The students moved closer, and those who had been practicing at the smaller rings stopped to listen.
"For those who haven’t met me, I’m Instructor Hale," the man said with a serious face.
His gaze passed over Max and several other newcomers before he continued.
"And for the new members in our midst, these are the rules. We use padded or blunted practice weapons. No killing blows, no deliberately targeting the eyes, throat, or other vulnerable areas, and if I tell you to stop, you stop immediately. You’re free to use abilities you can control, but anyone who puts another student in serious danger is out of the ring. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the students answered.
"Good. A clean strike to the chest or back, or a controlled takedown, wins the round. Don’t continue attacking after a point has been called."
Hale paused, making sure everyone was listening.
"Now, remember why we’re here. You’re not fighting for applause or to prove that your class is better than someone else’s. You’re here to improve your techniques, understand your weaknesses, and develop a fighting style that actually works for you."
He gestured toward Anton, who was standing with his spear beside the ring.
"A stronger body helps, and a higher rank usually gives you an advantage. But strength alone doesn’t decide a fight.
An experienced F-rank Player who knows when to move, when to strike, and how to use an opponent’s mistakes can defeat a careless E-rank Player. If you depend entirely on your rank or your skills, someone who understands how to fight will eventually make you regret it."
Max listened with growing interest. It was a lesson he’d learned rather painfully inside the Gate.
The Alpha had been stronger and faster than him, yet understanding its attacks had made the difference between surviving and becoming its next meal.
"So pay attention even when you’re not the one fighting," Hale finished. "Sometimes the mistake you notice in someone else is the same one you’ve been making yourself."
He looked around the group.
"We’re continuing with one-on-one matches. Who hasn’t fought yet?"
Several hands rose, including Max’s.
Hale glanced over the newcomers and pointed toward a stocky boy standing by the weapon rack.
"Daren, you’re up. And you, you with the white hair."
Max stepped forward.
"Name?"
"Max."
"Preferred weapon?"
Max raised his covered gauntlet. "This, usually."
Hale inspected the padding briefly, then nodded. "Good. Take your position."
Daren entered the ring and pulled on a pair of padded gloves. He was broad across the shoulders and moved with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being the stronger person in the room.
"You want a practice sword?" he asked.
"I’m fine like this."
Daren nodded. "All right."
Max took his place opposite Daren. There was a brief stir among the spectators, and Talia moved closer to the edge of the mat to watch.
She’d been curious about Max ever since he’d pointed out the problem with her shield. He’d figured it out just by examining the damage, which showed he had a keen eye for details.
’I wonder if he’s just as observant in a fight,’ she thought, watching him with interest.
Hale raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Daren approached cautiously at first, hands raised and elbows close. He threw a quick jab toward Max’s face, immediately following it with a heavier punch to the body.
Max tilted his head away from the jab and stepped just outside the second punch.
The movement felt almost effortless.
Daren adjusted his stance and came at him again, this time with a sharp kick aimed at his thigh.
Max noticed his weight settle onto the supporting leg before the kick even began. He lifted his knee, letting the attack pass beneath him, and moved back a step.
Daren frowned.
"You’re quick."
Max didn’t answer. If he was being honest, he was only using a fraction of his speed. But he still remained cautious, watching the boy’s shoulders, waiting to see how he’d change his approach.
The next exchange came faster. Daren threw two punches, feinted a third, and tried to catch Max stepping away with a sweeping kick.
It was a sensible combination. The feint would have caught someone who reacted to each attack separately.
Max simply didn’t retreat. He slipped inside the first punch, avoided the second by turning his shoulders, and stepped over the sweep before Daren could finish it.
"OOH!"
Several spectators gasped as Max slipped right into Daren’s guard. They could already tell the match was over. At that distance, the boy couldn’t bring his arms around quickly enough to defend himself.
Max placed his padded gauntlet against Daren’s chest.
"Got you."
Hale’s whistle sounded.
"Point to Max!"
For a moment, Daren remained where he was, looking down at the gauntlet against his chest. Then he stepped back and stared at Max.
"I didn’t even touch you."
Max lowered his hand. He’d been expecting a tougher fight, especially after watching the earlier matches, but Daren’s attacks had seemed almost leisurely compared with the Alpha’s.
"You almost caught me with that sweep," he said.
Daren looked unconvinced.
There were whispers around the ring. Max heard someone ask whether he’d used a movement skill, while another insisted there hadn’t been any mana release at all.
Hale had been watching closely. Rather than calling the next match, he approached Max.
"What rank are you?"
"F-rank."
A few of the students exchanged glances. Hale didn’t look away.
"And where did you learn to fight?"
Max thought of the Razorhound Gate. The first Alpha had nearly killed him, and the second had left him with injuries he wouldn’t have survived without magical treatment afterward.
"Mostly in a Gate," he answered.
"I see."
Hale turned toward the spectators.
"Talia. Bring your shield."
Max glanced across the ring as Talia straightened. She was already reaching for the strap on her arm, and the students nearest her moved aside without a word.
Even Anton, who had been standing near the weapon racks, moved closer to watch.
From their reactions, Max got the impression that Talia was the student to beat in this class.