The Extra's Rebellion
Chapter 53: hunt

Chapter 53: hunt

She moved and instead of moving backwards like he always do, he moved forward halting her in the midst of her attack.

Clang!

He caught it. Perfect parry. His arm vibrated from the force, but he was already countering with a rising elbow aimed at her ribs. She twisted midair—how?—and landed like a feather just behind him.

’How’. Not at what Lunethra did but how his body seems to be free, the previous shackles of fear rolling down the drain.

He pivoted, slashing low. She blocked, and the air cracked with the force of their clash.

For six seconds, they were motion incarnate—strike, block, feint, sweep. Zephyr’s form constantly being tossed around.

He moved a few meters due to the power behind Lunethra’s attack, only his left hand blurred as it moved to counter-attack and counter all the attack delivered by Lunethra.

The only reason he could barely keep up with her was due to his spatial sence. Space screamed at him moments before she attack, that was the only reason he could keep up.

He also realized something when the fight was going on, the ant back at the exam really did hold back against him. Back then space whisperes but right now it screamed at him, begging him to move or suffer.

But Lunethra on the other hand didn’t move like a student.

She moved like a phantom.

Each of Zephyr’s attacks was met, turned aside, or punished. She was faster. Stronger. When he went for a knee strike, she dodged and retaliated with a flat strike to his ribs that made him stumble.

"Point," Mr. Fisher called, but neither of them stopped.

Zephyr gritted his teeth. ’Damn it just stay still.’

He surged forward, footwork a blur to a normal human but not to that individuals present in the class, he dashed forward unleashing a barrage of perfectly angled attacks—high, mid, low, reverse feint, inside elbow, spin-slash.

Lunethra blocked all of it.

Her eyes never even blinked.

Then, her dagger moved. Once.

Zephyr barely caught the downward arc. The power behind it forced him a step back. She pressed in, and he could feel her intent now—not to win, but to crush. To dominate.

He parried a second time, twisted his body to absorb the shock, and lashed out with a knee. She caught it with a shin and punished him with a hook of her elbow across his jaw. It was pulled—barely—but it still rang his head like a bell.

"Point."

Zephyr’s breath came sharp and heavy. His stance was still solid, but sweat ran down his temple.

Lunethra hadn’t moved from her spot. Her dagger gleamed, untouched. Her breathing was controlled.

’Damn it am so full of injuries’. Zephyr thought as he was circling her. ’But what’s with my combat though’. The level of his combat was surprising to him, the way he moved, the way he counter attack and how he countered all her attacks. Although he was bleeding it was light, more like scratches that drew blood with a few exceptions.

Lunethra on the other hand didn’t turn to follow his movement as he circled her, she just stood there staring into space.

The final round began without warning.

Zephyr leapt in this time, trying to break rhythm—dagger reversed again, movement unpredictable. He faked an overhead swing and shifted his weight, slipping inside her guard—

But she spun, just slightly, redirecting him off-course, and slammed the butt of her dagger into his chest, the power behind her attack definitely increased.

His feet left the ground. He landed hard.

Pain bloomed across his ribs, but he rolled up in an instant, crouched like a predator, dagger low.

And yet—she hadn’t followed through. She stood still, letting the match end with the point.

"Final point. Match goes to Lunethra," Mr. Fisher called.

Silence fell over the students. They all had a single collective thought. "He survived combat against Lunethra with light injuries

Zephyr rose slowly, brushing the dust from his sleeve.

"That’s the end of today, see you all tomorrow". Mr. Fisher voomed away.

The class began to stir. The tension that had gripped everyone finally gave way to soft murmurs and glances, but one expression dominanted— hatred. But who could blame them, he did try to rape the beloved princess.

Zephyr exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. His muscles ached. His ribs throbbed. But more than anything, he felt... alive.

Alive and still standing.

He didn’t wait for praise or pity. As the rest of the students filed out—some stealing glances at him, others whispering behind hands—Zephyr moved in the opposite direction, heading straight for the medical booth, he was happy when he realized that they had a booth managed by an AI.

"Disinfectant. Cotton wool. Bandages," he muttered.

The AI nurse whirred to life and dispensed the items without comment. He sat down on the metal bench nearby, peeled back the sleeve of his uniform, and hissed softly as the disinfectant met open skin. Scratches, shallow cuts, bruises forming under the surface.

But nothing broken.

Light injuries.

He almost chuckled. Against her.

Zephyr wrapped the last bandage around his wrist, clenched it once to test the pressure, then stood. His reflection flickered briefly on the glass panel beside him—eyes still sharp, jaw bruised, posture squared. He stared at himself for a moment.

Then turned and left.

By the time he reached the dorm, the air was already buzzing with talk. His classmates were gearing up, strapping on weapons, tightening gloves. The hunting session was beginning soon.

As he entered another Waze of murmuring filled the room but Zephyr ignored them.

He walked past the hushed crowd toward the back of the room where his weapon lay.

His scythe, he gripped it. Felt the familiar weight settle into his hand. Heavy, grounding. Real.

Without a word, Zephyr turned and walked back through the dorm entrance, brushing past the others who were still gearing up.

The doors hissed open.

The outside air hit his face—cool, clean, tinted with the promise of blood and motion.

Zephyr’s figure grew smaller as he crossed the courtyard, scythe slung over one shoulder, bandages still fresh.

And then he vanished into the trees, heading toward the forest.

To hunt for the sake of his grumbling stomach.