Descendants of the Lost Heroes: Journey in Another World

The two groups faced each other, tension crackling in the air between them. Alex's transformed eyes locked with Derek's in a fierce death stare, neither willing to break contact first. Derek met Alex's challenge with arrogant indifference, his ego radiating through his posture as he silently invited confrontation with a smug smile.

Letting go of his gaze Alex turns to watch the next matches. Leaned against the dojo wall, his transformed eyes tracking each fight with laser focus. A pattern emerged with brutal clarity - whenever nobles faced commoners, the outcome seemed predetermined. The nobles' victories piled up like fallen leaves in autumn, broken only by Randy and Han's surprising triumphs.

Emma's command over nature magic and Leon's masterful thread manipulation had set a high bar, yet the following matches proved far less spectacular. Most students relied heavily on mana reinforcement, their bloodline abilities manifesting as mere enhancements to basic combat techniques. The real divide showed in how nobles wielded their inherited powers with practiced ease, while commoners struggled to harness their newly awakened abilities.

"Victor Tempestus versus Jun Lee," Professor Bain announced, his voice carrying across the dojo.

Stepping forward from the crowd of nobles, Victor makes his way to the center. As one of the top ten students in the class, he holds his pride high, walking with mighty purpose. He stands before Jun, who cowers in fear.

Victor smiles at Jun, a predatory look crossing his features. This is how it should be - a commoner trembling before nobility, like the servants in his family's household. They should relish in the nobles' presence; be fearful of the power they hold. The thought invigorates Victor, lightning sparking between his fingers as he prepares for the fight.

The fight ended swiftly - Victor's lightning magic overwhelming Jun's basic mana reinforcement with devastating efficiency. The noble's victory drew expected cheers from his peers, while the commoner students shifted uncomfortably, another loss added to their mounting tally.

'Eight matches between nobles and commoners,' Alex calculated silently. 'Only Randy and Han managed victories.' His fingers drummed against his leg as he analyzed each fight, cataloging techniques and strategies. The nobles' superior training showed clearly - years of private tutoring and family techniques giving them an overwhelming advantage against self-taught commoners.

Victor standing over Jun's crumpled form, sneering down at the defeated student. "Pathetic. I don't understand why commoners are even allowed in the same class as us. Makes absolutely no sense." His lip curls in disgust. "You should be grateful Merlin even gives you the time of day at this Academy."

Walking back toward the noble section, he addresses his peers with smug satisfaction. "That's how it should be handled - clean and efficient." His gaze fixes on Derek. "Don't get overconfident just because you won a hard-fought battle. Unless you want Sherman to chop that swollen head off your shoulders." Victor's dark chuckle echoes as he rejoins his group, leaving Derek to glare at his back with barely contained fury.

Alex observes the heated exchange between Victor and Derek with quiet interest. 'Strange how they maintain their own hierarchy,' he muses, studying the complex power dynamics within the Zenith Order. Their internal struggles reflect a strict totem pole of authority and influence, each member jockeying for position.

He feels grateful for his simpler role at the Arcane Library, where his duties focus on organizing shelves and maintaining meticulous records. Though basic, this position grants him crucial access - a strategic foot in the door for his deeper ambitions.

However, before Alex can further contemplate the intricacies of noble politics, Professor Bain's voice slices through the arena: "Alex and Marcus."

As Alex walks forward, his transformed eyes take in every detail of his opponent. Marcus stands like a mountain made flesh - his frame nearly matching Max's imposing height but carrying a different kind of presence entirely. Where Max's enhanced body speaks of raw power, Marcus's build suggests calculated strength, each muscle honed through years of deliberate training rather than bloodline enhancement.

His chiseled jawline and jet-black hair, cropped short in militant spikes, frame features that could have been carved from marble. A thin scar traces his left temple, barely visible but hinting at battles already fought and won. The pristine white of his Ferrothorn house uniform, adorned with metallic trim that seems to ripple with contained power, only emphasizes his warrior's physique.

But it's his bearing that truly commands attention. Marcus carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who has never needed to prove his strength - it simply radiates from him like heat from a forge. Each step he takes resonates with purpose, as if the very ground recognizes his authority. The air around him seems to thicken with an almost tangible pressure, like the calm before a storm.

Their eyes meet across the shrinking distance, and Alex feels the weight of generations of noble breeding and combat expertise bearing down on him. Yet beneath Marcus's controlled exterior, something flickers in his gaze - a spark of genuine interest, perhaps even excitement, at facing someone who meets his stare without flinching.

"Begin!" Professor Bain announces, his arm slicing downward through the air.

Alex instantly reinforces his body with mana, his transformed eyes analyzing Marcus's stance. 'His guard is perfect - no obvious openings,' Alex notes, but launches forward anyway with a direct punch. Though Marcus reinforces his own frame, meeting the attack with practiced ease, his deflection carries a warrior's grace that speaks of countless hours of training.

Marcus's counter-elbow cuts through the air with deadly precision. 'Too fast!' Alex's mind screams as he barely manages to weave away, his smaller frame proving advantageous. The displacement of air from the strike brushes his cheek, a chilling reminder of the gap between their abilities.

Dancing around his larger opponent, Alex applies everything he's learned. Each movement draws from his sessions with Stella - her lessons about footwork and timing flowing through his muscle memory. The instructor's voice echoes in his mind, guiding his strikes: 'Create angles, never attack head-on against a superior opponent.'

Yet despite his tactical approach, Alex quickly realizes the brutal truth. For every strike he attempts, Marcus has three possible counters. When he tries to circle left, Marcus's positioning cuts off his angle. Each time he probes for weakness, Marcus's defense shifts like liquid steel, adapting instantly to any threat.

'It's like fighting a fortress that can move,' Alex thinks, frustration building as another combination fails to penetrate Marcus's guard. Even with proper technique, even applying everything he's learned, the skill gap looms like an insurmountable wall. His attacks, which had proven effective against other students, feel like raindrops against a mountain.

The realization settles in his gut like cold lead - he needs something more. Pure technique won't be enough. Not against someone who's spent their entire life mastering combat. There's only one path forward: his bloodline.

Left with no choice, Alex turns inward, stirring the dormant power of his bloodline. He focuses on transforming the mana reinforcing his body, infusing it with fundamental forces - the crushing weight of gravity, the inexorable pull of space, the very warping of time itself. Each concept flows through his consciousness as he channels them through his nervous system.

Like mapping constellations within himself, Alex traces the mana pathways coursing through his body. He feels it connecting to every nerve ending, threading through each pore of his skin. The power responds to his call, folding over his form like a second skin. It stretches and conforms to his body with supernatural precision, as seamless as a perfectly fitted glove.

The transformation manifests visibly - his usual colorless mana reinforcement deepens into a dark blue-purple hue. Golden specks trail in its wake like stellar debris, dancing through the air with each movement. The very atmosphere around him seems to thicken, heavy with potential.

Marcus's smile widens at this display, predatory anticipation gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, now you're showing your true colors. Let's see what you can really do." His expression sends chills down Alex's spine.

'Freak,' Alex thinks, but steels his resolve. He launches forward, throwing a punch that connects solidly with Marcus's guard. Unlike before, when such strikes were brushed aside effortlessly, this time the impact drives Marcus's defense backward. The noble's eyes widen in surprise - this defies conventional logic. Simple bloodline-enhanced reinforcement shouldn't possess such overwhelming force.

Marcus maintains his defensive stance, carefully measuring each incoming attack. He dodges the most dangerous strikes while blocking lighter ones, but confusion flickers across his features. Even accounting for Alex's enhanced state, the power behind these attacks transcends normal parameters.

After weathering several exchanges, understanding finally dawns in Marcus's eyes. "Ah, now I see it," he declares, having grasped the unique attribute Alex's bloodline imposes.