SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

A few hours passed since they began their training session—well, only a bit over two to be exact—and the boys were already plenty tired.

Everyone, except for one in particular, was on the ground, lying flat and heaving heavily. Sweat popped on their skin as they struggled to keep a normal composure amid the gasps that sounded.

"Haa... that was... intense..." One of the boys who still had enough strength to form words let out.

Unlike the rest, he didn't seem as best up. It could be that their opponent had gone easier on him, or... he was simply better than the rest.

The boy's eyes darted to the one who had dealt all of them such serious attacks that they were now on the ground.

He was seated on one of the chairs at the edge of the hall, having beads of sweat on his face as he wiped it with a towel.

"Are you sure this won't affect your performance at the event?"

The boy who sat—Jerry—gave a small smile as he glanced at his worried friend.

"Na. I don't think so. Besides, I don't think I would be in top form if I didn't let out some tension before the main matches."

What Jerry was trying to say in his kind and considerate tone was that the boys he fought were not challenging enough to make him go all-out and exhaust himself.

Simply put, he needed the warm-up to be in good shape for the main fight. As insulting as that notion was, it was the truth. That was probably why Jerry resorted to a milder manner of approach to ease the fears of his friend.

"I... see..."

Of course, everyone in the room already knew what he meant by those words.

"So, should we start getting a move on?"

His question demanded a response, but Jerry fell silent for a short while to contemplate the implications of what answer he wanted to give.

In all honesty, he still wasn't satisfied with the matches he had with them, and felt like he could go more. Unfortunately, his comrades were already at their limits.

Besides, if Jerry pushed himself too much, then maybe it would indeed cause him to lack enough energy during his actual round in the tournament.

Caught between the conflicting interests that warred in his mind, the boy decided to go with the more obvious response.

"Alright. Let's head back."

The boys gave a relieved expression, happy they were done with the hellish exercise, though the one who seemed more considerate of Jerry's feelings understood the difficult choice his friend made.

'If only we were stronger... we could give him more of a challenge...' Those thoughts often trailed within him, etched in his mind like second nature.

Perhaps that was why he strived the hardest out of everyone else to catch up—even if it was only by a single inch— with their leader.

The boys stood atop their exhausted legs and made their way toward the exit of the room. Jerry was at the forefront, while the rest trailed after him This wasn't done intentionally. Perhaps it was just instinct—the strong leading the weak.

After leaving the room where there had spent about two hours training vigorously, the boys hot the showers—yes, literally!

The facilities in Ainzlark Academy were made to be top-notch, and the Training Area was no exception. As a matter of course, shower rooms were provided for, and the boys used them to fulfill the purpose of washing off their sweat and exhaustion.

With the temperature set to cool off the tension that pulsated their bodies, the cool liquid dripped down their bodies and gave them a soothing feel.

After temporarily experiencing hell, being greeted by the cooling splatters of water wasn't so bad.

The shower session didn't last very long, but it could have as well been an eternity for the boys. After they were done freshening up, they wore the initial clothing brought from their Dorms.

Since the Training Area would inevitably cause stress among those who used it, spiking whatever outfit they had on at the time, the Academy once again intervened expertly.

By providing good training uniforms to be used by students, it allowed them to freely use the facilities without holding back. Even if the clothes were stained, burned, soaked... it didn't matter!

Thanks to this measure, the Training Hall achieved its purpose perfectly.

"Hoo... I feel much better now!" Jerry remarked, stepping out of the large structure—his friends trailing directly behind.

"You got that right."

"Yeah. I wish it lasted longer, though."

"You can't be serious. If we take too long, we'll be late for the matches."

Jerry smiled as he heard his friends exchange words.

Considering the time they had spent, he estimated about thirty minutes were left before the Exchange really began. Still, it wasn't his style to be late for anything—a habit he passed among his allies.

"We should start heading there now..." The boy softly muttered.

"Oh? Okay, then..." They answered with nods and moved quickly.

Even though the match left a brief feeling of dissatisfaction within Jerry, he had quickly brushed those lingering sentiments aside. After all, once the main events started, he wouldn't have the luxury of 'going easy' on anyone.

It was the real deal!

'All members of the Elite Ten in each Class, uh...?' Images of his colleagues flashed across his mind.

He was only one out of nine others, so he knew he wouldn't be facing the enemies alone. Still, Jerry Keller had never felt so alone.

The nine people besides him... how could he describe them?

'Those cowards...' The boy gritted his teeth as the images of the ones professed to be the greatest among the Lower Class members flashed in his mind.

Could there be any other synonym that best encapsulated how he viewed them?

These so-called champions were nothing more than individuals who were satisfied with their positions of power and didn't dare defy those of the other Class.

They didn't bother practicing for the Exchange or even try to win. As they had already told him, and most assuredly themselves as well...

"There's no point!"

Within him, Jerry seethed with a rage that he couldn't fathom. He was disgusted by those who were meant to be the champions of the Lower Class.

'If... if the ones professed to be the leaders don't have the will to march on...'

Jerry's head unconsciously turned behind him and saw the friends that trailed behind him. He didn't know why he thought of them now, but memories invaded his head the moment his eyes captured their current builds and compared them to the past.

They had certainly grown stronger—and more importantly, more purposeful.

Jerry recoiled his head and faced his front, staring at the massive auditorium from a distance while completing his earlier lone of thought.

'... How will those behind them follow?'