CHAPTER 69: BLADE DANCE

Lilith charged with her double blades. She was pulling everything she had. The clash started again.

In the upper balconies, the nobles were all watching the match intently, not even blinking.

"Hmph! So much for being a prodigy. She is going to lose this match for sure," Alek Albrecht blurted out. His son’s defeat still loomed in his mind like a shadow.

But not everyone shared his thoughts. The match was unpredictable. Though she was on the losing side now, it didn’t take much for the tide of battle to change at anytime.

In a corner, Morgan and Zephyr both were watching the match with calm expressions, but intense eyes.

And on the stage?

Whoosh! Whoosh! Zzzz!

The sound of the battle cry roared with full intensity.

Lilith kept slashing with every ounce of energy her body had in store. Her mana flared like a volcano. The intensity was overwhelming.

This time, Rowan felt the pressure for real. He kept parrying, but each impact sent a trembling sensation through his limbs. And it was just the beginning.

Lilith’s attacks kept rising with intensity and power. She wasn’t afraid of losing strength and minor injuries. Healing magic would fix it in no time.

With both swords in motion, her body moved in rhythm. She wasn’t just slashing—her movements resembled a dance. A rhythm so precise and fluid, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Rowan to block.

The audience were watching with awe in their eyes. It felt so artistic. So sophisticated.

But up in the balcony, Morgan’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

This sword style... it was called Blade Dance.

Normally, in sword fights, to parry and attack, a sword master relied not only on speed—but on one more thing: prediction. Not fortune-telling, but a near-instant calculation. Based on an opponent’s rhythm, attack habits, strength, weaknesses, and even the subtle change in the air before a limb moved, a skilled fighter could predict the next strike.

It wasn’t a long foresight—maybe not even a second ahead. Just a fraction of a moment. Equal to a blink. But that blink was enough to change the course of battle.

The more advanced one’s sword skill was, the more immersed they became in it. The deeper their predictions ran.

But this Blade Dance technique... it was different. It was the rarest of all.

No matter how skilled a master was, they couldn’t simply deflect its slashes by prediction. Only someone trained in the same technique could parry its full rhythm.

It normally took fifteen to twenty years for even a talented swordsman to learn.

And yet—here it was. Lilith was applying it.

"From where did she pick it up? None in her family is a swordsman. Right? Then how come! Was it just an instinct? Or the Starwind couple had her trained under a swordsman? But still. Even if she started training from her mother’s womb, learning that skill in 12 years is impossible." Questions buzzed in Morgan’s mind. But he couldn’t come up with any satisfying answer.

She was only 12 years old. But her movements were already so precise. They weren’t perfect, not yet—but they were enough to break the balance.

And that’s exactly what happened next.

⸻

On the stage—

Rowan continued parrying, but Lilith’s attacks continued growing more intense and becoming so unpredictable that the tide of the battle had already shifted. Both were now giving their best.

The arena thundered with roars and cheers. And among the chaos and constant clanging—a hit landed squarely on Rowan’s lats. He was blown in the same direction as the slash. He didn’t crash into the ground, but he was sent flying at least twenty meters.

Before he could even react, Lilith was already there.

Her palms slammed into his chest with a compressed air bomb—and he flew like a ragdoll again.

Lilith didn’t want to give Rowan a second to breathe. She knew exactly how capable he was.

So she charged again.

The audience’s mouths dropped open. The air that had been filled with cheers and betting commentary fell silent all at once.

In the upper balcony, Logan followed every movement with sharp eyes, like he was mind-mapping. Analyzing every attack, calculating its counter. Lilith’s dance like movement was so captivating that Logan was staring at her with awe in his eyes. He was also a sword master in his previous life. So he could tell Lilith was no amateur in it.

Beside him, Noah and Emily focused entirely on the stage. Their feelings were complicated. They wanted Lilith to be humble. So losing the match might turn into a stepping stone on this path. But as parents they wanted her to win as well.

On the stage,

Lilith was already there—almost in front of Rowan, preparing her next attack. Her hands shimmered with lightning.

But Rowan spun mid-air and leapt back. Then he charged toward Lilith with a blazing fireball in his hand.

He was taking her seriously now.

Both their attacks collided.

A devastating explosion echoed through the arena.

BOOM!

Dust swallowed the stage in an instant.

Everyone leaned forward.

Who had won?

Was it the Third Prince?

Or Lilith?

Up in the balcony, even Noah and Emily felt a flicker of worry. Lilith was strong—but she wasn’t invincible. And her opponent was none other than Rowan Hale.

If Lilith was talented—Rowan was the benchmark for talent.

The dust finally began to settle.

With every slow gust of air, visibility returned—and then, suddenly they heard it.

Footsteps.

Unhurried.

Composed.

When the dust fully cleared, the scene on stage became visible.

Lilith was panting, hunched forward, holding her knees. Her breaths were heavy. Sweat clung to her brow.

Rowan’s clothes were tattered. His armor scorched and ragged.

But his towering figure still felt unshaken. Unchallenged.

The source of footsteps was Rowan. He came to a stop in front of Lilith.

"You are strong. I’ll give you that. Very strong at that," he said. His voice was confident—but not condescending. There was no mockery. He spoke like a judge passing his final verdict.

His next words came slowly and calmly—but they shook the arena.

"I don’t want to hurt you. So...

Yield."