And she had faced things like this countless times. The rude glances, insults, and quiet resentment from elite students who believed someone with her origins had no right to stand above them, no right to instruct them, no right to correct them.

They looked down on her, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, convinced that status should matter more than capability.

But there was nothing they could do about it.

Her name was Bliss.

She wasn't just an instructor of the academy. She was a knight of the kingdom, one who had proven herself on actual battlefields, one whose contributions went far beyond teaching arrogant students how to swing their weapons properly.

Her authority wasn't symbolic, and her position wasn't given out of charity. It had been earned, painfully and decisively.

The elite students could whine and groan all they wanted, could mutter complaints behind closed doors or scoff under their breath, but they couldn't strip her of her rank.

They couldn't challenge her authority without consequences.

The kingdom itself had placed her where she stood, and that alone made her untouchable in ways most of them didn't fully understand.

Bliss also knew her boundaries well. She never overstepped. Never abused her authority. Never gave them a reason to formally challenge her presence.

She was precise, controlled, and fully aware of how important she was to the kingdom's structure. Too important to be treated lightly. Too valuable to be dismissed.

Damien's gaze lingered on Bliss a moment longer, and a thought surfaced in his mind.

In the game, she had been one of Stanley's wives. She had admired him, followed him, and eventually tied her fate to his.

And then she had died.

Killed during a demon attack that had been written off as a tragic but necessary turning point in Stanley's rise.

Her death had been used to deepen his resolve, to push him forward, to justify the rage and strength he later displayed.

Her death had actually been stupid, and mostly due to the fault of Stanley, who was supposed to protect her.

Back then, even Damien had been enraged watching how the game wrote her off.

However, he never thought much of it, since he only saw it as a game.

But now that she was standing here, and he already knew the game was more than just a game, the thought of her death left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

A strange glint passed through his eyes, and he sighed, more to himself than anything else.

For now, he pushed the thought to the back of his head.

Bliss turned back toward the class, her gaze sweeping across the gathered elites before settling briefly on Stanley and then Damien.

There was nothing obvious in her expression, and she acted indifferently.

Still, Damien felt as though her eyes lingered on them a second longer than the others.

"As you can see," she said, her voice clear and steady, "this is what we'll be doing here today."

She let the words sink in before continuing. "We'll have a short spar. No class abilities. Just an ordinary spar with your respective weapons."

Both of them nodded in understanding. Stanley's response was quick and confident, while Damien's was more reserved, his attention fixed on her rather than the crowd.

As Stanley lowered his head, his eyes flicked toward Damien, and that strange glint appeared again, sharp and self-assured, like he had already decided how this would end.

Bliss went on, her tone unchanged. She explained that the other instructors would be watching closely, not just her.

They would be observing how they moved, how they reacted under pressure, how they handled openings and mistakes.

This wasn't about winning or losing. It was about seeing who they were as fighters when their classes were taken out of the equation.

The moment she stopped speaking, Stanley raised his hand.

"I'll go first." he said.

There was a smug smile on his face as he stepped forward, confidence rolling off him without effort.

In his mind, everything aligned perfectly. This was his chance. By showcasing his skills, by standing out in front of everyone, he would show Damien the difference between them.

He would remind the elites, the instructors, and himself of who truly belonged at the center.

Bliss didn't see anything wrong with the request. She gave a small nod and gestured for him to step forward.

Stanley walked to the front, boots tapping lightly against the floor.

His eyes flashed with that strange glint again as he drew the sword at his side, the blade sliding free with a soft metallic sound.

He rolled his shoulders once, then took his stance, feet planted firmly, sword pointed toward the woman in front of him.

Bliss mirrored him with ease, slipping into a basic stance that looked almost casual. Her grip on her sword was relaxed, her posture balanced.

"Show me what you've got," she said.

Stanley smirked, clearly pleased by the attention.

"I'll advise you to use your weapon against me, instructor," he said, his tone polite on the surface but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Bliss' eyes narrowed slightly at his words, but she didn't respond.

Stanley moved the moment the words left his mouth.

His foot pushed hard against the ground, and his body surged forward in a straight line, sword leading the charge as he thrust directly toward Bliss' chest.

There was no hesitation in his movement, no wasted motion. It was clean, precise, and clearly practiced countless times.

Bliss shifted aside calmly, her body moving just enough for the blade to pass harmlessly through the space she had been standing in a moment earlier.

The thrust missed completely, cutting through empty air, and she didn't even look strained doing it.

Her expression remained composed as she turned slightly, keeping her eyes on Stanley.

Stanley didn't slow down.

The moment his thrust failed, he spun on his heel, using the momentum to draw himself closer to her again.

His sword came around in a smooth arc, slashing toward her torso with force.

The movements flowed naturally, as though the spin and the strike were parts of a single motion rather than separate actions.

Bliss stepped back once more, her timing perfect.

The blade passed by her again, close enough to stir the air around her clothes, but never touching her.

She shifted her weight lightly, keeping her balance centered, making sure there was no opening for his attack to connect.

A smirk tugged at Stanley's lips.

Instead of pressing immediately, he suddenly moved backward, creating a bit of distance between them.

For a brief moment, it looked like he was retreating. Then he pushed off the ground again and leapt forward, closing the gap in an instant as he attacked more ferociously than before.

His sword moved faster now. His steps became lighter, more fluid, as if he wasn't simply attacking but performing.

His movements carried a rhythm to them, almost like a dance, as he unleashed a series of different slashes aimed from varying angles.

From high to low, and left to right, each of his strikes flowed into the nest without pause, his body moving in almost perfect coordination with the blade in his hand.

There was something undeniably captivating about the way he fought.

Every slash looked refined, polished to near perfection. His posture remained upright, his balance steady, and his form seemed flawless.

It quickly caught the attention of everyone watching, not just the elite students, but even the instructors stationed around the training area.

Whispers began to spread among the crowd. Some spoke under their breath, others leaned toward one another as their eyes followed Stanley's movements closely.

They talked about how beautiful his swordsmanship looked, about how effortless he made it seem.

Even a few of the instructors exchanged glances, their expressions betraying a hint of surprise and approval.

One of them muttered quietly, just loud enough for those nearby to hear, "As expected of the only disciple of the Sword Goddess."

Stanley's smirk deepened, and he continued his attacks, pressing forward relentlessly.

His sword flashed again as he launched another stab at Bliss, adding a slight twist to the attack.

But despite the intensity of his attacks, not a single one managed to land.

Bliss continued to evade them all, her movements calm and controlled, her posture never breaking.

Still, that didn't bother Stanley in the slightest. He knew he wasn't even going all out yet.

This was just the beginning, just enough to show everyone what he was capable of. The real techniques, the ones that truly defined him, were still being held back.

For him this wasn't a spar, but a stage for him to display his abilities as a hero to the other elites.

He could feel it clearly now. The waves of praise, the admiration pouring toward him from the crowd.

His chest swelled with satisfaction, his mind growing lighter, more elated with every passing second.

This was what he loved more than anything in this world… being the center of attention, being the one making people scream in awe.

It was his natural place in the world, something he had always known since he was young.

And that was because he was a great hero, who was sure to have lots of adventures!

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