I am Just an Average Tamer

[Why didn't you used your full power?]

'He seemed like a fun guy, so I didn't want him to get eliminated.'

[Huh, seriously?]

Kai didn't respond, just glanced over his shoulder and saw Corrin trailing behind him, hands behind his head, eyes glancing around, whistling.

'And he didn't used his full powers too.'

'And I don't know why, but I had the feeling, that he did.'

He turned his gaze forward.

'Then I would have been dead.'

******

The moon had barely risen, its silver glow filtering through the forest canopy, casting strange shadows across the moss-streaked stones and tangled underbrush.

The air was growing thick with miasma, curling like ghostly tendrils between the trees, and a subtle hum of energy pulsed at the heart of the trial ground.

And one by one, the participants arrived.

A red-haired boy burst through the treeline, his chest heaving, his breath visible in the cool night air.

Two short swords hung in his hands, blood staining the edge of one. He'd taken a token from a girl who underestimated his speed, but he wasn't satisfied. His real target was the center—where the strongest would be.

From above, a voice called out.

"About time you showed up, pretty boy."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Took you long enough to start talking, Arven."

A lanky boy with crow-black hair and a polearm leapt down from a tree, landing with a quiet thud. "You're not leaving here without a real fight."

Cassian replied. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Their blades met with a flash, and the fight began—quick slashes, sliding footwork, clangs echoing across the clearing.

A little further away, near the fallen ruins of an old temple overtaken by roots, A girl crouched behind a chunk of moss-covered stone.

Her jade-green robes shimmered faintly, her tattoos glowing as she summoned two spirit beasts—one a crystal fox, the other a spectral bird. She had no intention of brute-forcing her way through.

She whispered, "Scout first, strike second."

The fox darted off into the undergrowth, scouting ahead, while her bird soared silently into the sky, giving her a full overview of the clearing.

What she didn't expect… was the smoke bomb lobbed directly at her feet.

Boom—!

"Found you," a voice laughed—boisterous, male, confident.

The girl coughed, waving away the smoke as a burly axe-wielding boy stomped through. His chest was bare, covered in tribal tattoos, and his nose had a gold ring. "Didn't think I'd smell perfume here."

She narrowed her eyes. "You just made a mistake."

A battle erupted—flashes of spirit magic and heavy axe swings lighting the night.

Cheers rose like a tidal wave.

"Holy—did you see that summon?!"

"That girl with the spirit fox is clean—what's her name?"

"Lei. From the southern provinces."

Up in the observation deck, nobles murmured among themselves, some scribbling on enchanted note-scrolls, others discussing potential sponsorships.

Professors leaned closer, watching the large magical projections hovering above the arena.

"She's tactically sharp," one murmured. "The kind who climbs quietly but surely."

"The boy with the polearm, Arven—also promising. Confident, but not cocky."

"And that brute with the axe?"

"Forget him. No finesse."

In the thick foliage northeast of the clearing, two twins—dark-skinned, silver-eyed, and dressed in matching obsidian cloaks—stepped in perfect synchronization.

"I'll flank left," Irven whispered.

"I'll bait," Inka nodded.

They had taken down four others by working in harmony, their skills honed from street combat.

Each carried daggers laced with sleep poison, and their beast—an agile shadow cat—moved ahead, scouting silently.

They reached the edge of the clearing just as Cassian clashed with Arven.

"Should we?" Inka asked.

Irven smirked. "Let them wear each other out first."

Professor Gellad leaned forward, his chin resting on his knuckles. "Too many egos gathering in one spot."

Professor Maelora clicked her tongue. "Perfect. Let them clash. Better now than in the academy halls later."

"Agreed," said the stern Professor Kalden. "Trial Three was always the crucible. Those who survive this convergence are worth investing in."

Above it all, perched in the branches of a giant, hollow tree, a boy watched.

He didn't need brute force. He had patience, poisoned arrows, and a perfect vantage point.

He had already marked three participants below—two boys fighting, one girl hiding behind a crumbled wall.

Wind shifted.

His eyes narrowed.

He drew an arrow and took aim.

----

The air cracked as steel clashed.

Cassian pivoted off his back foot, narrowly ducking beneath a sweep of Arven's polearm. The curved steel whistled over his head, shaving a few strands of hair as Cassian retaliated with a backward slash.

Arven twisted mid-air, his weapon spinning with centrifugal force as he blocked with the shaft and kicked outward to force distance.

They broke apart, landing ten feet from each other.

Arven smirked. "You've gotten faster."

Cassian spun one of his blades into a reverse grip, eyes half-lidded. "You've gotten sloppier."

"Sloppier? That girl you took the token from barely scratched you. You warming up on small fries?"

Cassian tilted his head. "Isn't that what you've been doing this whole time?"

Arven's grin twitched. "Touché."

Then they moved again—this time faster, more vicious.

Cassian darted in with dual strikes, blades angled to slice at Arven's shoulder and midsection. Arven blocked the upper strike, used the bottom end of his polearm to redirect the second, then twisted to deliver a backhand strike with the staff's side.

Cassian ducked low, swept Arven's feet—but the boy flipped midair and landed behind him.

The moment his boots hit the ground, Arven launched his polearm like a spear.

Cassian barely turned in time—one blade deflecting the shaft, but the impact staggered him.

Arven closed the distance with a burst of wind magic—just a flicker to boost speed. He reclaimed his weapon mid-dash and slammed the blunt end down like a hammer.

Cassian blocked with both blades crossed above his head, the force shoving him into the ground—his boots grinding dirt as he held firm.

"Still standing?" Arven said through grit teeth.

Cassian shoved him back with a sudden surge of aura, a faint blue glow wrapping around him as he exhaled.

"I don't fall that easily."

And indeed, Cassian's eyes had stilled.

No more chatter. No more banter.

Just silence.

Arven lunged in again, this time spinning his polearm into an overhead cleave. Cassian sidestepped, blade arcing up to deflect, and then suddenly—

He vanished.

No—he ducked low, slid under Arven's legs and came up behind him in a seamless motion.

Before Arven could turn, both of Cassian's blades slashed out—a criss-cross X aimed at the back.

Arven barely twisted in time, catching one edge with the side of his polearm, but the second blade nicked his ribs—tearing fabric and drawing blood.

Cassian didn't stop.

He pressed the advantage—three rapid slashes, a feint, a spin-kick into a dual lunge.

Arven retreated with short hops, his polearm twirling like a wheel of death—but Cassian pressed him like a hurricane.

Their weapons collided in a flurry of blows—steel ringing, sparks flying, moonlight glinting off sweat-streaked skin.

Finally, Arven broke the rhythm.

He jumped back, gathered wind mana into the tip of his polearm—and hurled a sharp burst of cutting wind.

Cassian raised both blades like a cross-shield—the wind blast sliced along the edge but didn't break through.

He skidded back, breathing heavier.

Arven grinned, though his arm was shaking slightly. "You always did have insane reflexes."

Cassian gave a wry smirk. "And you always talked too much mid-fight."

Then he charged again—this time faster.

Arven swung low—but Cassian leapt, flipped over him, then turned mid-air and threw one of his blades down like a dart.

Arven barely deflected—but Cassian landed, kicked the fallen blade back up with his heel, caught it mid-twist, and slashed—

A thin line opened across Arven's shoulder.

He hissed, stepping back.

Cassian exhaled and took position again. His next words were quiet, like a promise.

"You're slowing down."

The crowd gasped.

The crowd erupted.

"Did you see that spin?!"

"Holy hells, he broke the guy's stance in three steps!"

Professor Kalden scribbled furiously on a scroll. "Form flawless. Fluid momentum. This one… has the makings of a blade master."

Another professor leaned in. "I call dibs on mentoring him."

Cassian moved like a dancer with knives—fluid, precise, deadly.

And Arven, though no slouch, was now bleeding from two shallow cuts and breathing heavier than Cassian.

One professor leaned back. "If he gets a final clean strike, Arven's done."

Another nodded. "If."

Both boys stared at each other.

Then, as if on cue—they moved.

Arven dashed in with a sweeping arc from above.

Cassian met it—not with brute force, but finesse.

He ducked under, spun into Arven's blind spot, and—

CLANG.

Two blades struck simultaneously—Cassian's across Arven's polearm shaft, pinning it mid-air.

And then—

Whack!

Cassian's boot landed squarely in Arven's gut, sending him flying back.

Arven hit the ground hard, rolling.

He tried to rise—but a blade was already at his throat.

Cassian stood over him, breathing only slightly harder.

"No shame in losing to me," Cassian said, calm and low. "You made me try."

Arven coughed, wiped blood from his mouth, then grinned. "Still an arrogant bastard."

Cassian offered a hand.

Arven took it.