Chapter 23: Battle Between Low Rankers

Everyone gave space, standing at the edges of the training ground. The man stood before us, holding a book and scrutinizing it.

"Ethan... Cobwebs?"

A reasonably fat boy with rough dark-brown hair framing his round face stepped out. Brown eyes caught the sunlight, the rays turning them nearly orange.

Ethan Cobwebs was a guy the class often mocked due to his surname. I’d wondered what a unique name it was, but then figured his parents—perhaps his father—must’ve been inspired in ingenious ways. Either way, there was nothing cool about mocking other people’s names.

Not that the name didn’t make you want to try.

The class chuckled and laughed as he walked to the center. He seemed not to care, or he was just used to it.

"Declan O’Connor."

Everyone’s eyes silently tracked a broad-shouldered boy with tidy auburn hair and green eyes.

Declan was another average student like I was. Although I’d say even more average than me, with his unimpressive looks. Despite that though, he was always immaculate—shoes polished, uniform crisp—unlike me, who loved to tuck out and unbutton my jacket.

He stepped onto the stage facing Ethan. Ethan’s jaw tightened, his stance sharpening.

The instructor gave Ethan a swift knock on the head.

"This is not a death battle. Stop looking at your opponent like you must win this. There is nothing to win or lose here—it is simply a test!"

Ethan recoiled, clutching his head. "Yes sir."

The man held his gaze, then sighed—his expression shifting the next second, as if asking himself why he even cared.

He glanced at the book in his hands. "The two of you are E ranks, and each have an Awakened Tier Heroic Spirit, right?"

They both nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Correct sir."

The man lowered the book, his arms dropping to his sides.

"Summon them, and start fighting for the next five minutes." He turned to us. "You lacklusters better keep your eyes sharp and open. You’ll be telling me which class they fall into!"

I gulped and instinctively retreated behind the guy standing before me, bending slightly.

The air thickened. Yellow and blue sparks flew forward and merged to form the Heroic Spirits. Before Declan materialized a figure in silver-plated armor with a flowing blue half-cape and wrapped clothes.

Ethan’s Heroic Spirit was a slightly hunched figure in tattered dark armor that seemed completely fused with its body. It had heavy plated gauntlets on its bestial arms—longer than normal—and a shredded dirty yellow cloak that blended with its mane. The armor showed signs of self-inflicted damage, as if the Heroic Spirit itself had tried to claw it off.

Both locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

Declan’s Heroic Spirit extended its hands, summoning an eight-foot-long halberd with a crescent moon blade. Ethan’s spirit wielded a jagged black spear in one hand.

The square-faced instructor glanced at them, then commanded them to start.

Both were silent for a moment. Then their Heroic Spirits shot at each other.

A terrifying ring of metal exploded across the field. Sand kicked up and scattered in our direction as the wind surged.

This was just a clash between Awakened Tier summons, and yet the force alone couldn’t be ignored.

’Or is it because they are Heroic Spirits?’

It had to be. After all, there was a clear distinction between Heroic Spirits and other spirits. As far as we knew, we were like gold in this land. Just look at how E ranks fought like they could single-handedly demolish a city.

The clash of metal echoed again as both spirits disengaged, skidding backward through the sand. Declan’s knight raised its halberd in a defensive stance, the crescent blade catching sunlight. Ethan’s summon circled left, its hunched posture making it look like a predator stalking prey.

"Interesting," I muttered, keeping my voice low. The contrast was already obvious—one fought with discipline, the other with raw aggression.

Ethan’s spirit lunged first, the jagged spear whistling through the air in a vicious arc. But instead of a single strike, it followed with a rapid combination—thrust, slash, overhead smash. Each attack aimed for vital points with brutal efficiency.

’High damage output. Relentless offense.’

Declan’s knight absorbed the first two strikes on its halberd’s shaft, then pivoted, using the weapon’s length to create distance. The third strike—that overhead smash—it caught on the flat of the crescent blade, redirecting the force into the ground.

’Defensive positioning. Using reach advantage.’

"There!" someone whispered nearby. "Did you see that redirect?"

The spirits reset. This time, Declan’s knight pressed forward with measured strikes—testing probes rather than committed attacks. The halberd swept in wide arcs, controlling space, forcing Ethan’s spirit to respect the reach.

But Ethan’s spirit didn’t retreat. Instead, it ducked under a horizontal slash and closed the distance, getting inside the halberd’s optimal range. At close quarters, the long spear became a bludgeon, and those bestial gauntlets became weapons themselves—a claw swipe left a shower of sparks across the knight’s pauldron.

"Shit," I breathed. That was smart. Strikers excel at closing distance to vulnerable targets.

The knight responded by slamming its armored elbow into the bestial spirit’s chest, creating separation, then immediately repositioned—rotating to maintain optimal spacing. Never overextending. Always ready to defend.

The pattern repeated. Ethan’s spirit would find an opening and explode with devastating combinations—each strike carrying enough force to dent stone. But Declan’s knight weathered them, positioned correctly, and controlled the battlefield’s geometry.

Three minutes passed. Both spirits showed signs of wear—the knight’s armor had fresh dents and scratches, while the bestial spirit’s movements had slowed fractionally, its aggressive lunges costing stamina.

"Time’s running out," someone murmured.

As if sensing the same thing, both summoners pushed harder. Ethan’s face twisted with concentration as his spirit abandoned defense entirely, becoming a whirlwind of strikes. The spear blurred, gauntlets flashed, raw power hammering against the knight’s guard.

But Declan didn’t break. His knight planted its feet, halberd held in an iron guard position, and simply... endured. Each impact was absorbed, redirected, or deflected. The knight gave ground grudgingly, step by step, but never fell.

Ethan’s summon suddenly exploded forward, its movement faster but more irrational. Declan was forced into pure defense, though his summon was fast enough to keep up. Ethan’s summon fought like a beast at times and like a cunning human at others, using claws to rake across just to catch the knight off guard. But the knight was sharp-witted and Declan was incredibly focused. It seemed like the boy knew exactly what to do and what not to do.

Even as Ethan increased the pacing, he didn’t carelessly fall into it. As Ethan’s summon came at him again, he sidestepped with a powerful spin that redirected the energy and slammed his halberd into the spirit’s side, causing it to tumble away. But it flipped through the air and quickly dug its claws into the ground to stop itself from reeling further.

"Time!" The instructor’s voice cracked across the field.

Both spirits froze mid-movement. Ethan dropped to his knee, panting. Declan also exhaled, standing strong and burning with resolve, though fatigue was evident in his eyes.

The instructor surveyed the field, then turned to us with that perpetually irritated expression.

"Well? What classes did you just witness? Don’t all speak at once, you brain-dead lacklusters!"

A hand shot up—one of the girls from the front row. "Ethan’s spirit is a Striker, sir! High damage output, aggressive offense, eliminates targets quickly."

"Correct." The instructor’s gaze swept across the rest of us. "And the weakness?"

"Fragility," I found myself saying, louder than intended. Shit. "He abandoned defense completely at the end. Against a less durable opponent, he’d win. But against someone who can tank the damage..."

The instructor’s eyes found me in the back, and for a terrible moment, I thought I’d drawn the exact attention I was trying to avoid. But he just nodded curtly.

"Right. O’Connor’s spirit?"

"Vanguard class," a boy called out. "Defensive positioning, durability, controlled the engagement distance, protected himself effectively."

"And learned the hard lesson of the Vanguard weakness," the instructor added with something almost resembling approval. "Low damage output. He couldn’t capitalize on openings because he lacks the burst damage to end fights quickly, so he had to rely on momentum for his attacks to carry weight. So many counter opportunities—this battle should’ve ended the moment it started! Both summoners are inexperienced too. Just because your spirits are naturally combat-oriented doesn’t mean you should leave it all to them. Communicate commands mentally and properly to generate the best outcomes. And you are summoners—do you think that gives you the right to stand leisurely and wait for your spirits to finish it all? You think these damn wild spirits are going to wait around for you? They attack you as much as they attack your spirits! You must learn to work together! Keep your focus, use your limbs and brain to turn the tide of the battle at all costs!"

Ethan and Declan both nodded, absorbing the critique. Their spirits dissipated back into sparks of essence.

"This is why," the instructor continued, voice rising, "you need to understand class dynamics. Know your strengths. Know your weaknesses. And for the love of whatever gods you pray to, know your enemies too!" He slammed the book shut. "Cobwebs, O’Connor—adequate performance. Return to the line."

Both students trudged back, Ethan looking frustrated despite the decent showing, Declan quietly satisfied.

The instructor opened the book again, and my stomach dropped as his finger traced down the list of names. This was it. Any second now, he’d call me, pair me with Derek, and—

"Yuna Castellan."

My head snapped up. Yuna stepped forward with fluid grace, her expression unreadable. The morning sun caught her features, and I noticed several guys tracking her movement a bit too intently.

"Versus..." The instructor’s eyes gleamed with something unpleasant. "Derek Ashford."

My blood went cold.

Derek’s grin was savage as he stepped onto the field. "This’ll be fun."

But he wasn’t looking at Yuna.

He was looking directly at me.

And suddenly, I understood. This wasn’t about Lira at all. This was Derek sending a message—showing me exactly what I’d be facing when my turn came.

The bastard wanted me to watch and despair.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep my expression neutral.

’Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got, asshole.’