I WAS Humanity's HOPE-Chapter 25: Minus seven

Richard rolled his shoulders, letting out a measured sigh as he surveyed the quiet corridor leading to the Mage Guild’s training wing. A day had passed since their two Dungeon excursions, a day of frantic levelling, aching muscles, and more than a few close shaves with the creatures lurking in those labyrinthine depths.

Not for me though.

Richard mostly stayed out of his group’s way and, whenever required, he struck down a monster with a single, precise blow.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as his thoughts momentarily drifted: seven of his classmates had been dismissed and their presence was wiped clean from the Guild’s roll.

Part of him felt uneasy about how swiftly it had all happened—two Dungeons back to back had been brutal for the youths, and some of the dismissed students had only narrowly missed the required level threshold, needing but a single kill to reach it.

Yet, there does not seem to be any mercy or second chances here.

In the corners of his mind lingered a faint disappointment—James, a classmate he found increasingly aggravating, still remained. Somehow, the slippery fellow had managed to claw his way to level six, avoiding the cut. Richard couldn’t decide whether to be surprised or exasperated by the man’s resilience. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Oi," came a brisk voice behind him, "we’re going to be late, you know."

Richard turned to see Nadia, a hint of anxiety etched across her delicate features. Dressed in light training leathers, she clutched her satchel of notes in one slender hand. Although usually quiet, there was a subtle shift in her manner—maybe it was the tension from the recent Dungeons or the hush of the corridor. Either way, Richard was not oblivious to the new flicker of resolve burning in her eyes.

"Let’s get going," he said with an easy shrug and simply fell into step beside Nadia as they made their way to the training hall...

The clang of steel against steel rang out before they even passed through the double doors.

The interior training space was large, with high vaulted ceilings. Mage Guild insignia hung like banners, offering a faint echo of grandeur amidst the scuffed floor and the faint smell of sweat and polish.

A tall figure with long black hair was already in one of the circles, lightly swinging a practice sword in graceful arcs.

Angel.

The moment Richard’s eyes landed on her, he noted her posture: poised, self-assured, shoulders set with a quiet arrogance. Her blade glinted under the overhead torches as if even the steel understood it was in capable hands.

She’s improving, he noted.

From the corner of the ring, another figure hovered in watchful silence: James, eyes narrowed in what looked like admiration or perhaps something less pleasant. Richard inwardly scoffed. That bloke never missed a chance to fawn over Angel—or, in truth, over anyone more powerful than himself.

He felt a gentle nudge to his side. Nadia stood there, chewing her lip, gaze flicking warily towards Angel.

"I’ll take it easy on you, if that’s what you’re worried about," he teased, misunderstanding the source of her apprehension.

She offered him a shaky laugh. "You wish. I hear we’re not even paired together today."

"Are you sure?" he asked, slipping his satchel off his shoulder and dropping it near the benches.

"Indeed you’re not," came a sharp, commanding voice from their left.

They both turned to see Master Kirsch, the Guild’s chief combat instructor.

Apparently, Meredith was overwhelmed with Dungeon raids and couldn’t cover all their classes.

That’s why Kirsch—a compact man with greying hair and stern eyes—was there today.

He carried an air of efficiency about him, as if he had no patience for wasted breath.

"Stand to attention," Kirsch barked, flicking a glance at Nadia and Richard. "Today’s pairs have already been posted. You will spar in multiple rounds. Full protective gear is mandatory—blunt-edged weapons only." He shot a look at Angel’s sword. "Even practise steel can do real harm in careless hands."

Richard’s eyebrows rose slightly. He wasn’t especially concerned about the matches; compared to magical combat, plain old melee was his lifeline. He had spent years trusting and honing his skill with daggers...

He simply hoped not to get stuck with James.

As if reading his mind, Kirsch rattled off the pairings: "Richard, you’re with Gareth in ring three. Nadia, you’re with Angel in ring two. Hurry along."

Nadia stiffened beside him; a faint tremor of unease crossed her features. "Figures," she muttered under her breath.

He shot her a sidelong look. "Angel’s not invincible, you know," he said, keeping his voice level, though he also knew Angel’s skill with a blade was near-legendary in their class. "Just keep your guard up."

Nadia nodded, her blonde ponytail swishing as she tried to steel herself. "I’ll manage," she said quietly, mustering some resolve.

Richard patted her shoulder in a light, almost dismissive manner—an easy, if somewhat cold, gesture. "See you afterwards, then."

Moments later, Nadia found herself face to face with Angel in ring two. The dark-haired woman examined her with a calm, almost dispassionate gaze.

"I suppose I’ll try not to break you," Angel drawled, her lips curling into a lazy smirk. Her voice carried just the right blend of self-confidence and haughtiness, as if she was offering a condescending favour.

Nadia inhaled deeply, forcing her nerves into submission. "Appreciated," she returned, though the dryness in her tone suggested she wouldn’t appreciate any pity either.

Angel didn’t reply. She spun her sword in a short flourish, stepping into a balanced stance. The instructor’s whistle shrilled. Without preamble, Angel lunged forward, her blunt sword slicing through the air in a silver arc...

In ring three, Richard faced Gareth, a heavy-set boy with a straightforward but dependable fighting style. They traded a few cursory blows—Richard deflecting one to the left, sidestepping the next. To him, melee class was tedious. He harboured no illusions about gaining anything from his opponents, not when he could literally dispatch them in the time it took to blink.

Yet, as their blades clanged and skittered, Richard’s attention kept drifting across the hall, drawn by the clash unfolding between Nadia and Angel.

Angel’s movements were like liquid steel—clean, efficient, with a hint of showmanship. Nadia, by contrast, tried to maintain some composure, stepping back methodically, searching for an opening. Once or twice, she made a small riposte, only for Angel to slap it away with ease.

"Eyes here!" Gareth grumbled, bringing his sword down in a vertical strike. Richard sprang backwards, rolling his eyes at himself.

"Right, sorry," Richard muttered. He moved in, half-heartedly pressing Gareth with a couple of quick jabs. The clang of steel rang out once more.

But Angel’s skill was impossible to ignore. The dull thuds and squeaks of her practise sword impacted with alarming frequency. Nadia’s defence began to falter. With each passing second, Angel advanced relentlessly, driving Nadia back against the rope boundary.

Nadia tried a desperate swing at Angel’s hip, but Angel sidestepped with a fluid pivot, bringing her own blade up in a powerful arc. The blunt edge connected with Nadia’s guard, knocking the sword right out of her hands.

A hush fell across the training hall. Nadia’s practise sword spun away, clattering onto the floorboards. Angel paused, the tip of her blade hovering an inch from Nadia’s chest.

"Yield," Angel commanded, voice cool and dripping with condescension.

Nadia’s cheeks burned with a mixture of humiliation and anger. She stared at the blade tip, frustration roiling in her gut. "I... yield," she whispered, scarcely loud enough for those nearby to hear.

The whistle shrilled again, signalling the end of that spar. Satisfied, Angel lowered her weapon and stepped back with a graceful flick of her hair. "Well, that was quick," she murmured, not even bothering to hide her smug grin.

Nadia bent down to retrieve her sword. Though her face was already flushed, she straightened her posture, refusing to look cowed. Her fists clenched momentarily at her sides.

"I think that concludes our session, yes?" Gareth’s voice broke through Richard’s daze.

Richard turned back to see Gareth’s sword pointing at him half-heartedly, though the match had effectively ended when the whistle blew for Nadia’s duel. "Right," Richard said, stepping back to lower his guard. He flicked his blade aside, breathing a measured sigh. "Nice spar, mate."

Gareth shrugged, obviously more interested in the meltdown across the ring. "Huh. Angel won again. Looks like Nadia never stood a chance."

Richard avoided comment, his expression guarded. "Uh-huh," he murmured quietly.

They exited their ring, and allowed another duo to walk in.

Across the hall, Angel had already placed her practise sword in its rack and sauntered off, head high. Nadia was left behind, glaring at the floorboards for a moment, lost in her own thoughts.

Richard took a step towards her, but paused, uncertain if she’d want a public display of concern. Nadia seemed to sense him, for she lifted her gaze and met his eyes across the training hall. A flush of embarrassment flickered over her features. Summoning the last shreds of her composure, she moved to the benches, chin held stiffly aloft.