Will of the Battlefield

The laughter from Hawk’s declaration slowly faded.

Neither man moved.

Garret stood opposite Hawk with his hands hanging loosely beside him. The lazy grin that usually rested upon his face had vanished. Even his half-lidded eyes had sharpened into those of a predator.

The courtyard seemed to shrink; the students stopped whispering.

The masters unconsciously stepped back from the edge of the arena.

Principal Athenok watched with folded arms. "They’ve finally stopped sparring."

Baelor quietly nodded. "They’ve accepted each other."

Garret exhaled, his shoulders relaxing.

"So... you admitted there aren’t rules."

Hawk smiled. "I’ve known that for years."

"Good." Garret lowered himself slightly. "Then don’t complain."

The instant the last word left his mouth, he disappeared.

A gust of wind swept across the stone courtyard.

Hawk barely raised an arm.

BOOM

A fist hammered into his guard hard enough to drive him three steps backward.

Before Hawk regained his balance, Garret’s knee came upward.

Hawk twisted. The knee skimmed across his ribs instead of crushing them.

Garret never stopped; an elbow descended, and Hawk ducked.

A heel chased his face, but Hawk leaned away. His shirt tore as the kick brushed past.

"Haha," Hawk muttered. "You really are trying to beat me."

Garret answered with another punch. "Of course. You’d insult me if I didn’t."

The exchange exploded; Garret fought like a street killer.

Nothing about his movements resembled academy martial arts.

He jabbed at Hawk’s eyes and stamped toward his toes.

He hooked fingers behind Hawk’s ears whenever he rotated.

Even his shoulders became weapons; every collision hurt.

Every opening was exploited.

The students stared in disbelief. "I’ve never seen fighting like this."

"It looks... ugly."

Baelor corrected them. "No, it looks real. In a real fight, you do whatever you can to outlive your enemy."

Garret lunged again, his fist coming high.

Hawk blocked, only to realize it wasn’t the attack.

Garret’s forehead smashed into Hawk’s nose.

Blood burst down Hawk’s lips. Before Hawk recovered, Garret drove both palms into his chest.

The impact launched Hawk across the courtyard.

He rolled once, twice, then slid to a stop.

Thane clenched his fists. "Hawk!"

Hawk spat blood, then smiled. "Again."

Garret chuckled. "I like your attitude."

This time Hawk attacked first. His hands blurred.

Garret blocked the first and deflected the second.

The third never came.

Instead, Hawk stepped inside and drove his shoulder forward.

Garret rotated just enough; the shoulder grazed him.

He immediately trapped Hawk’s arm beneath his own.

Spinning it as their bodies curled together, Hawk felt his shoulder locking.

Garret was about to complete the throw, but Hawk stamped directly onto Garret’s foot.

Garret flinched, and the lock loosened.

Hawk slipped free; both men jumped backward simultaneously.

Their breathing had grown heavier; their clothes were soaked with sweat.

Cuts covered Hawk’s chest; bruises darkened Garret’s ribs.

Neither looked close to surrendering.

Garret laughed. "You’re adapting too quickly."

Hawk rolled one aching shoulder. "You aren’t easy."

"No, I’m not." Garret’s smile became wolfish. "But neither are you."

The duel resumed. Punches met kicks. Knees met kicks. Forehead struck forehead. It was less of a fight and more of madness.

Every collision echoed across Blue Leaf Academy.

Students no longer cheered individual exchanges.

They simply watched as if spellbound; the instructors had fallen silent.

Garret’s style possessed no beauty, and Hawk’s possessed no tradition.

Yet together, they created something impossible to ignore.

Pure combat.

Garret suddenly swept low, and Hawk jumped.

Exactly as Garret expected: midair, he pivoted and drove a spinning back fist toward Hawk’s temple.

Hawk barely crossed both forearms.

BOOM

The impact still sent him crashing sideways.

Dust exploded beneath him as Garret followed relentlessly.

No breathing room, no mercy. Hawk blocked and blocked and blocked again.

One strike slipped through, then another.

His lip split; one eye began swelling.

Conor frowned. "He can’t keep defending forever."

Max remained calm. "No. But Garret can’t attack forever, either."

Garret knew it.

His breathing had become noticeably rougher; his shoulders burned.

His knuckles throbbed; he had thrown hundreds of strikes.

Most men would’ve collapsed long ago.

Hawk simply remained standing.

The manager of Maximilian wiped blood from beneath one eye. "...You hit harder than most fighters."

Garret snorted. "I’ve buried most soldiers."

For a fleeting moment, Hawk’s gaze hardened.

Inside his mind, another option surfaced.

The Diamond Body: one blessing and one heartbeat.

That was all it would take.

His skin would become harder than forged steel.

Garret’s fists would shatter, and the duel would end.

His fingers flexed instinctively.

Then he stopped himself. "No, blessings weren’t allowed."

This wasn’t about victory. It was about respect; if he needed power beyond his own body...

He had already lost. A faint smile returned. "Guess I’ll have to do this the hard way."

Garret charged, his body becoming a battering ram as he abandoned careful combinations.

Every attack sought to overwhelm Hawk through sheer aggression.

The students gasped.

"So fast!"

"So heavy!"

Hawk gave ground.

Garret sensed victory. "There!"

His right fist flew toward Hawk’s jaw.

Hawk slipped outside it; Garret’s elbow immediately followed.

Hawk ducked. Garret’s knee rose, but it was blocked.

Garret spun, his heel crashing toward Hawk’s ribs.

Hawk absorbed it on his forearm; pain exploded through the limb, and his arm nearly went numb.

Garret smiled. "I’ve got you now."

He committed everything to one final tackle, shoulder lowered and head forward.

Legs driving with every ounce of strength, his charge resembled an enraged bull.

The entire courtyard seemed to shake. Thane shouted, "Hawk!"

At the last possible instant, Hawk moved.

Not backward or forward.

Half a step, barely enough.

Garret’s shoulder missed the center of Hawk’s body.

Their hips crossed as time slowed, and Hawk saw the opening.

Tiny, and embarrassingly vulnerable.

He almost laughed. "Well..." he muttered. "You did say everything’s fair."

His knee rose sharply.

THUD

The sound echoed with horrifying clarity.

Garret froze.

His eyes widened until they seemed ready to leave their sockets.

His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

Every ounce of strength abandoned his body at once.

He slowly folded forward, then collapsed onto both knees.

The courtyard fell deathly silent.

Every male student instinctively clutched themselves.

Even Baelor grimaced.

Garret remained frozen, breathing through clenched teeth.

Hawk stepped back respectfully.

Then he smiled, wearing the same calm smile he’d worn all afternoon. "Everything... is fair in love... and war."

For several seconds, Garret said nothing.

Then, still lying half-curled upon the stone floor, he managed to lift one trembling finger toward Hawk.

"You... are right." He sucked in another painful breath. "...You bastard."

After a heartbeat of silence, the entire courtyard erupted.

Laughter rolled through Blue Leaf Academy like thunder.

Conor nearly fell off the bench, clutching his stomach.

Sky hid her face behind both hands, laughing despite herself.

Simon was red from trying and failing not to laugh.

Even Max couldn’t help letting out a soft chuckle.

Master Baelor laughed so hard he had to lean against Master Oren for support.

Oren himself shook his head with a helpless smile. "I have devoted forty years to preserving martial discipline. And today... our finest instructor lost because he was defeated by his own philosophy."

Even Principal Athenok laughed openly.

The tension that had gripped the courtyard dissolved in an instant.

Garret finally pushed himself into a sitting position, still wearing the pained grin of a man who had no one to blame but himself.

He looked at Hawk, then burst into another laugh. "You’ll fit in here."

Hawk offered him a hand. Garret stared at it for a moment before taking it.

The two men clasped forearms, not as victor and loser, but as fighters who had measured one another honestly.

Around them, applause thundered across the training grounds.

Not because someone had won.

But because every person present had witnessed something rare:

Not a duel of techniques.

Not a contest of strength.

But two veterans proving that, when all the polished forms and proud schools were stripped away...

The last thing left standing was the will to fight.