The Pursuit Of Catalyst: A Dive Into Another Verse

As Professor William Whites exited the hall, a distinct shift in the atmosphere followed. The door swung open again, and in stepped a woman clad in a fitted navy uniform with polished boots that echoed sharply against the marble floor. Her build was athletic, her posture upright, and her stern gaze swept the classroom like a commander surveying her battalion.

"Good morning, first-years," she said, her voice clear and firm. "I am Professor Castra Klint. I serve as the Head of Security at the Imperial Asphalia Academy and will be your instructor for Physical Conditioning and Self-Defense from your first year through to your fourth."

Several students straightened in their seats. Even the more arrogant ones lowered their eyes slightly under her commanding presence.

"You've spent your morning studying theory and magic," she continued. "Now it's time to remind your bodies that they are the vessels for your mana. Follow me."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched out. The class quickly gathered and followed her through the corridors and out to the expansive west training grounds.

"Form into pairs," she commanded. "You'll engage in a light spar—no injuries allowed. Focus on awareness, timing, and restraint. Nobility or not, if you can't defend yourself, you're a liability."

Prince Elas tapped Sylves on the shoulder. "Let's pair up."

Sylves gave a nod.

Ashia, uncertain, looked around. Serena stepped beside her. "Partners?"

Ashia nodded, managing a smile.

"All right," Castra called. "First round. Begin!"

Ashia moved fast, surprising Serena with a sweeping leg feint. Serena countered with a flash of light, but Ashia dodged and slid under, nearly unbalancing her.

"Not bad," Serena said, throwing a pulse of light toward Ashia's feet.

Ashia dodged again, but Serena stepped forward and gently tapped her shoulder—magic sparking between her fingers.

"Point!" Castra announced. "Winner: Serena Lawrance."

Ashia stood, smiling despite the loss.

"You're good," Serena said, helping her up.

"You're better," Ashia replied. "But I'll catch up."

The girls grinned, already stronger for the clash.

Many pairs had sparred on the field, exchanging blows and laughter, fatigue and sweat. Some duels were clumsy, others surprisingly skilled. Professor Castra observed them all with the same steel-eyed scrutiny, offering corrections, praise, and the occasional sharp whistle when someone got too careless.

At last, as the sun began to climb toward its peak, only one match remained.

"All right," Castra announced, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Final duel. Sylves Ellesmere and Prince Elas Asphalia—step forward."

The murmuring around the field ceased almost instantly.

All eyes turned to the two boys, standing still among the crowd. Slowly, Sylves walked to the center of the field, the breeze gently rustling his silver-blonde hair, violet eyes calm and unreadable. A second later, Prince Elas followed—tall, golden-haired, with the confident bearing only royalty could wear so effortlessly.

They stopped a few paces apart. Neither spoke.

Ashia and Serena watched from the sidelines, tension growing in their chests. Even the upper-year students had turned to observe, intrigued by the duel between the heir of a powerful duke and the crown prince himself.

Castra's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "No magic. Just a physical spar. Show me discipline, not chaos. Begin on my mark."

The two boys nodded in unison.

They lowered their stances. Feet slid into position. Hands rose—not like brawlers, but like trained martial artists. The air around them shifted—charged, expectant, as if even the wind dared not move too loudly.

Castra raised her hand.

And then she brought it down.

"Begin!"

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The moment Castra's hand fell and the command rang out, both boys surged forward.

Elas struck first, his movement fluid and decisive, throwing a rapid jab aimed at Sylves's collarbone. Sylves leaned back just enough to let the fist pass by his cheek and countered with a low sweep kick. Elas leapt over it with ease, landing lightly and spinning on his heel to redirect the momentum into a sweeping elbow.

Sylves blocked it with his forearm, the force sending a shudder up his arm, but he didn't flinch. Their opening exchange was clean—precise footwork, calculated strikes, and not a single wasted motion.

A quiet murmur rolled through the watching crowd.

Ashia's hands clenched near her chest, eyes locked on the silver-haired boy she served. Beside her, Serena whispered, "They're both incredible…"

Elas grinned as he stepped back, bouncing slightly on his feet. "You're quick, Sylves."

Sylves smirked. "You're not bad either… for a prince."

Elas chuckled, then charged again—this time feinting left and snapping a kick toward Sylves's ribs. Sylves caught it with both hands, twisted sharply, and forced Elas into a pivot. The prince managed to turn the motion into a roll, springing up with a spin and narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike from Sylves.

"Impressive," Castra muttered under her breath, arms crossed.

The two clashed again. Fists, knees, elbows—each strike delivered with measured force, neither one holding back but neither aiming to injure. The duel had become a dance—swift and elegant, yet brimming with tension.

Elas tried a bold maneuver—faking a stagger, he dropped low and attempted to sweep Sylves's legs out from under him. But Sylves had seen through it. As Elas swept, Sylves jumped, twisting midair and landing behind the prince in a blink.

A clean move.

Elas turned—just in time for Sylves to catch him off-guard with a palm strike to the chest, followed by a fast shoulder push that forced him backward.

The prince stumbled, heels skidding on the grass. Before he could recover, Sylves closed the gap.

With a fluid movement, Sylves caught Elas's wrist, pivoted, and used his momentum to throw him over his shoulder—a perfect hip toss.

Elas hit the ground with a thud, breath knocked from his lungs.

Castra's hand raised instantly. "Match over. Winner—Sylves Ellesmere!"

A wave of cheers broke out, mixed with stunned gasps. Even some of the older students were clapping.

Sylves stepped back, offered a hand to the fallen prince. Elas blinked, then laughed as he took it. "You threw me like I was a sack of potatoes."

Sylves smiled. "You're heavier than you look."

"You're stronger than you look," Elas replied, grinning as he was pulled up.

Professor Castra nodded approvingly. "Well done. That is the level of discipline and skill I expect from Asphalia's elite. Class dismissed."

As the students dispersed, whispers filled the air again—but now they carried a different tone.

"He beat the prince…"

"He didn't even use magic…"

"Is this the power of the Ellesmere heir?"

Ashia rushed to Sylves's side, her eyes bright with pride. "You were amazing, Master!"

Sylves simply gave a small shrug, brushing grass from his shoulder. "It was just a spar."

Elas clapped him on the back. "Just a spar, huh? Well, now I definitely want you on my team when the real battles begin."

Sylves chuckled but I'm his mind he knew "Thank goodness this is my second life... I wouldn't have lacked enough experience and intelligence if this had been my first life... Oh damn, this Prince really is a 'prodigy'.

The duel had ended—but the mark it left in the minds of their peers had just begun to take root. And for Sylves Ellesmere, it was just another step toward the path he had been reborn to walk.

The path of the Catalyst Sovereign.

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