Miracle at the Arena

"Hope you're all prepared." Harry's wicked grin sent a shiver through the crowd, knowing well the extent of Harry's eccentricity.

"These two lads will face two separate groups. Notice their red-painted weapons. Each strike will leave a mark on their opponent's upper body. The goal is simple – leave marks on all opponents to win. If their opponents manage to leave five marks on them, we'll halt and tally the final count."

"Everyone, come in now!" Harry's loud command resonated, and the opposite door swung open, revealing a massive crowd streaming in.

The entire staff, including the headmaster, stood up in shock, confronted by over fifty masked men.

"Harry, what's the meaning of this?" The headmaster inquired with seriousness.

"Exactly, Harry. What are you trying to do here? These are just 13-year-old kids. Are you trying to kill them or get them beaten up?" Jordan expressed shock.

Harry grinned and addressed the boys loudly for everyone to hear. "Are you two afraid or having any doubts about facing these opponents in front of you?"

Both glanced at the crowd before them. "Al, what do you think? I can take at least 25 of them," William asked Alan with a grin.

"Fine then, leave the remaining ones to me, Wil," Alan shrugged, shocking everyone present.

Their roommates were heavily sweating, and their legs trembled.

"Excellent," Harry beamed at them. "The background check I did was precise after all."

"Listen up. Thirty of you form a group on my left, the rest on my right," Harry instructed the masked men, dividing them into two groups.

"Let me introduce the men whom I have painstakingly persuaded to attend today's sparing session. These are guards with basic fighting skills," Harry announced loudly to everyone with a mischievous grin.

"Prepare yourselves. A bell will ring in a minute, indicating the start of the sparring session. Once a mark is made, that person will be declared defeated and won't attack back again," Harry explained the rules to everyone.

Turning towards the boys with a grin, he saw both grinning back. "Remember, lads, don't strike on the neck or spine. Everything else is fair game. Don't hold back. This is the academy, and if you don't showcase your true potential, you won't garner attention from the masters or receive proper support for your future growth. Let loose today and show them who you really are. But don't use your mana for now," Harry whispered softly, ensuring only the two of them heard his words.

"Williams to the left and Alan to the right. I'll be going to the stands," Harry instructed, making his way toward the stands and standing next to the headmaster.

Stan leaned towards Henry, asking, "They don't seem to be just guards from their stance and weapons?" Harry, still observing the boys, grinned. Stan sighed in defeat, shaking his head, thinking to himself, "I hope you know what you're doing, my friend."

Both boys stretched, swung their weapons, and assumed their positions, as did the men opposite them.

A clear bell rang, and the men rushed forward. The spacious ground that could accommodate over 2000 people, provided ample room for everyone to maneuver their skills.

In a flash, Alan vanished from his spot, appearing in front of the first person, beginning his sword dance.

It was a dance—no other words did justice to his flawless, fluent, and graceful action. The crowd held the edge of their seats, leaning forward with tense anticipation.

On the other side, Williams, a couple of seconds slower than Alan to approach the group, fought with a ferocity that stunned everyone.

The crowd swayed like a pendulum, turning left and right without blinking.

Alan reached the middle of the crowd when Williams marked his tenth sparring person.

The dance and the damage continued for five minutes, with Alan marked the last man and emerged from the group at the other end. He took three deep breaths to calm himself.

Turning, he saw Williams dueling with the last few men. Within the next minute, Williams marked the final person and emerged at the other end of the group. Williams was breathing a bit faster, standing for a few seconds, breathing deeply, then looked at Alan grinning, who wore the exact same expression.

A deathly silence draped the arena, not only capturing the masters but freezing their opponents so utterly that it seemed unbelievable.

Williams' expression shifted as he raised his left forearm, spotting a tiny mark from which a drop of blood trickled down. He looked at Harry, took a deep breath, and shouted, "They were using real weapons! You madman."

Harry burst into laughter, collapsing and rolling on the ground, holding his stomach.

"Al, he's truly crazy." Williams eyed Harry with a touch of fear in his eyes, and even Alan seemed somewhat doubtful.

"Miracle, what a miracle," a familiar voice chimed in from the group of men recently defeated by the boys.