Hero Of Broken History

Dawn arrived with Avian already in the arena, warming up with forms that predated the Empire. His body moved through the sequences with mechanical precision, each motion designed to kill, not impress. No anxiety. No hesitation. Just preparation for violence.

"You're early," Kai observed from the preparation area entrance.

"Wanted to test the sand." Avian picked up another practice sword, discarded it immediately. Too light. "These Academy blades are shit."

"They're standardized for fairness."

"They're standardized for mediocrity." He finally found one with decent balance. Not Fargrim, not even close, but it would suffice. "We leave immediately after this. Be ready."

"Already am." Kai patted his travel pack. "Figured you'd want to move fast."

"My opponent?"

"Instructor Aldric Steelwind. Former Knight Commander of the Western Marches."

Avian nodded. He'd already researched the man. Seventh Tier, Grandmaster rank, veteran of three border wars. The kind of opponent who'd survived everything the world threw at him through skill and pragmatism.

Good. No need to hold back.

The Dean appeared in his elevated box as the sun crested the Academy walls. A few dozen witnesses had gathered—faculty mostly, some senior students. The arena's ward stones hummed to life, creating barriers that could contain Grandmaster-level combat.

"Lord Veritas," the Dean called out. "Your opponent has arrived."

Steelwind entered from the opposite gate. Mid-forties, scarred, moving with economy that spoke of countless battles. His eyes swept the arena once, cataloging everything, then settled on Avian with professional assessment.

"Lord Veritas." His voice carried rough authority. "The Dean says you need to graduate immediately. Says you're exceptional."

"The Dean talks too much."

"Agreed." Steelwind drew his sword. "Rules are simple. First to yield or incapacitate loses. Your spirit companion is permitted."

Lux materialized immediately, lightning already crackling. She recognized Avian's mindset—no playing, no testing, just winning.

"BEGIN!"

Avian moved before the word finished echoing.

His aura exploded outward, Grandmaster rank in full manifestation. The sand beneath his feet compressed into glass from the pressure as he closed the distance in a heartbeat. His blade came in low, fast, aimed at Steelwind's femoral artery.

Steelwind's own aura flared in response, golden energy meeting Avian's silver-touched power. Their swords met with a crack that shattered windows in the nearest Academy building. The instructor's eyes widened slightly—he'd expected aggression, not this level of immediate lethality.

Good. Surprise was advantage.

Avian pressed, each strike aimed at something vital. Throat. Heart. Liver. Spine. His gravity magic pulled Steelwind's blade microseconds off-course while accelerating his own. Lux flanked, lightning forcing the instructor to split his attention.

Steelwind adapted quickly, his experience showing. His aura condensed, forming a second skin that turned aside glancing blows. When Avian's gravity pulled down, he pushed up with enhanced strength. When lightning came from the left, he was already moving right.

"Battlefield pragmatism," Steelwind noted, parrying a strike that would have opened his throat. "You fight like someone who's killed before."

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Avian didn't waste breath responding. Words were for people who weren't trying hard enough. His aura surged, reaching that level where Grandmasters could project. Energy blades extended from his sword, turning one weapon into three. Each projection carried gravity distortion, making them harder to track, harder to block.

Steelwind matched him, his own aura manifesting as golden copies of his movements. When he struck once, three strikes followed in echo. When he defended, shields of condensed energy appeared.

The arena floor cracked, melted, reformed. Their auras clashed with enough force to trigger the emergency wards. Students watching from outside pressed against the barriers, feeling the pressure even through the protection.

He's good. Better than most I've faced recently. But he's still thinking like a knight.

Avian changed tactics instantly. His gravity field inverted—not pulling down but sideways, toward himself. Steelwind stumbled, expecting resistance and finding suction instead. In that moment of adjustment, Avian's knee drove into his solar plexus with aura-enhanced force.

The instructor flew backward, caught himself, rolled aside as Lux's lightning carved a trench where he'd been. His aura flickered, disrupted by the hit.

"Creative," he gasped, then smiled. "My turn."

Steelwind's aura changed, shifting from gold to deep bronze. The air grew heavy, thick with intent. This wasn't just Grandmaster rank—this was Grandmaster rank refined by decades of actual war.

He moved differently now. Not faster but more inevitably. Each step carried weight that had nothing to do with mass. His sword seemed to be everywhere at once, not through speed but through perfect positioning.

Avian found himself genuinely pressed. His gravity fields meant nothing when Steelwind moved through them like they were suggestions. His projected blades met bronze walls that didn't just block but absorbed and redirected. Even Lux's lightning seemed sluggish in the thickened air.

Fine. If conventional Grandmaster techniques won't work...

Avian dropped all pretense of Academy swordsmanship. His stance shifted to something older, something that predated noble forms and proper technique. Dex's way. The brutal mathematics of survival.

His aura condensed, pulling inward instead of projecting out. Every ounce of energy focused on his body, his blade, his immediate space. No waste on projections or fields. Just pure, concentrated enhancement. His muscles sang with power, bones reinforced to steel hardness, reflexes accelerated beyond human limits.

Steelwind recognized the change. "Interesting. That's not modern technique—"

Avian lunged mid-word.

The distance between them evaporated. His enhanced body moved faster than thought, blade extending toward Steelwind's left eye with surgical precision. The instructor's pupils dilated—that primal recognition of death approaching.

Steelwind threw himself backward, bronze aura flaring desperately. The blade passed so close it severed three eyelashes, the wind from its passage making him blink involuntarily. He hit the ground, rolled, came up with his sword raised—

But Avian was already there, having followed the dodge with inhuman speed. His gravity magic compressed around Steelwind's sword arm while his blade swept low. The instructor had to choose—keep his weapon or keep his leg.

He chose his leg, releasing the sword to leap aside.

Avian's blade reversed, stopping a hair's breadth from Steelwind's throat.

"Yield?"

Steelwind stood perfectly still, bronze aura still swirling but no longer hostile. After a moment, he smiled.

"Yield. Haven't lost that decisively in years." He stepped back as Avian lowered his blade. "That compression technique—that's pre-Empire, isn't it? Theoretical texts mention it but claim it's impossible with modern aura cultivation."

"Modern cultivation has too many rules."

"Indeed." Steelwind retrieved his sword, studying Avian with new interest. "Whatever you're planning to do with that graduation, Lord Veritas, be careful. The world outside doesn't follow Academy rules either."

The Dean descended from his box, robes pristine despite the devastation around them. Half the arena floor had transformed into glass or rubble. The ward stones sparked, overtaxed by containing Grandmaster-level combat.

"Efficient," the Dean noted, producing a sealed document. "Three minutes, fourteen seconds. Faster than expected."

"I don't like wasting time."

"Clearly." He handed over the graduation certification. "You want to leave immediately, I assume? Chase whatever truth you think needs chasing?"

"Yes."

"Five days. You have five days to handle your business, then return." His ancient eyes held no room for negotiation. "The Academy needs defenders right now. I won't have one of my most capable students abandoning it entirely."

"Five days should be sufficient."

"It will have to be." The Dean turned to leave, then paused. "The young woman from the Underground incident—Seraphina—has been asking very specific questions about combat styles. Be careful."

"I always am."

"No, you're always effective. There's a difference."

The Dean left with the faculty. Kai approached through the ruined arena.

"Five days," he said. "Tight timeline."

"We leave in thirty minutes."

"Already packed." Kai held up his travel pack. "Like I said, figured you'd want to move fast."

They left the arena as full sunlight flooded the Academy. Behind them, workers were already arriving to repair the damage. Steelwind remained, studying the compression point where Avian had turned air into thunder.

"Pre-Empire techniques," he murmured. "Impossible to learn from books. Someone had to teach him. Or..." He shook his head. "No. That's impossible."

But he wondered.