Altair’s first instinct was to wonder if he had misheard.

Ryan Kimura had never been one for combat sports. His own gentle nature aside, it would be rather ironic if he chose to inflict the very injuries and wounds he had taken an oath to heal to the best of his abilities.

Altair however, for better or worse, was bound by no such oath. Yet, that did not mean that he held a proclivity for violence, much less an eagerness for it.

He noticed the subtle shift in attention, the surreptitious glances and the curious gazes gradually converged towards their table; it seemed that he had inadvertently become the mess hall’s center of attention, the room’s spotlight thrust upon him out of no volition of his own.

Altair’s initial instinct was to refuse.

And refuse he would have, if he hadn’t caught onto the wave of anticipation that seemed to grip the silent spectators as his gaze flickered from one table to the next. It was a decidedly odd reaction to what looked like a taller, sturdier kid picking on his shorter, scrawnier counterpart, lacking both the sympathy onlookers offered to the bullied or the cruel apathy with which other victims looked upon the latest target.

It seemed that Altair had forgotten.

The Vortera Veilands may value healers greatly and perhaps they did not entirely look down upon vocations like architectural design and engineers. However, ultimately, it was combat prowess that was held above all else, to the point of reverence. Wealth mattered little if one stronger could simply seize it by force. Political machinations could only take one so far before they end up crossing someone both powerful and belligerent enough would resort to physical force.

“Feran’s father is a well-known Tier 1 Aura Master of the Fire Element. You should turn down the fight,” Vorina’s hushed whisper made its way to his ears, most likely loud enough to be within the boy’s earshot.

His expression was completely calm as his gaze flickered from Vorina’s worried gaze to Feran’s slightly irritated one, the object of his stare rather obvious.

Altair found himself suppressing the urge to bury his face in his hands.

For the most part, Feran didn’t actually seem all that annoyed with him, but his intention was clear as day. He wanted the purple-haired girl’s— no, Vorina’s attention— and Altair just happened to be in his way.

It took a great deal of his concentration to remind him of the fact that he was dealing with eight year old children and they were supposed to be childish. But at the same time, Altair was Altair, not Ryan Kimura and he didn’t like being treated as collateral damage in an attempt at courtship.

A challenge had been issued— A challenge from one who would likely become an Aura Master in the future. The importance of this school had not been lost upon Altair; an opportunity to network with peers or competitors in the same field, watching as some grew onwards to great accomplishments, while others succumbed to the demands and perils of an adventurous lifestyle.

He could not run from it— not if he wished to hold true to his pledge and uphold Mother’s honor.

Altair felt Nocturne’s gentle hand tug against his own, the warmth of her grip aptly conveying the concern she felt for him.

That made the decision for Altair.

“Challenging me to a duel while my sister is in attendance. You would do well to prepare yourself for defeat,” Altair declared, his voice steely.

“Are you going to keep stalling?” Feran’s annoyed voice echoed out, the dissatisfaction carried in his tone clearly audible to the spectators that quietly watched the spectacle unfold, albeit with odd expressions.

“Are you going to deny me my ancestral pre-battle ceremony after having challenged me to a duel out of the blue?” Altair shot back nonchalantly as he finished stretching out his right hamstring. Naturally, he had not forgotten to dutifully cycle through wrist circles, shoulder rolls, arm stretches, calf raises and even quadriceps stretches— perhaps once he had access to mana he wouldn’t have to rely on such mundane methods to increase the range of motion for his joints and improve his blood flow… but for now, it was an advantage that he would be remiss to give up.

“You!” Feran began, but his unspoken criticism ultimately trailed off into silence as he realized that there were no flaws in Altair’s logic for him to target.

He, along with the rest of the students in the mess-hall, had to obediently watch as Altair finished off the last of their stretches, much to their perplexment.

“Alright,” Altair offered Feran a bright smile as he picked up the sword he had chosen from the weapons rack earlier, “I’m done.”

The sword had been far lighter compared to what its wooden make had led him to believe. Slapping the flat of the blade against his palm caused a hollow sound to ring out, but his senses remained convinced that the blade was a solid whole.

Well, it was also the first time he had ever held a sword, so that didn’t amount to all that much.

Gripping the one handed blade in his right hand, Altair stepped onto the elevated dias, much to the delight of his opponent.

Another student, the rambunctious boy with the burnished copper hair that Altair had met earlier, stood at the edge of the arena, positioned equidistantly from both the parties.

“Are you both ready?” He yelled out, his words spoken clearly.

Upon receiving brisk nods from both Altair and Feran, he flicked the silver coin he had been holding onto high up in the air.

When the coin landed, it would signal the duel’s commencement.