Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?-Chapter 277: Training [1]

Thud!

Alaric hit the padded floor hard, air driven from his lungs.

He rolled instinctively, coming up in a defensive crouch, but Nyra was already there, her hand stopping inches from his throat.

"Dead," she said simply, pulling back.

Alaric let himself collapse onto his back, breathing hard.

Sweat dripped down his face, his shirt soaked through. They'd been at this for over an hour, hand-to-hand combat, no essence techniques, pure skill and physicality.

And Nyra had won. Again.

"You're improving," she said, which was probably the closest thing to praise she ever gave. "Your reaction time is faster."

"Still not fast enough." Alaric pushed himself to sitting, wincing at various bruises forming. "You're holding back and I'm still getting demolished."

"If I wasn't holding back, you'd be unconscious." Nyra moved to retrieve a towel and water flask from the bench against the wall. "But yes. You're getting better."

She knelt beside him, dabbing the sweat from his face with efficient, practiced movements. It should have been awkward, this level of casual intimacy with an attendant, but after weeks of training sessions, it had become routine.

Alaric took the water flask she offered and drank deeply, letting his breathing settle.

"Any leads?" he asked between gulps. "On Elena, the others, anything?"

Nyra's expression was neutral, but he saw the answer before she spoke.

"No. Nothing concrete. I've been monitoring essence signatures across campus, watching for anything unusual. There are... fluctuations sometimes. Wrong feelings in certain areas. But nothing I can track to a source."

"So we're still blind."

"Yes."

Alaric cursed under his breath and set down the flask.

Four weeks of nothing. No progress. No answers. Just endless dead ends and then—

Pain lanced through his lower neck.

Sharp. Intense enough to make him gasp.

His hand shot up, gripping the spot where the mark was. Under his fingers, he could feel it pulsing, hot against his skin.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Why is it hurting now? I didn't even do anything yet!"

"Young master!" Nyra's hands were on his shoulders immediately, steadying him. She pulled down his collar carefully, examining the mark. Her violet eyes narrowed. "It's glowing. Brighter than I've ever seen it."

"That's not helpful..." Alaric gritted his teeth as another wave hit. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know." And she sounded genuinely concerned, which was rare.

The pain peaked, then slowly began to recede. Like whatever had triggered it was passing.

Alaric sagged slightly, still gripping his neck. The mark was still warm, but the burning sensation was fading to a dull throb.

"That was new," he said quietly.

Nyra looked at him and then nodded. "You should rest. Change clothes. Get fresh air."

"Planning on it."

They left the training room. Alaric returned to his quarters, stripped off the sweat-soaked shirt, and changed into clean clothes. The mark had stopped glowing, returning to its usual black against his skin. But it still felt warm. Active in a way it hadn't been before.

What triggered it? What changed?

He didn't have answers.

Frustrated, he left the dormitory and headed outside.

The afternoon air was cool, helping clear his head. He walked aimlessly through the grounds, trying to ignore the lingering discomfort in his neck.

As he passed near the main courtyard, a crowd had gathered around one of the notice boards. Students were talking excitedly, pointing at something newly posted.

Curiosity pulled him closer.

He pushed through to see what had drawn attention.

A large announcement, written in formal script and bearing the Academy's official seal:

"INTER-HOUSE TOURNAMENT ANNOUNCEMENT"

"By decree of the Headmaster and Faculty Council

The Annual Inter-House Tournament will commence one week from today.

All houses will compete in trials of combat, strategy, and essence mastery.

Individual and team events will test students across all years.

Glory. Honor. Resources for the winning house.

Sign-ups begin tomorrow at dawn.

Prove your worth."

Students around him were already strategizing, arguing about who should represent their houses, speculating about matchups.

"Silver Crown has to win, we always do!"

"But Iron Talon's been training specifically for this..."

"Individual combat is where we dominate."

"Team events require coordination we don't—"

Alaric stared at the announcement, his mind already working.

Inter-house tournament. One week.

Perfect timing for something to go wrong.

Because nothing in his life was ever simple. And a large-scale event with hundreds of students gathered, attention divided, security focused on managing the tournament rather than potential threats?

If Elena and whoever she's working for wanted to make a move, this would be the ideal opportunity.

He needed to talk to Nyra.

----

The morning classes buzzed with tournament talk.

Students clustered in hallways before lectures started, arguing strategies, debating which events to enter, sizing up competition from other houses.

The energy was different—sharper, more competitive. Even those who didn't plan to participate were caught up in the atmosphere.

Silver Crown's reputation was on the line. They'd won the tournament more than a decade of running. Anything less than victory would be seen as failure.

By the time Combat Applications class rolled around, the tension had reached a fever pitch.

Professor Mirelle Ashton stood at the front of the training hall, arms crossed. She waited until everyone had assembled, then spoke.

"I assume you've all seen the announcement."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathered students.

"Good. Then I don't need to explain what's at stake." Her eyes swept across them, sharp and assessing.

"The Inter-House Tournament isn't just about glory. It's about proving that Silver Crown maintains its position through merit, not tradition. Every house will be gunning for us specifically. They always do."

She began pacing slowly along the front line of students.

"The tournament consists of three categories: Individual Combat, Team Trials, and Essence Mastery Challenges. Most of you will participate in at least one category. Some of you will compete in multiple."

She stopped, turning to face them fully.

"For the next week, regular curriculum is suspended for combat-focused students. We will be drilling. Hard. You will learn to fight under pressure, to adapt to unexpected opponents, to function when exhausted and injured." Her tone was unforgiving. "If you think your current skill level is sufficient, you're wrong. Every other house is training just as hard. Harder, because they're hungry to take us down."

Professor Ashton gestured to the training hall's various sections. "We'll be running rotations. Sparring matches, tactical scenarios, endurance challenges. You'll face opponents from your own house to sharpen your skills, then face simulated scenarios based on known competitors from other houses."

She pulled out a roster. "First rotation assignments are as follows..."

Names were called. Students moved to their assigned areas.

Alaric found himself paired with Damien Korr again, the same opponent from their first sparring session weeks ago. Damien nodded in acknowledgment, already stretching and preparing.

Around them, other pairings formed.

Professor Ashton's voice cut through the preparation. "Begin when ready. Full contact. Essence techniques permitted. I want to see what you're actually capable of when pushed."

Alaric and Damien squared off in their designated ring.

This time, Damien didn't underestimate him. The moment they started, he came in aggressive, faster, more controlled than their previous match. He'd learned from that loss.

Alaric blocked the opening combination, countered with a quick strike that Damien barely deflected. They traded blows, both testing, neither committing fully yet.

Around them, other matches erupted. The training hall filled with the sounds of combat, impacts, grunts of effort, the crackle of essence techniques being deployed.

Professor Ashton moved between rings, observing, occasionally calling out corrections.

"Creston! Stop telegraphing your wind blasts! Your opponent sees it coming from a mile away!"

...

Alaric tghtened his defense even as he pressed forward.

Damien was good—better than last time—but Alaric had been training with Nyra. The muscle memory of fighting someone far more skilled made Damien's attacks feel almost predictable.

He found an opening.

Static Shock discharged through a palm strike to Damien's shoulder, disrupting his essence flow just long enough.

Alaric swept his legs out from under him. Damien hit the mat hard.

"Yield," Alaric said, lightning crackling as warning.

"Yield," Damien confirmed, breathing hard.

Professor Ashton nodded approvingly. "Better. Both of you. Again. Different approach this time."

They reset and went again. And again. Each match pushing them harder, forcing adaptation, building the kind of combat instincts that only came from repeated pressure.

After the fifth round, Professor Ashton called for rotation. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

New opponents. New challenges.

The training continued for two hours straight. No breaks beyond brief water stops. By the end, everyone was exhausted, bruised, pushed to their limits.

Professor Ashton finally called halt.

"Acceptable start," she said, which from her was practically glowing praise. "Tomorrow we increase intensity. Those entering Individual Combat events will receive specialized training. Team Strategy participants will begin coordination drills. Essence Mastery challengers will work with Professor Aldric."

She dismissed them with a wave.

Students limped out, some supporting each other, all clearly feeling the workout.

Alaric grabbed his things, muscles already protesting. This was going to be a brutal week.

"Alaric."

He turned to see Verelia approaching, looking barely winded despite having fought multiple times.

"Yeah?"

"You're entering Individual Combat."

"Yes."

"Good. So am I." She studied him for a moment. "We should coordinate. If we both advance to later rounds, having trained together will be advantageous."

"Agreed."

"Tomorrow evening. After official training. Private session."

"I'll be there."

She nodded once and left.

Alaric followed more slowly, his mind already working through tournament strategies, potential matchups, what advantages he could leverage.

One week to prepare.

He headed back to his room to rest, recover, and plan.

The tournament was just another game.

And games were what he did best.