CHAPTER 60: AN EXCUSE TO USE IT [2]

Chapter 60: An Excuse to Use it [2]

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The silence in the training hall was so thick you could almost feel it. Then, like a crack of thunder, the first strike fell.

Nathan launched himself forward with no hesitation, no testing of the waters, no measured exchange of courtesy strikes. His greatsword— a wooden replica in shape only— came crashing down from over his shoulder with a sound that split the air. The force of the blow sent a rush of displaced wind racing outward. Arios didn’t block it. He sidestepped, his boots scraping against the stone floor, his body twisting just enough to let the blade whistle past his ear. The ground where he’d been standing quaked as Nathan’s sword struck, splintering stone tiles and leaving a jagged, foot-deep crater.

A wave of gasps ripped through the crowd.

"Did you see that?!" a student shouted from behind.

"He cracked the floor!" One exclaimed.

"No way Pureheart lasts against that kind of power!"

Nathan grinned. "Too slow, noble. I’ll break you before you can even blink." His weapon rose again, sweeping across in a wide, horizontal arc. Arios bent low, his body folding like a reed in the wind, the sword swinging inches over his head. He felt the air split, as it was hot against his ear. His blade flicked upward defensively, not to counter but to guide the momentum past him. The clash of wood against wood sparked with mana discharge, tiny blue motes scattering into the air before fading.

He’s faster than I expected... no, not faster. But reckless. Arios’s mind raced. Each strike is raw power, not a single refinement. But if I misjudge even once, that’s it. One hit and I’m out of the match, or worse.

Nathan pressed the advantage, his next strike already descending. Arios performed another parry, followed by another sidestep. Arios’s movements were clean, efficient, his seven winged physiques agility gave him to swift edge against Nathan. But Nathan was relentless. Each attack came faster than the last.

From the stands, the nobles shifted uncomfortably where they stood. Their voices rang sharp, almost defensive, almost desperate.

"He’s just flailing!"

"Power without form means nothing!" One countered.

"Yes, but look at Pureheart! He’s only running! He hasn’t even thrown a strike!"

The commoners laughed, clapping one another on the shoulders.

"Go on, Nathan! Crush him!"

"That’s what real strength looks like!"

"Dodge all you want, Pureheart! You can’t run forever!"

Nathan had truly turned this into a noble vs. commoner facade. His raw, powerful strikes were a testament to his unrefined upbringing. Unlike most of the academy’s students, Nathan had to learn the art of the sword on his own—no private tutors, no fancy exclusive training halls, just the passing days and nights spent with a rusted sword he found on his way home.

Nathan heard them, as he was cheered. His grin widened as he slammed his weapon down with another ear-splitting crash. The sheer joy of being the crowd’s champion burned in his veins, fueling his attacks.

He’s finally gone berserk, Arios thought.

"You hear that?" he said. "They’re not cheering for you. They never will. Because deep down, they know the truth— you’re soft. You were born with a silver spoon and you think it makes you strong."

Arios darted left, his mind focused, his body moving almost on instinct. He narrowly escaped a sweeping cut that carved a trench across the floor. His wooden blade came up instinctively, deflecting the follow-up strike. The vibration rattled his bones, numbing his arms from the sheer force of the impact. His lips parted just slightly as he exhaled. He was calm on the outside, but within, a series of calculation were worked on, his mind working through every possible variable.

I can’t block him head-on. Not yet. His strength, even with my seven winged physique, looks leagues above mine. The thought was a cold, hard fact. If I try to meet force with force, it would be irrational. I have to rely on speed, on precision. But for how long? I can’t keep this up forever. He’ll wear me down.

Nathan lunged again. Arios sidestepped again, his blade flashing to intercept at just the right moment, redirecting the strike downward. He pivoted on his heel, twisting away before the counterblow could come. Sweat beaded at his brow, not from exhaustion but from the strain of maintaining perfection. Every move had to be flawless. A single mistake meant something totally different.

The judges, seated in their elevated box, murmured amongst themselves. Professor Vaelian’s sharp eyes tracked every detail, but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on them. Instructor Bale leaned closer, whispering, "Pureheart’s technique is refined, yes, but he’s only delaying the inevitable. The boy’s stamina won’t last under that kind of pressure."

Vaelian’s gaze didn’t waver. "Perhaps. But look closer."

His attacks are hitting, once he notices I can dodge them all, he’ll definitely adapt. He’ll learn. And when he does... Arios thought.

A flash of a swing. Too close as Arios jerked backward, the tip of Nathan’s sword grazing across his uniform, gazing the fabric just above his ribs. The sound was a loud, tearing rip, a crack of wood on stone as Nathan’s strike buried itself in the stage.

The crowd erupted.

"He almost had him!"

"One more strike and Pureheart’s done!"

"Keep running, noble! Show us how much your pride weighs!"

Nathan’s chest rose and fell, his smirk unbroken. He was enjoying this. Every gasp, every jeer, every flinch from his opponent was fuel for the fire raging in him.

"Come on, Pureheart!" Nathan barked. His next strike came down with such force that Arios was forced to roll away, his blade clattering against the stone to steady his balance. "Stop hiding behind that footwork! Fight me like a man!"

Arios rose to his feet, blade raised. His breath was calm, but his pulse thundered in his ears.

Arios’ plan was simple: exhaust Nathan as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to go strike for strike against him. Nathan’s strength was slightly above Arios’s seven-winged physique, which would make going all-in on strength pointless for Arios. He wanted a decisive victory, not a prolonged brawl.

Nathan’s laughter cut across the arena. "Look at you, drenched in sweat already! All that fancy noble training and this is all you’ve got?" He stepped forward, his blade dragging across the floor with a harsh screech. "I’ll break that calm mask of yours. I’ll show them all you’re nothing but a fraud."

Arios steadied himself, forcing his breathing into rhythm. Not yet. I should Hold steady. Let him keep thinking I’m on the defensive. If I can drag this out, I can find my opening.

But Nathan didn’t give him time to think. His blade crashed again and again, a brutal flow of destruction. Arios’ arms slightly started to throb under the strain of blocking and redirecting, his legs beginning to burn as he darted across the floor, never in one place for more than a second.

The noise of the crowd blurred into a wall of sound— cheers, jeers, gasps, laughter. None of it mattered. Only the blade before him, the strikes that threatened to end the duel in an instant.

Another crash, then another sidestep that was quickly followed by another parry.

Until finally—

Nathan’s sword connected.

Arios’ guard slipped by a fraction of a second. The strike caught his side, the blunt force slamming into his ribs like a battering ram. Pain lanced through his body. He staggered back, coughing as air burst from his lungs. His boots skidded across the stone floor until he dropped to one knee, blade trembling in his grip.

The hall erupted, as the commoners within class 1-D cheered further.

"He landed it!"

"Pureheart’s finished!"

"Come on, Nathan! End it!"

Nathan leveled his sword at him, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I told you, noble. You can’t hide behind your agility forever. And once I strip that away, what’s left?"

Arios forced himself to rise, his chest heaving. His blade lifted once more, his grip unyielding despite the fire in his side.

It feels like I’m creating an excuse for myself to use it. Flash step.

The duel wasn’t over. But the tide was shifting.