“Man, this ain’t right, this shit feels rigged” Hoyo muttered, leaning back in his seat with a frown. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were fixed on Ludwig, who stood alone in the arena, surrounded by the remnants of his explosive mines. The once-bustling stadium was now quiet, the daytime energy replaced by the calm of night. Torches flickered around the arena, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone floor. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of burnt mana and the distant hum of crickets from the surrounding forest.
“What’s the matter?” Kassandra asked, sitting beside him. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the arena with a mix of admiration and concern. She tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear, her expression thoughtful.
“Ludwig’s been fighting for like two hours now,” Hoyo said, his tone laced with frustration. “And it’s nothing but fodder. None of the second or third years are even willing to fight him. They’re just sitting back, watching him tire himself out.”
Kassandra sighed, her gaze lingering on Ludwig as he stood tall, his scythe resting at his side. “Well, can you blame them? The guy’s a monster. He took down several first years without breaking a sweat, and every time another contender goes up, Ludwig’s minefield only grows bigger and more threatening. Who would want to face that?”
“I know,” Hoyo said, shaking his head. “But the fact that he has to fight one after another, while the rest of the contenders get to sit back, relax, and conserve their energy, is unfair. What if Ludwig makes it all the way to the end, only to lose to someone with full power who hasn’t fought yet? That’s just wrong.”
“That’s the luck of the draw,” Kassandra replied, though her voice lacked conviction. She, too, felt the unfairness of the situation, but there was little she could do. “It could have been anyone in his position. Ludwig just happened to draw the short straw.”
Before Hoyo could respond, Professor Olim’s booming voice echoed across the arena. “MATCH OVER! This clears it! Ludwig, the uncontested and uncontended victor over all the first years! With this match, we will be asking the rest of the competitors to go back to their dorms and rest for the night. Tomorrow’s matches will commence at the same time. Please be here for the finals!”
The announcement was met with a mix of relief and applause. The crowd, though exhausted from hours of watching, couldn’t help but marvel at Ludwig’s endurance. He had been in the thick of it since morning, fighting nonstop while they had merely sat and watched. The contrast was stark, and it only added to the growing legend of Ludwig the Undead.
“Does he even get tired,” One of the students next to Hoyo asked.
“It’s like watching a monster fight,” another laughed out loud.
More students began to chime in on how Ludwig’s insurance was incredible, almost unnatural.
Ludwig, for his part, finally allowed himself to sit down in the arena, his skeletal frame slumping slightly as if to mimic exhaustion. The crowd, sensing his fatigue, began to clap. It started with a single, hesitant clap, but soon it cascaded into a wave of cheers and applause.
“UNDEAD LUDWIG!” someone shouted, their voice cutting through the noise.
“UNDEAD LUDWIG!” another joined in, and soon the chant spread like wildfire.
Ludwig’s hollow eye sockets widened slightly, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his skeletal face. The title had started as a joke among his peers, a jab at his seemingly endless stamina and resistance to pain. But now, it had taken on a life of its own, a badge of honor that no one realized was far more literal than they could have imagined. Only his master, Van Dijk, and Joana knew the truth—that Ludwig was, in fact, an undead.
Despite his discomfort, Ludwig knew he had to humor the crowd. He raised his scythe high, the weapon gleaming in the torchlight, and the arena erupted into cheers once more.
***
“Yo, dude,” Hoyo said, slinging an arm around Ludwig’s shoulders as they walked onto the arena. “That was freaking awesome, man!” His grin was wide, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes as he looked at Ludwig. “You okay? You look… well, rugged.”
“Thanks, appreciate it,” Ludwig replied, his voice dry but warm. “I need to take a shower. I stink.”
Hoyo laughed, wrinkling his nose. “For all that hard work you did today, I’d be surprised if you didn’t stink. You must have been sweating buckets out there.”
Kassandra, who had been walking quietly beside them, suddenly piped up. “Funny enough, I don’t think you smell that bad,” she said, her tone casual but her cheeks tinged with pink.
Ludwig’s mind immediately went to the obvious explanation. Of course, I wouldn’t. I don’t have sweat glands. I’m a skeleton. But he kept that thought to himself, instead offering a small shrug.
Hoyo, ever the joker, grinned and nudged Kassandra. “Ah, you know they say that male sweat is composed of pheromones that attract females. It shouldn’t smell that bad for girls.”
Kassandra’s face turned bright red, and she punched Hoyo on the side. “Idiot,” she muttered, turning her attention back to Ludwig. “Tomorrow is going to be even harder,” she said, her voice softening. “You should rest up.”
“When has tomorrow never been harder?” Ludwig replied with a faint smile. “Still, thank you guys for cheering. I saw everything.”
Hoyo jumped in, his enthusiasm undiminished. “That’s what friends are for! But sadly, this friend has to go. I need to get some shut-eye, man. And food. I’m starving.”
“You and your stomach,” Kassandra said, shaking her head with a fond smile.
Before they could continue, a voice interrupted them. “Excuse me.”
The three turned to see Professor Cymoria approaching, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Kid, you’re overworking yourself,” she said, her gaze fixed on Ludwig. “Shouldn’t you swap with your teammate?”
Ludwig frowned. “I can do that?”
“Well, it’s a team tournament,” Cymoria explained. “Each team can send one of their members to fight. Only when the entire team is eliminated is it considered a loss. But since you’ve been taking out everyone single-handedly, you probably haven’t even gotten a chance to rest yet.”
“She’s right,” Olim chimed in, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. No one had even noticed when he arrived. “I’ll need to make the rules clearer tomorrow. You don’t have to do all the fighting yourself. It’s been fun watching you, but you’re only human. You need to rest up and recover your mana. Kaela is a strong student, and you’ve been scorning her by not asking for help.”
Ludwig glanced over at Kaela, who was still sitting in the stadium, her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face. She looked annoyed, and Ludwig couldn’t blame her. “I guess I was hogging all the spotlight,” he admitted.
“It’s good to be young,” Olim said, clapping Ludwig on the shoulder. “But make sure you stay healthy. There aren’t many high-quality mages in our academy, and you’re nothing but high-quality material. Share your burdens.”
As Olim walked away, Professor Vastion approached. He gave Ludwig a scornful look, his lips pressed into a thin line, before turning and leaving without a word.
“What’s his deal?” Hoyo asked, his brow furrowed.
“He’s too rigid in his thinking, He believes that noble blood is more sacred than commoner blood.”
“That’s bullshit,” Hoyo said, his voice rising. “Nobles aren’t much—”Hoyo said as he turned to see the speaker, only for his eyes to widen.
“Well, if a former noble says that, I don’t have much to say, Mr. Drak.”
The group turned to see Master Van Dijk standing behind them, his arms crossed and a faint smile on his lips.
Hoyo stiffened, and he took a step back. “Ah, Tower Master,” he said, his voice suddenly nervous. “I’ll have to excuse myself.” With that, he hurried off, leaving Ludwig and Kassandra alone with Van Dijk.
Kassandra, sensing the tension, also made her exit. “I’ll be leaving too. Ludwig, good luck tomorrow. If you need anything, just call me.”
Once they were alone, Van Dijk placed a hand on Ludwig’s head, his expression softening. “You did well,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with pride. “I’m proud of you.”
For the first time in his life, Ludwig heard those words. Not even his birth parents had spoken them. His father had never complimented him; if Ludwig did well, it was expected because he was a Heart. If he failed, he was punished. Ludwig had grown up in a gilded cage of wealth and strictness, where praise was rare and criticism was constant.
Ludwig had been praised before—by teachers, by allies. But that was different. Those were just words, acknowledgments of a job well done.
This? This was something else. Something warm, despite his body’s coldness. Something that shouldn’t have affected him, yet it did.
His fingers curled slightly. A strange ache bloomed in his chest, something phantom-like, as if the heart he had lost long ago still tried to beat just for this moment.
His undead heart—or rather, the lack of one—seemed to ache in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you… master,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
With that, Master Van Dijk moved forward, “Come with me. I’ll need to show you a few things.”
He still had full day of battle to go through tomorrow, and if he was offered advice from his Master, he wasn’t about to say no.
“Yes, Master,” Ludwig replied as he followed behind his Master.