Athanasia: My Hacker System

"Is this the strength of the family prodigy that took my family’s seat? Pathetic!"

The first exchange happened fast as Luke simply evaded the incoming sword slashes and stabs.

He moved like a shadow caught in a breeze, jumping around for quite some time, testing his ability to read his opponent’s fighting style and confirming the vast gap that now existed between the two of them.

After all he had experienced in the pocket trial, Luke hadn’t just gained more raw strength and higher attributes; he had learned a ton from fighting there constantly.

Dealing with deadly dangers daily had stripped away the fluff of academy-style duelling, leaving behind only the cold, hard instincts of a survivor. Thanks to that, standing in front of Bernard, who moved with the rigid, predictable patterns of a textbook, proved to be a breeze.

After a few minutes of observing the frantic, red-faced Bernard, Luke finally decided the play was over. He stopped avoiding the attacks and reached into his storage device, pulling out his club.

The moment the club appeared, the air in the entire tent shifted. It felt like some sort of ancient predator had stepped onto the stage, issuing a deadly, suffocating aura that forced Bernard to halt his mid-swing.

The impact of the weapon seemed to distort the very air on the stage. In Bernard’s mind, a single, desperate question formed: How could a member of a fallen family obtain such a terrifying weapon?

Luke hadn’t said a single word since the start of the confrontation. Even as his opponent kept taunting and insulting him, Luke remained eerily focused.

Once he held the club, he focused all his willpower on controlling his strength. He didn’t put his back into the swing; he simply waved the weapon as if he were aiming to crush a bothersome fly.

The result was quite devastating. Bernard tried to parry the attack, bringing his broadsword up to block the club using the flat side of his blade. It was the perfect counter for a heavy blunt weapon in such a situation, yet the huge disparity in their attributes made the move a death sentence for Bernard’s stance.

The club collided with the sword with a sound like a mountain cracking. Bernard received the hit and went instantly airborne.

He flew for tens of meters, soaring over the edge of the stage like a broken kite caught in a gale. His body kept rolling fast across the dirt until he finally slammed heavily against one of the massive wooden pillars holding up the tent.

The entire tent shook from the impact, yet that vibration was nothing compared to the shock that gripped the audience. This wasn’t even on a level to be considered a clash or a spar; it was a one-sided, brutal beating.

One hit, and Bernard, the same year as Luke’s, the class president, was knocked out cold, losing the match without even touching a single hair on Luke’s head.

"Phew! He didn’t overdo it, luckily," Elena heaved a deep sigh of relief, though her eyes were still wide.

"It was an overkill from the start," Ricky shook his head, looking at the dent in the pillar where Bernard lay slumped. "I know how powerful those arrogant bastards think they are, but they can’t be compared to us anymore. Not after what we’ve lived through."

"That means joining John was the best decision you ever made," Cissel said, teasing Ricky. A slight change in Ricky’s expression showed that he couldn’t even find a way to argue with that statement.

"Who is going next?" John asked, cutting through the banter. He didn’t want to see another round of teasing between his friends while they were being watched by hundreds of eyes. "I’ll go up last, so you pick the order as you like."

"Then I’ll go next," Elena said, an evil, playful smile spreading across her face. "Last time, I had to struggle and scrape for a win. This time, I won’t break a single sweat."

Luke descended from the stage, his black and red mask still in place, though his laughter was audible. He hadn’t killed Bernard, but the latter was left in a truly sorrowful state.

Medical staff rushed onto the field to carry the unconscious youth to the infirmary, and seeing the pride of the hostile family to the Lockhearts being carted off like a sack of potatoes made Luke’s day.

"The next match is between Elena and Alfred," the commentator announced. His voice was shaky; he had fallen into a heavy, shocked silence after the swift conclusion of the first match. "Let’s... Let’s hope to see something just as interesting."

"For how long do you think she will wait until she beats him?" Luke asked the group, leaning against a support beam.

"With a grenade? She’ll do it in a second," Cissel joked. The three boys turned towards her in absolute disbelief. She shrugged innocently. "What? Didn’t the Headmaster say we are allowed to use anything we want?"

"Not to that degree," John said, momentarily speechless. "At least not in these useless matches. We can easily win with our bare hands; why go overboard and reveal our heavy hand?"

"How about this then," Luke said, his eyes lighting up with a brilliant, mischievous idea. "Why don’t we bet on how many minutes she will wait before taking Alfred out? Winner gets bragging rights."

"What’s the point?" Ricky rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "I’m sure she can end the match easily, just like you did. It’s a foregone conclusion."

"We can bet with grenades," Luke countered, knowing exactly which buttons to press. He knew Ricky wouldn’t join in easily unless Cissel was involved. And Cissel? She wouldn’t join unless there were her precious grenades on the table as the prize.

As he expected, the moment he mentioned betting with grenades, Cissel’s eyes shone with brightness.

"Let’s do it! I’ll bet one hundred purple grenades," she said, instantly sealing the deal with a sharp nod. Luke grinned and matched her bet, followed by Ricky, who, despite his reservations, couldn’t resist the competitive atmosphere.