Pervoick was never one for confrontation, yet no matter what he did, he seemed to land right in the middle of it. No matter how well thought out his decisions were, there was always at least one person nearby who had to protest. In that moment, looking into the eyes of this arrogant, green-eyed young man, he told himself to throw away rational thought. “I will hold nothing back.”

  “Good!” Yig replied. “I didn’t ask for a nanny, did I? I want training.”

  Their eye contact hadn’t broken, and within that intensity, they both shared a smile—a smile they kept as they took their positions in the arena. The other students were bursting with excitement, growling and cheering as if they were in some underground fighting ring. Both those who respected Pervoick’s authoritative personality and those frustrated by it had an equal stake in the game. Pervoick also recognized that few truly understood the competitors they cheered for.

  Pervoick let the black shirt of his uniform slide down his shoulders and onto the ground. No weapons to remove from a belt—only fists presented front and center.

  Slye raised a hand. “Ready?”

  Both bodies tensed, striking rigid poses.

  “Begin!”

  Yig launched himself forward, into the air—a move that only strengthened Pervoick’s confidence. While still airborne, Yig swung his legs up and forward, spinning mid-air until positioned for a powerful kick.

  Pervoick withdrew his fist and instead spawned two tiny pillars of clay on the far side of the field. He jumped back, past the edge behind him, avoiding Yig’s kick. Then he launched a bandage from each hand, wrapping them to the distant clay pillars he’d just conjured, and used that to pull himself back toward the stage.

  If the situation had gone in Pervoick’s favor, he would have let Yig take himself out of bounds, but as Pervoick flew forward, Yig managed to grasp both of Pervoick’s legs, using the momentum to land with his opponent back in the arena.

  About five seconds into the match, to the surprise of the crowd—and Pervoick himself—Yig was still in. And he hadn’t allowed the situation to slip out of his favor. Immediately, Yig got to his feet and began joyfully hopping around the arena in quick bursts—a strategy Pervoick assumed was a counter to the clay technique. Then, after about ten leaps, Yig’s smile faded, and his movement suddenly stopped.

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  “Something wrong?” Pervoick asked, genuinely intrigued.

  Yig turned away from his opponent. “Hold on, I’m thinking.”

  Pervoick and the crowd waited politely—for almost a minute—until Yig’s head perked up again. He crouched in preparation to leap, positioning his torso closer to the floor. Then doubt returned to his face; he straightened up and continued thinking. Disgruntled, Yig eventually returned to his starting position, staring down his adversary.

  “You’re new, I get it,” Pervoick said, doing his best to be comforting. “It’s not unexpected that I’m stronger than you.”

  “I’ve known stronger than you. And I’ll face you like I did them!” This outsider was as passionate as he was about everything else. But this time, Pervoick sensed some grit behind it.

  Yig began slowly strolling across the concrete. By activating his aura just slightly, Pervoick could sense it flowing unnaturally around Yig’s body—clearly a symptom of unrefined Location use. After a second to find an opening, Pervoick slid forward and swung a fist. Without even blinking, Yig caught it—his reaction speed on par with a fly.

  With only a second to process this counter, his fist still clasped in Yig’s palm, Pervoick threw a punch with his other hand—though mistakenly, without a boost of mana. Yig redirected the attack with his forearm, letting it fly past him, then lowered that same arm and struck Pervoick’s stomach with a punch of his own. Almost stepping off the platform, the stealth practitioner returned a panicked, mana-assisted shove, pushing Yig back, who took advantage of the momentum to slide back to his side of the arena.

  Now growing impatient, Pervoick charged forward, giving his opponent no time to breathe. On top of that, he charged his aura to the limit of his Activation and focused it all into one risky attack. The sudden burst of energy caused some in the crowd to flinch. Yet, inexperienced as he was, Yig stood firm, and to the surprise of more than just Pervoick, he too activated his aura. Though weak, and clearly unable to use Location in that state, the boy’s stare did not waver. Pervoick couldn’t help but grin.

  The high-powered fist met the outsider’s chest, and the burst of impact sent a sharp shot of pain—like static—down Pervoick’s arm, from skin to bone. Yig’s brute force, though admirable, had no strategic value. Simple mathematics explained the result of the two forces colliding, and still, with his stubborn smile, Yig fell back, stiff as a stick. He landed on the grass behind him, his aura quickly calming.

  Pervoick quickly deactivated his own Activation, lifting the strain from his body and allowing himself the many breaths he so urgently needed.

  This man is nearing insanity, he thought, looking down at the unconscious body. But I’ll credit you this—you showed me just how long it’s been since I pushed my body as far as I needed to. The monsters outside this village will be far, far less merciful to either of us.

  Slye crouched down to check on his star pupil. “He’s asleep.”

  The crowd giggled.

  “Take him to his bed,” Pervoick suggested with a chuckle. “Maybe this’ll teach him not to strain his aura the way he did.”