“So, you’re my opponent? A wielder of a magic sword... I couldn’t have asked for someone better.”
“Well, I’d prefer it if you let your guard down and went easy on me,” Abel replied blithely. Internally, however, he felt like screaming. Son of a bitch. Just looking at him, I can feel how dangerous he is!
Without any warning, Hartmut closed the gap between them and brought his sword down.
Klang.
Abel parried.
“Fascinating. You look like an adventurer, but you’re obviously different from the others,” Hartmut said, then laughed a sinister, malevolent laugh... He was truly a battle maniac.
Abel, on the other hand, couldn’t even dredge up a smile. He’d understood something as soon as they crossed swords.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He’s too powerful! The Flame Emperor is nothing compared to him... I don’t remember ever encountering such a strong swordsman... No, wait—my master. He’s on par with my master. But my master is a goddamn Sword Saint! So what does that make this guy?!
Abel’s mind was in turmoil. Unfortunately for him, the duel had already started—and he desperately needed to figure out a way to calm himself.
How, though? More importantly, how was he supposed to defeat an opponent definitely stronger than him? If he focused on defense, he’d put himself at a disadvantage. What other option did he have?
I need to go on the offensive!
Abel made up his mind in an instant. His agitation vanished, and the instability of his swordsmanship went with it.
“Well now,” Hartmut murmured in surprise as he parried Abel’s next attack. A hint of respect entered his voice. “Adventurer of the Kingdom, I would very much like to know your name.”
“Abel. A-rank adventurer.”
“I see. A-rank. No wonder you’re in a class of your own.” Hartmut nodded. “I will defeat you with everything I have.”
“You can try,” Abel snapped back.
And so began the duel between the two men at the pinnacle of swordsmanship in the Central Provinces.
Each combatant shifted wildly between offense and defense. Abel was a royal of Knightley, raised to lead the Kingdom’s Royal Knights from a young age. Meanwhile, Hartmut was an imperial nobleman who’d been trained since childhood to become the next head of House Barthel, a family of renowned fighters.
Both men had dedicated most of their lives to the blade, and they’d grown up fully intending to carve their path through the world using swordsmanship. Even their training backgrounds were similar. Abel practiced the Hume style traditional throughout the Central Provinces, whereas Hartmut was a student of the Imperial Orthodox style, an offshoot of the Hume School of Swordsmanship. In short, their fighting styles were closely related.
“You’ve mastered the fundamentals perfectly. Are you truly an adventurer?”
“Funny. The commander of the Shadow Regiment asked the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told him: You gents underestimate adventurers far too much.”
“Ah, my apologies. So you defeated Jurgen and Rancius?”
“You’re half right. I beat the general, but not your brother.”
“I take it the man who just rushed out did that?”
“Quick on more than just your feet, huh?” Abel asked in surprise.
“If I’m being honest, there was something...unusual about him.”
“Huh. Well, you’re not wrong.” Abel inclined his head.
He trusted Ryo more than anyone else, but Abel couldn’t help but sometimes question whether the water magician was actually human. He was just so different from everyone... An alien existence...
But it doesn’t change anything. Ryo is Ryo.
Abel and Hartmut’s sword fight continued to intensify...
Beside them, another duel was taking place between Fiona, the eleventh princess of the Debuhi Empire and commander of the Imperial Magic Division, and Hugh McGlass, the master of Lune’s adventurers’ guild and a former A-rank adventurer.
Though their blades clashed—
Klang, klang!
—there was more than steel flying. Beneath the clangor of swords clashing, there was the thinner sound of a small metal object striking a larger one. If you looked closer, you could even see Fiona flinging flashes of light at Hugh, which the guild master dodged or blocked with his sword.
“Yer casting magic in between strikes...” Hugh muttered in annoyance. He hadn’t taken any fatal blows, but the fact that he was on the defensive wasn’t a good sign.
“And yet here you are, holding your own... Besides my master, the Hero was the only other one able to stand their ground.”
Hugh frowned. “The Hero... Ya fought Roman too?”
“You know him and wield a holy blade? Ah, right. How could I forget that we’re in Lune? That must make you the guild master.”
“So. The sparks gave it away, eh?”
They weren’t actually sparks, just a fierce light that flashed each time their swords clashed.
“’N’ why wouldn’t it? That’s what happens when a holy sword and a magic sword cross. Can’t even ’member the last time this happened.”
Even Hugh, a former first-rate adventurer and frontline fighter, had only witnessed a holy sword and a magic sword cross paths a few times.
“Hugh McGlass, Lune’s guild master and a master of swordsmanship. Wielder of the holy sword Galahad, inherited from the Sword Saint Julian.”
“Fiona Rubine Bornemisza... The ace in the Emperor’s sleeve. Wielder of Raven, a magic sword imbued with the attributes of air and fire, an heirloom blade worn by the line of emperors.”
Because he understood his opponent and her weapon’s characteristics, Hugh knew he was at a disadvantage.
Raven’s air magic not only enhances its wielder’s attack speed, but all of their body’s movements. No wonder her strikes feel so heavy... Then there’s the fire magic, which is doubly problematic since the princess herself can use it too...
Most in the Central Provinces viewed using magic in close-quarters combat as impossible, yet here Fiona was injecting fire attack magic into every strike, slash, and thrust—all while flinging Fire Javelins and Piercing Fire between each stroke of her sword.