Chapter 69. Bare-knuckle
Succubi Chapter 69. Bare-knuckle
The Valor guy—still no name, still full drama—marched ahead of me like he was about to enter the freaking Colosseum. We exited through the courtyard arch, cut across the central gardens, and ended up in one of the open sparring fields used for house trials and skill checks.
Wide space. Flattened earth. Warding sigils already glowing faint on the borders to absorb impact and cancel dangerous magic flares. Nothing but open air and baked dirt surrounded us, the sun slanting high and hot overhead, catching the sweat already gathering on the back of my neck.
I exhaled slowly.
Behind me, I heard the sound of quick steps. I glanced back.
Evelyn and Leon were following—of course.
Leon plopped down on the audience benches, arms crossed over his chest. “If this ends with someone getting tackled into a tree, I called it.”
Evelyn didn’t say anything. She sat down next to him, expression calm, but her fingers hovered lightly over her pouch. I wouldn’t be surprised if she already had a healing potion prepped—just in case.
The Valor guy finally stopped in the middle of the ring and turned to face me.
His jaw clenched. “I’ve heard about you.”
I blinked. “Wow. Cool. Usually people open with a name, but—”
“You’re the one the system registered as compatible with all four houses, right?” he cut in, voice tight. “Arcana. Valor. Titan. Saint. All of them.”
I stared at him for a second. “Yeeep. That’s me. Mr. Overqualified and apparently doomed.”
“You fought Ares.”
“Yup. I didn't kick his ass though,” I shrugged.
He stepped closer, eyes sharp. “Then let’s keep it simple. No magic. No skills. No weapons. Just fists.”
I blinked again. “You’re asking for a bare-knuckle duel?”
“That’s right.”
“…Why?”
He didn’t answer.
I looked around. “Okay. But what about permission? You do realize we’re still under campus grounds, and technically this counts as an unofficial match?”
“My friend’s getting it,” he muttered.
Right on cue, a second Valor student appeared from the far gate, jogging lightly—messy black hair, serious eyes, that whole brooding-but-polished thing.
And walking right next to him—half asleep, completely relaxed—was Sera.
She looked like she had just woken up from the world's coziest nap. Still tying her hair into a lazy bun. Still yawning. Still adorable in that sleepy, dangerous way that somehow made her look like a soft mage pillow and a war goddess.
And the moment her eyes landed on me, she perked up.
“Oh! Evan~!” she waved cheerfully, eyes lighting up with zero understanding of how complicated her smile just made things.
‘I’m doomed…’
I raised a hand awkwardly. Gave her a small, polite wave.
Just that. One wave.
And I could feel it.
Like a solar flare of pure murder.
The Valor guy across from me was absolutely burning.
Not figuratively. I mean—his mana flared slightly. Rage-colored. Controlled only by the thinnest, fraying thread of discipline.
I didn’t even look at him. Just kept my eyes on Sera as I thought, ‘He is burning…’
Then I glanced at the guy standing next to her.
The one who brought her here.
Who was also not smiling.
His expression wasn’t as furious. Just cold. Stiff. Judgy.
And I recognized him.
The same guy who gave Sera lunch during break yesterday.
I held in a cringe so deep my lungs twitched.
“Please,” I muttered under my breath, “don’t tell me they’re all Sera’s fans…”
I wanted to say more.
But honestly? It made sense.
Sera was sweet. Talented. Friendly. Attractive. She radiated that kind of “I’m not trying to ruin your life but I accidentally made you fall in love” energy. She was the kind of girl people would gladly fight over without ever being asked to. Not to mention… She was a Saint and a succubus. Perfect combination.
“Now,” the Valor senior snapped. “Focus yourself on me.”
I sighed. “Fine. What are the rules?”
He crossed his arms. “No weapons. No spells. No skills. Only physical attacks.”
Leon squinted from the bleachers. “Bro, you know we have class in fifteen minutes, right? Going to class with bruises is gonna look real dumb.”
The guy didn’t even flinch.
“First man to fall,” he said coldly, “or first to touch the ground with their hands—loses.”
I let out a short breath.
“So. Brute force only,” I said, cracking my neck once, then my knuckles. “Been a long time since I dueled just with my hands.”
I stepped into the ring.
Felt the tension settle around me like static. The air itself shifted. Not heavy, just... alert. Like the whole field was holding its breath.
The audience wasn’t huge—just a few curious students passing by who noticed Sera standing near the edge and assumed something juicy was happening. Which, to be fair, it was.
I stood straight. Relaxed. Feet shoulder-width apart.
“Ready?” he asked.
I smirked. “After you.”
The moment the words left my mouth—
He charged.
And I grinned.
Because now?
It was on.
He moved first—straight, no flair, no hesitation.
A Valor-trained charge. Sharp. Controlled. A blitz I'd expect from someone who spent years perfecting their forward momentum. His stride was long, posture low, center of gravity tight. This wasn’t just angry-boy-lunging-at-the-rival move. This was practiced. Clean.
His right leg shifted at the last second—feint.
I caught it. Duck low, arms up. He pivoted fast and went for a left hook instead. I leaned back, let the punch sweep air in front of my nose, close enough to smell the mana residue in his sweat. Not casting, but his body was so used to channeling magic through physical flow it was like his muscles hadn’t gotten the memo that this was fists-only.
I twisted out of his range and exhaled slow.
‘Alright… Not bad.’
He didn’t pause. Another step. This time a spinning back-kick aimed at my ribs. I caught the intent in his hip before the leg even lifted. Dropped low. Let it whistle past my head and stepped into his blind spot as he landed.
Tried a fast jab toward his lower back. Just to test his reflexes.
He twisted, blocked with his elbow. That wasn’t normal reflex. That was training. Painful, repetitive training.
He grinned now too. Just a flash. One side of his mouth.
No words. Just the fight.
Good.
That was better than drama. Better than Ares.
He lashed forward again, fists up in a Valor stance—tight elbows, open palms ready to switch into elbow strikes or blocks on the fly.
He threw a quick combination.
Jab-jab-cross-kick.
I caught the rhythm on the second punch, stepped sideways on the third. His foot flew past my thigh and I smacked it down with my palm—not enough to hurt, but enough to say ‘I saw that coming’.
“Is that all?” I asked casually, sliding into my stance.
Feet angled. Hands loose.
My style wasn’t flashy. It was reactive. Precise. The kind of combat that let my opponent give away the answers before my ever asked the question.
His eyes narrowed.
And then he got serious.
He closed the distance.
This time, he didn’t go for wide moves. He got personal. In-fighting. Elbows. Knees. Shoulder thrusts. The type of Valor combat made for breaking lines in a skirmish. Designed to beat people like me before we could cast.
I let him.
At first.
Let him think he had rhythm. Let him hit air just close enough to feel confident.
My heart was steady. Not fast.
This was instinct.
One of his strikes grazed my jaw—a sharp elbow. Not enough to rattle me, but enough to make me blink.
Okay. Fair hit.
He smirked. Thought he had momentum.
I gave him one second of that illusion.
Then I stepped in.
Ducked under the next blow, rolled my shoulder, and planted a punch into his side—not hard, but accurate. A direct hit under his rib. He grunted. Stepped back.
“Surprised?” I asked.
Author note:
If you want to support me and read advanced tier visit My Patreon-page
Join my discord server for more images.
Like it? Add it to your collection XD
Don't forget to vote~