth bit down on the blade. He was too fast for him. Well then, now he couldn't move. Not without dropping a weapon. But it wasn't just that.

  What the hell! Not everyone was prepared to see someone stop a bladed weapon with their mouth. Certainly not something you saw every day. So Ryan didn't even have time to react. Vincent crushed that coward easily. He tore the daggers away and smashed his shield against him. Against his back, before Elizabeth could say he had reached 50 HP.

  What a piece of junk the academy had given him. Surely it was a shield made with cheap materials and in a hurry. As soon as he could, he would forge his own. But that was the least of his worries now.

  Vincent turned his attention to the remaining three. They still technically outnumbered them, three to two, but the gap was practically non-existent. They were already humiliated.

  Even if somehow he and Ayame ended up losing, they had managed to publicly humiliate those bastards.

  But, of course, Vincent wasn't going to settle for defeat.

  He was here to win.

  Ayame was handling the remaining three. On her own, it didn't seem to be an effort at all. Neither Jean nor Barry could handle her. Vincent suspected Ayame could have won this fight five against one. She was too agile, too fast, too strong, and she wasn't even wearing any special equipment. A white jacket, white blouse, black skirt. She was dressed just as she had gone to classes, as if for a stroll, nothing more.

  She was incredible.

  However, before he could join her… Ayame leaped back, landing in a crouch.

  Vincent had to take a look to realize why. She had a cut on the sleeve of her jacket. The red stood out against her pale skin and surrounded by white clothes, especially, although it was actually a minor cut. Her clothes must have been protected by magic; otherwise, they would have been cut, even sooner. Well, he supposed maybe not. This might have been the first time they had even grazed her. But protecting clothes was a good idea, however incompetent today's opponents were.

  Ayame raised her injured arm, if you could even call it that, and licked the blood, slowly and deliberately, swallowing.

  "You fight more like an animal than a person," Jean whispered. "You just can't resist, not even your own disgusting blood."

  "Enough!" He had raised his voice too much towards the end, so the president heard that and barked a warning. "Racism and stupid prejudices of any kind are not tolerated in this academy."

  "Sorry, President."

  Jean spat out a transparently insincere apology. While the clown was acting, Vincent approached, standing beside Ayame again, shoulder to shoulder.

  "It's true," Ayame said slowly. "It's disgusting. I don't like the taste of my own blood."

  She paused.

  "Besides, a vampire's blood can't fill a vampire's stomach, that's common sense. But what about yours? Will it be appetizing?" Ayame smiled, showing her fangs. "Let's put it to the test."

  The opponents tensed even more, if possible, and the three took a synchronized step back. It was obvious Ayame was acting, but for what benefit? Beyond intimidation, this wasn't going to improve the image the students might have of vampires. If this was some kind of plan, they hadn't discussed it.