They Called Me Trash? Now I'll Hack Their World-Chapter 46: Duel [1]

Chapter 46: Duel [1]
The training grounds stretched out before us, packed dirt arenas surrounded by weapon racks, practice dummies, and wooden benches where students could rest between drills.
The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the field.
Instructor Kael stood in the center of the main arena, arms crossed, watching students file in.
He was younger than Professor Thorne, maybe early thirties with a lean, athletic build and a scar running from his temple to his jaw. His uniform was modified for movement, and two practice swords hung from his belt.
"Form up!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chatter.
Students scrambled to line up in rough rows. Kyle and I found a spot near the middle.
Kael’s eyes swept across us, assessing. "Welcome to Weapons Fundamentals. This is where theory meets practice. You will learn proper form, basic techniques, and how to not die like idiots the first time someone swings a blade at you."
A few nervous laughs.
"Today, we start with sparring," Kael continued. "I want to see what you can do. No magic. Wooden practice weapons only. First blood or yield ends the match. Anyone who ignores a yield gets expelled. Understood?"
"Yes, Instructor!" the class responded in unison.
Kael gestured to the weapon racks. "Grab a practice weapon. You have five minutes."
The class broke formation, students rushing toward the racks. I moved slower, scanning the available weapons.
Swords. Spears. Axes. Daggers.
I picked up a practice longsword, wooden, weighted to simulate real steel, well-balanced. It felt familiar in my hand, the weight distribution similar to what I’d used against Thomas.
Kyle grabbed a sword too, giving it a few experimental swings. "You ready for this?"
"Not really."
"Same, honestly." He grinned anyway. "But it’ll be fun, right?"
Fun. Sure. Let’s go with that.
Kael blew a whistle, and everyone returned to formation.
"Pairs will be assigned randomly," he said, pulling out a list. "When I call your names, step into the arena. Everyone else, watch and learn."
He glanced at the list. "First match: Elena Moss versus Dorian Kelver."
A girl stepped forward, Elena, a commoner judging by her plain features and nervous expression. She was small, maybe five-foot-three, holding her practice sword like it might bite her.
Her opponent was Dorian Kelver, a noble. Tall, confident, with perfectly styled blonde hair and an expression that screamed this will be easy.
They took positions on opposite sides of the arena.
Kael raised his hand. "Begin!"
Dorian moved immediately, closing the distance with quick, precise steps. Elena barely had time to raise her sword before he was on her.
Clack!
His first strike knocked her blade aside. The second came fast, a sharp thrust toward her shoulder that she barely deflected.
"Pathetic," Dorian muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
He pressed the attack, each strike deliberate and controlled. Elena stumbled backward, her defense crumbling under the pressure.
She’s panicking. Lost her tempo before the fight even started.
Dorian swept her legs out from under her with a low strike, and she hit the ground hard. He placed the tip of his practice sword against her throat.
"Yield," he said, not bothering to hide his smirk.
Elena’s face flushed red. "I yield."
Kael nodded. "Match over. Elena, work on your footwork. Dorian, decent control."
The nobles near the front laughed as Elena picked herself up, her head down, shoulders hunched.
A few more matches followed.
Kael continued calling names, working through the list methodically.
Then he paused, glancing at his paper. "Next match: Jin Raith versus Marcus Valen."
Oh.
Marcus stepped forward from the front row, his expression smug. He grabbed a practice sword and spun it once, showing off.
I walked to the arena, my grip tightening on the practice sword’s hilt.
Marcus took his position across from me, his smirk widening. "Try not to embarrass yourself, Raith. I’d hate for this to be too easy."
I didn’t respond. Instead, I pulled up my status mentally, focusing on the skill that had been sitting there since my last level-up.
[Status]
Name: Jin Raith
Age: 17
Class: Debugger
Level: 6
EXP: 0/850
Rank: F
MC (Mana Capacity): 11/50
HP: 205/245
MP: 67/67
STR: 11 —> 14
VIT: 9 —> 12
INT: 45 —> 47
WIS: 38 —> 39
AGI: 9 —> 12
LUK: 15 —> 16
Allocation Points: 0
Active Skill: Debug Vision
Passive Skills: Poison Resistance (Intermediate - 67%), Social Engineering, Alchemy (Basic)
Combat: Adaptive Blade Style (Evolution Available)
Adaptive Blade Style’s evolution available.
Haven’t had time to check what that means.
I focused on the skill, and text appeared in my vision:
[ADAPTIVE BLADE STYLE - EVOLUTION PATH]
Current: Basic proficiency. Focuses on adaptability and exploiting openings.
Evolution Options:
•Reactive Flow — Enhanced counter-attack capability. Increased reaction speed when defending.
•Predictive Edge — Pattern recognition improvement. Read opponent movements faster.
•Unorthodox Fang — Unconventional techniques. Higher effectiveness against trained opponents.
Warning: Evolution is permanent. Choose carefully.
Marcus was already moving into a ready stance, practice sword raised.
Reactive Flow = defense. Predictive Edge = reads. Unorthodox Fang = chaos.
I’m outmatched in raw stats. I need an edge.
Unorthodox Fang.
I made the selection mentally.
The skill shifted, and I felt something change—not physically, but in the way I was processing movement. Like my brain had been given a new subroutine.
[SKILL EVOLUTION COMPLETE]
Adaptive Blade Style —> Unorthodox Fang [Basic] (Proficiency 0%)
Effect: Unconventional techniques and feints are 25% more effective.
Good enough.
Kael raised his hand. "Begin!"
Marcus lunged immediately, his sword cutting through the air in a diagonal slash.
I sidestepped, the blade missing by inches.
He recovered instantly, pivoting into a thrust aimed at my ribs.
I deflected it barely, the impact jarring my arms.
Marcus grinned, pressing forward with a flurry of strikes.
I gave ground, deflecting what I could, dodging the rest.
He’s better than me. Faster, stronger, more experienced.
But he fights like he was taught.
Predictable.
Marcus feinted left, then struck right, a classic misdirection.
I didn’t fall for it. I stepped into his guard instead, too close for his sword to be effective.
His eyes widened for a split second.
I slammed my shoulder into his chest, forcing him back.
He stumbled, surprised, and I struck, a sharp, ugly blow aimed at his wrist.
Clack!
The impact made him curse, his grip faltering.
"Lucky hit," he snarled.
He came at me again, harder this time, his strikes heavier.
But I was also running out of stamina. My ribs ached, my arms were getting tired, and Marcus was still fresh.
He caught me with a strike to the shoulder, hard enough to make me wince. Then another to my side.
Pain flared, white-hot.
I gritted my teeth, stepping back.
Marcus closed in, sensing blood. His next strike came fast, aimed at my head.
I blocked, but the force drove me to one knee.
He placed the tip of his practice sword against my throat, grinning triumphantly.
"Yield," he said.
I looked up at him, my jaw clenched.
I could edit. Drop his friction. Mess with his balance.
But that would be obvious.
Not worth it.
"I yield," I said quietly.
Marcus pulled his sword back, his grin widening. "Good choice."
Kael stepped forward. "Match over. Marcus, solid technique. Jin, you lasted longer than expected."
I stood, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ribs, and walked back to the sidelines.
Kyle met me halfway, his expression concerned. "You okay?"
"Fine."
More matches followed. Then the session ended.
Kael dismissed us. "Good work today. Next class, we’ll focus on defensive drills. Dismissed."
Students began filtering out, heading back toward the dormitories or the dining hall.
I was halfway to the exit when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Raith."
I stopped, turning slowly.
Marcus stood there, flanked by two other nobles. His smirk was gone, replaced by something colder.
"Let’s get something straight," he said, stepping closer. "You got lucky during the entrance exam. You got lucky in that spar. But your luck’s going to run out."
"Is there a point to this?" I asked flatly.
His expression darkened. "Stay out of my way. And if you ever humiliate me again like you did at the festival, I’ll make sure you regret it."
Ah. There it is.
Still mad about the wine incident.
"Noted," I said, turning to leave.
Marcus grabbed my shoulder, his grip tight. "I’m not done—"
"Get your hand off him."
We both turned.
Kyle stood a few feet away, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
Marcus sneered. "This doesn’t concern you, commoner."
"Yeah, it does." Kyle stepped forward, his hands clenched into fists. "You got a problem with Jin? Then you’ve got a problem with me."
Marcus laughed. "You? You think you can—"
"I challenge you to a duel," Kyle said.
The training ground went silent.
Marcus blinked, then started laughing harder. "You’re serious? You actually think—"
"Yeah. I’m serious." Kyle’s voice was steady, unwavering. "Tomorrow. Same time. Right here."
Marcus’s laughter faded, his expression shifting to something sharper. "Fine. I accept. And when I’m done with you, maybe your friend will learn to keep his mouth shut."
He turned and walked away, his lackeys following.
Kyle watched him go, then turned to me.
"Kyle," I said quietly. "What the hell are you doing?"
He grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "What teammates do, right?"
Idiot.
"You’re going to get yourself killed."
"Probably." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But hey, at least it’ll be entertaining."
I stared at him. The strange creature who was too good to be good.
"Come on," Kyle said, already heading toward the exit. "Let’s get food. I’m starving."
I followed, shaking my head.
This is going to end badly.