God’s Tree

Morning haze clung to the trees of Elyrion.

Argolaith stepped out of the cabin with the sword in hand.

The cube rested within its hilt—silent but aware.

He looked down at the weapon.

The time had come to test it.

Not just its balance or weight.

But what it was meant to do.

With a steady breath, he whispered, "Let's see what you're made of."

The cube stirred at his words.

Not a glow, but a shift—like wind moving through unseen cloth.

Argolaith left Elyrion through the hidden path and reappeared near the east wing of the academy.

The grounds were quiet, a few students milling about, but he didn't stop to talk.

He walked toward the instructor's training wing.

Not to cause trouble.

Just to learn.

At the edge of the open sparring yard stood a man with sharp posture and a heavy iron sword strapped across his back.

The instructor looked up from a group of sparring students.

Argolaith approached and spoke plainly.

"I'd like a duel."

The instructor raised a brow, visibly unimpressed.

"Do you now?" the man asked, folding his arms. "And who might you be, boy?"

Argolaith tilted his head slightly. "Just someone who wants to test a sword."

The instructor's lips twitched.

To him, it was arrogance.

He gestured toward the arena floor.

"Bold. I like bold."

"You sure you can handle a real duel, student?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I couldn't," Argolaith replied calmly.

The man scoffed.

"Then let's go now."

Argolaith nodded once and turned to walk toward the arena's entrance.

The sword hummed softly in his grip.

As he walked, he whispered to the cube, "Edge."

The blade shimmered faintly.

A hair-thin outline appeared, like glass catching starlight.

The cube was changing.

Forming a razor-sharp line over the sword's already hardened edge.

It was silent—but deadly.

The edge wasn't just sharp—it shimmered with the cube's core property.

Mana-hunger.

Absorption.

This was the first true test.

A duel against an opponent strong enough to strike with force—and magic.

The students nearby noticed the pair entering the arena.

One of them whispered, "That's Instructor Kaen… Isn't he in the Top Five?"

Another narrowed their eyes. "Who's the student?"

"Never seen him before…"

But the arena began to fill with quiet anticipation.

Argolaith stood calmly.

Sword in hand, but not drawn.

His opponent stretched his arms and smirked.

"You've got five seconds to back out, kid."

Argolaith didn't blink.

Instead, he looked at the cube again and thought:

"This blade was never meant to kill. Just to judge."

The arena's protective wards shimmered into place.

A few instructors appeared, curious about the unexpected challenge.

Argolaith inhaled slowly.

His hand wrapped firmly around the hilt.

The cube pulsed once—ready.

Kaen cracked his neck.

"Let's see if you last a minute."

And with that, they stepped into position.

The moment the duel began, the instructor raised his hand.

A swirl of water burst from his palm, spiraling like a serpent before hardening into ice.

Argolaith didn't move.

The wave of ice shards hurtled toward him.

He waited until the last second, then slashed once with his sword.

The cube edge shimmered—and the attack dissolved into mist, vanishing on contact.

Gasps echoed from the edges of the arena.

The instructor narrowed his eyes.

"Not bad."

Wind erupted next—fierce and sharp, like blades in the air.

It roared across the battlefield, throwing dust and grass into the sky.

Argolaith stepped forward calmly, his sword drawn in a relaxed grip.

With a second cut, the cube's edge flared again.

The wind split apart like a curtain, the spell reduced to scattered mana.

Argolaith kept walking.

"You're absorbing it," Kaen muttered, clenching his fists.

"That blade… it's not normal."

Argolaith didn't answer.

Another gust whipped toward him, this time from above.

A cyclone of compressed wind meant to crush bones.

But Argolaith met it with a vertical slash, carving a seam in the air.

The cube hissed—hungry.

The cyclone broke, the pressure imploding harmlessly into nothing.

Kaen stepped back.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

His aura flared as water pooled at his feet, then rose into a swirling orb of compressed liquid.

Argolaith tilted his head.

He could feel the magic inside the spell—dense, layered, refined.

It would hurt, if it landed.

Kaen launched the orb forward.

The speed was incredible, cracking the sound barrier.

But Argolaith didn't hesitate.

He met the orb mid-charge and thrust.

The cube edge pierced the core of the spell.

A brilliant flash of white-blue light erupted—

And then the water vanished.

No steam, no splash. Just silence.

The instructor staggered back.

He'd seen students block spells.

But not consume them.

Argolaith didn't advance further.

He just stood there, eyes calm, sword humming softly in his hand.

Kaen growled.

"You want close range?"

The water receded into the earth, and Kaen drew something from his side.

A battle axe—broad, dark steel etched with old runes.

It was heavy.

One swing could split a boulder.

He spun it once in his grip and charged.

Argolaith moved to meet him, their footsteps echoing across the stone floor.

The sword and axe clashed in a spray of sparks.

The force rattled the arena barriers.

The instructors watching leaned in closer.

Some stood.

Kaen swung again, faster this time.

Argolaith parried.

Not with brute force—but precision.

Each movement redirected the axe, never letting it land full force.

Kaen roared and twisted his grip, pulling in wind with each motion.

The axe now carried elemental pressure, each strike like a small typhoon.

Argolaith gritted his teeth, blocking once, then twice.

A third swing came low.

He jumped back, boots skidding across the stone.

Dust followed.

The cube at his sword's edge sparked again—absorbing ambient mana.

Its surface shimmered faintly, slowly swelling with power.

Not enough to create something new.

But enough to hold his ground.

Kaen dashed forward again.

His axe split the air—downward slash.

Argolaith raised his sword to block.

The two weapons met with a loud crash.

The ground cracked beneath them.

Kaen pressed harder.

Muscles bulging, mana flaring from his limbs.

He was serious now.

Argolaith's legs bent, holding steady.

He didn't push back—he redirected the pressure, shifting his stance.

Kaen stumbled.

In that opening, Argolaith slashed forward.

His blade grazed Kaen's shoulder, not enough to wound—just enough to sting.

Kaen spun around and created distance.

Breathing hard, his axe resting on his shoulder.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, panting.

Argolaith didn't answer.

He simply lifted the sword again.

The cube edge still glowed faintly, drawing in the leftover traces of magic in the air.

Kaen chuckled darkly.

"All right. Let's go again."

He crouched low, mana swirling around his boots.

Another charge.

Another clash.

But this time, neither backed down.

The crowd around the arena grew larger, students whispering and instructors standing still.

Kaen's axe roared with wind as he twirled it upward.

Argolaith ducked, slicing diagonally across.

Their shadows danced under the high sun.

The duel was far from over.

But something had changed.

Kaen wasn't looking at a student anymore.

He was fighting a threat.

Kaen's stance shifted.

He brought his axe behind his back, mana pouring into it like a flood.

The runes along its surface lit up—crackling with raw force.

"I'll end this in one strike," he muttered.

The wind around him surged.

Argolaith narrowed his eyes but didn't move.

The arena fell silent.

Even the air seemed to pause.

Kaen's boots cracked the stone beneath him as he launched forward.

His axe came down with a roar, surrounded by howling wind and glistening water.

It was a finishing technique—meant to break defenses and end battles in a single, crushing blow.

But Argolaith stood still.

He didn't raise his sword.

He stepped in—one foot forward—and turned his body just as the axe fell.

Kaen's strike missed by inches.

His body was still committed, all weight behind the swing.

And that's when Argolaith moved.

A single slash.

The cube edge shimmered with quiet brilliance as it traced a clean, deliberate arc.

Kaen staggered.

His axe dropped from his hands, landing with a loud thud on the arena floor.

A thin red line crossed his sleeve—just a cut, nothing serious.

But the silence said everything.

Argolaith had won.

Kaen fell to one knee, catching his breath.

He looked up with wild eyes.

"That wasn't… normal."

Argolaith sheathed his sword.

His voice was calm, nearly indifferent. "You're strong. But you rely too much on your magic to do the work."

Kaen laughed, coughing slightly. "Yeah. I figured that out."

Students around the arena began murmuring.

Instructors whispered among themselves.

The boy who had casually defeated magic with a cube had now bested one of the academy's fiercest instructors in physical combat.

Kaen rose, slower this time.

He picked up his axe, resting it on his shoulder.

"You're dangerous. You know that, right?"

Argolaith didn't respond.

He simply nodded once, then turned and walked away.

The duel was over.

As he exited the arena, he passed a group of students who quickly parted to let him through.

Some stared.

Some bowed slightly, unsure of what else to do.

Kaen watched him go.

Then, under his breath, he muttered, "I hope he's on our side when the real war starts."

Far above, on a balcony, Elder Veylan stood watching.

His expression unreadable.

But his hands were clenched behind his back.

"Just like I thought," Veylan said softly to no one. "He's still holding back."

Argolaith returned to his room without a word.

The sword went back in its sheath, the cube edge dissolving silently.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the cheers and whispers of the academy fading behind him.

He was calm.

But somewhere inside, the cube stirred—glowing faintly.

Another spell was coming.