Chapter 11: Lonely Gabe
In the worn-down but still formidable Knight Arena Four, the clang of wood against wind echoed dully as Gabe swung his wooden sword in sweeping arcs, his stance sharp, movements refined—but his face? Pissed.
The scowl on his lips seemed etched in stone, every stroke a vent for the frustration gnawing at his chest.
"This is bullshit," Gabe muttered under his breath, slicing through the air again. His muscles tensed.
He spun, shifted, pivoted, then struck down, but all he cut was silence.
The emptiness in the arena seemed to mock his lonely silhouette.
"They’re probably in that damn dungeon right now... all of them. Theo, Kendrick, even that loudmouth Beryl... they’re in there getting trained by Instructor Heiron himself.
"Hell, they’re probably slashing through those animated statues or sparring against golems right now, building real muscle, gaining real experience—while I’m here," he kicked the dusty floor with his heel, "playing with shadows like some fool."
His voice rose, echoing as though trying to argue with the very space around him.
"Sixth Stage, huh? Just stay back and reach Sixth Stage like it’s that easy? And how, huh?! How am I supposed to improve when I’m swinging alone like an idiot?! There’s no one to spar with! What am I, some kind of training monk locked away from the world?! Damn it!"
He slashed again, harder this time, and the wood shrieked against the friction in the air.
"I bet Instructor Heiron’s giving pointers to Theo again. Of course he would. He’s always favored Theo since the beginning. Kendrick probably already broke through to Fifth by now with that enchanted sword he got from his dad. And Beryl—hah! That clown’s probably yelling his head off and still learning more than I am."