Chapter 115: Chapter 115 – Combat Class

Suddenly, a cold voice sliced through the tension behind me.

“Maximus.”

Everyone froze.

I turned and saw Violet Albestorm standing at the classroom doorway—one of the most feared instructors in Nine Stars Academy, known for her ruthless, unforgiving teaching style.

She was famous for a reason. Despite her young age, she had already reached Rank S, and she and her team had once conquered an SS-Rank Dungeon. Her codename back when she was still an active Hunter was Thunderheart.

Her appearance was undeniably seductive. Her long purple hair was tied high, exposing the graceful line of her neck. She wore a tight black combat suit that hugged every curve of her body perfectly. Despite her beautiful face and sharp amethyst eyes, the aura she radiated was so intimidating that the entire classroom fell silent at once.

“Sit down and stop humiliating yourself,” Violet ordered, her voice icy.

Maximus immediately shrank, transforming from a roaring lion to an obedient kitten.

“Yes, Instructor Violet,” he muttered, scurrying back to his seat with a sour expression.

Violet’s gaze then shifted to me, sweeping from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes.

“Adam Socheron,” she said flatly. “The Headmaster has informed me of your awakening.”

She walked toward the front of the class, each step steady and full of authority.

“For your information,” she announced to the class, “Adam has awakened as an Awakener Rank A.”

She glanced at me briefly before adding, “Congratulations.” There wasn’t a trace of praise in her tone.

Her expression hardened.

“But don’t think this will earn you special treatment. On the contrary, as the son of the Sword Saint and the Star Witch, I will be even harsher on you. I will not lower the difficulty of my lessons just because you awakened late. If you can’t keep up, that’s your problem. Fail, and you will repeat the year.”

Even though my classmates had witnessed my strength earlier, hearing the official announcement from Violet still left them stunned. Whispered reactions spread through the room, but they immediately died out when Violet swept her sharp gaze across the class.

“Everyone, change into your combat uniforms and gather at the weapon field in fifteen minutes. I will not tolerate lateness,” she commanded. “Today, we’re doing practical combat training.”

As she turned to leave, she threw one last look my way.

“And Adam,” she said with a thin smile, “I’m very interested to see how far you’ve inherited your father’s swordsmanship.”

Oh, right. Violet Albestorm was the academy’s weapon instructor—and one of the greatest swordswomen here. I nodded slightly, already planning how I would display my strength today.

When I arrived at the massive training grounds, I saw all my classmates gathered in their respective combat outfits.

I myself wore a black-gray combat jacket made of elastic tear-resistant fabric, paired with slim-fit tactical pants with hidden pockets. It felt strange, this was the first time I had ever worn the academy’s combat uniform, despite being enrolled for years.

My eyes swept across the field filled with advanced training equipment. Every student held one of the academy’s provided practice weapons. Some were already warming up, swinging their weapons with practiced movements.

Violet Albestorm stood in the center of the field like a general overseeing her soldiers. She immediately noticed that my hands were empty. Her sharp amethyst eyes narrowed.

“Socheron,” she called, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. “Come here.”

I approached, my eyes inevitably drawn to the way her tight combat suit traced every tempting curve of her body. The sway of her round hips, the narrow line of her waist, the generous swell of her chest stretching the fabric. For a moment, I imagined what it would feel like to grab that chest in my hands.

“This is your first time joining weapon practice,” Violet said, staring directly at me. “You need to choose your weapon. Follow me.”

She turned without waiting for a response, walking toward the armory building with confident strides. I followed, still unable to keep my eyes off her figure.

Inside the wide armory room lined with weapon racks, Violet gestured broadly.

“Choose one. Sword, spear, axe, dagger, anything you can wield.”

Her eyes watched me carefully. “This will be your primary weapon for training, so choose wisely.”

Of course, I chose a sword.

I walked along the racks, letting my fingers brush various blades before selecting a long sword with a straight blade—reminiscent of my father’s weapon, though lacking the magical properties.

We returned to the field, and Violet immediately instructed me to fight a training dummy.

Although dummy was generous. It was more like a humanoid robot two meters tall, dual-wielding swords, with adjustable difficulty from Rank E to Rank A.

Its metallic surface gleamed with glowing circuitry, and its red camera-lens eyes seemed to analyze me.

“These dummies are S-Rank artifacts,” Violet explained, tapping the robot’s shoulder. “They’re programmed with hundreds of combat styles. Choose a level matching your ability.”

Intrigued, I set it to Rank B.

“Straight to Rank B?” the operator asked, clearly unsure.

“I’m confident,” I replied.

With a press of a button, the robot activated with a hum of machinery. Its dual swords swung at me immediately — one slicing horizontally at my waist, the other thrusting vertically toward my chest. All eyes locked onto me, as if waiting for me to fail.

The fight began fiercely. The robot’s attacks launched in programmed sequences—the horizontal slash followed by the vertical thrust, then a flurry of chained strikes that nearly cornered me.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Steel clashed endlessly as I retreated, defending while studying its movements. Soon enough, I caught on.

Its motions were predictable, repetitive, lacking improvisation. Within three minutes, I was dodging with ease and even counterattacking.

“Set it to Rank A,” I told the operator.

“Rank A? That’s for the top students!” he protested.

“Do it,” I ordered firmly.

The moment the level increased, the atmosphere shifted. The robot now moved with blinding speed, its swords weaving unpredictable patterns. I was driven back, struggling to keep up. Several times its blades nearly grazed me, drawing gasps from the onlookers.

“He’s not going to last!” someone shouted.

But I refused to disgrace the Sword Saint’s name.

I focused intensely, tracking every movement.

Slowly I began to read its patterns. Complex, but not impossible. I noticed how it always shifted weight onto its right leg before a spinning strike, and how its lens blinked before switching strategies.

Then I struck.

My horizontal slash was parried perfectly, but that was exactly what I needed—using the momentum, I twisted into a second attack, a sharp thrust that forced the robot back. With a fluid pivot, I unleashed a full-force circular slash.

CLANG! CLANG!

The robot split in half, the upper torso severed from the lower with a metallic screech. The sound of malfunctioning machinery echoed across the field, followed by a chorus of shocked gasps. A few students even clapped, though hesitantly.

But to my surprise, the robot’s parts began to fuse back together, a metallic liquid creeping between the separated sections and reconnecting them, as if it had a life of its own.

These things were truly high-rank artifacts. And the academy owned forty-five of them, meaning we essentially had forty-five Rank A Awakeners at our disposal. Though they required massive energy to operate.

Nine Stars Academy truly deserved its reputation.

Almost everyone stared at me in disbelief. They finally realized I was no longer the weak Adam they used to know.

I scanned their faces—except for my five tormentors and Violet, everyone looked at me with fear and unease.

Once, they mocked me openly. No wonder.

They thought I would always be nothing. Trash. But now, they feared I might take revenge for the years they either watched me suffer in silence… or joined in.

Some even avoided eye contact, lowering their heads when my gaze swept over them.

“Warm-up is over!” Violet shouted, her voice booming across the field. “Now we’re moving to one-on-one combat. We will be using the round-robin system, everyone will fight everyone.”

She continued, “The top rank fights the last rank, then the top rank fights the second-last rank, while the last rank fights the second rank, and so on. Once all pairs are done, we rotate using the same pattern until every person has fought every opponent.”

Violet showed the diagram on her tablet.

“Each win gives you points. At the end, we will have accurate rankings.”

Since I had just awakened, I was placed at the bottom of the class, ranked 30th. And according to the system, my first match was against Rank 1—Yukie.

When our names were called, the entire field fell silent. Everyone knew our history. Yukie had been the cruelest among my tormentors.

Yukie stepped into the arena with that familiar graceful stride, her pale eyes cold and distant. A knot of fear twisted in my chest, but I forced it down, reminding myself that I was the one in control now.

“You’re forbidden from using any skills. Only weapon technique is allowed. The match ends when one of you yields, steps out of the ring, or when I call it.

Violet positioned herself between us, her gaze shifting from one fighter to the other.

“Begin!”

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