There was no need for a lengthy discussion about the outcome of the duel.
No matter how much prestige a mercenary group held for being part of the Big Ten, Usher was not someone a mere swordsman of one city could handle.
Even if that swordsman happened to be trapped in a woman’s body, the result would be the same.
Slish!
“Guh-hack!”
“Well fought.”
The opponent, whose upper garment had been slashed to shreds, trembled as he knelt on the ground.
The sight of the hairy man awkwardly covering his chest somehow evoked pity in onlookers.
However, Usher felt no sympathy.
He merely looked down at the man with cold eyes.
“Watch your words if you wish to live long.”
Just before the duel started, that man had hurled insults at Usher.
Remarks like, “How does your brother’s manhood taste?” or “I’m far better than that wimp,” were enough to make Usher’s skin crawl.
It was undeniable that such vile words had influenced the excessiveness of his blade.
Swinging the sword with emotion, combined with a body unsuitable for precision swordsmanship, left faint red lines scattered across the man’s skin.
Scars would remain.
Usher deemed it his just deserts.
“A-and the winner is… cold-blooded! With a murderous glare even while facing someone other than her brother… Tia of the Incestuous Clan!!! Advancing to the round of 32 with shocking swordsmanship!!!”
“Waaaaaah!”
Amidst the cheers, Usher felt a wave of humiliation.
With a sullen face flushed red, he stomped out of the arena.
His retreat drew sighs of admiration from several men.
Arriving at the waiting room, the first to greet him was Halia.
“Well done! But you were using some pretty advanced techniques there! You could’ve sliced his neck if you weren’t careful!”
It seemed his emotional handling had exposed his inexperience.
In hindsight, this lack of skill had likely avoided unnecessary misunderstandings, so perhaps it was a good thing.
When Usher offered a sheepish smile, Halia poked Bersia’s waist.
“Hey, don’t teach the saintess anything too extreme. One saintess skilled with her body is enough!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bersia responded smoothly to Halia’s playful remark.
She approached Usher.
“Well done.”
At her whisper, Usher chuckled softly.
Gester, seemingly understanding something at last, let out an “Ah,” followed by laughter.
“No wonder it seemed familiar—it was the swift swordsmanship of the vice-captain.”
He was right.
The technique just used belonged to Tidius, the Thunder God Sword and vice-captain of the Trebion Mercenary Corps.
Though Usher had tried to keep it subtle, those familiar with the style would recognize it.
If even Gester could pick up on it, Usher would need to be more cautious in the future.
“Anyway, all of you made it to the top 32! Well done!”
It was expected.
One participant was a fully-fledged knight of the first rank, Bersia wielded an overwhelmingly powerful body, and Usher possessed unmatched mastery over countless sword techniques.
Even with such confidence, Halia seemed to treat fostering the mercenary corps as an entertaining pastime.
The atmosphere was lively.
Soon, Usher spoke.
“Now the real challenge begins.”
By the time they reached the round of 32, core members of the upper echelon of Big Ten mercenary groups would be present.
Among them, the target of Blue Blade’s interest was clear.
“They’ve cleverly avoided us—the Lion Corps.”
“Cunning bastards. They love scheming and likely manipulated the brackets to their advantage. The opponents they face are ones they have favorable matchups against.”
Gester’s tone was grim.
It was only natural.
The Lion Corps had conspired with the royal family to defame and topple Quolin.
“To meet them, we’ll need to reach at least the quarterfinals. And…”
Gester trailed off.
Diego and Bersia also fell silent.
“…It seems they’re trying to make us self-destruct.”
The brackets were set so that Usher and Gester would face each other in the round of 32.
In the round of 16, Diego and Bersia would clash.
The intent to force them into mutual elimination was evident.
“It’s up to us to decide who advances,” Gester declared.
Everyone exchanged glances.
Halia was quick to decide.
“Usher, you’ll forfeit in the round of 16. As a wanted person, drawing too much attention isn’t ideal.”
“Yes, understood.”
“And Bersia, you…”
“I’ll go.”
Before Halia could finish, Bersia stepped forward.
“Wait a minute. If we’re talking about chances of victory, I—”
“I’m more certain of success.”
Usher’s logic was sound.
However, he overlooked how others might perceive the situation.
He was no longer Usher, the first-rank knight, but Bersia, the saintess.
“I find that hard to accept,” Gester said, confident in his strength.
Even though Bersia had displayed remarkable swordsmanship, Gester seemed convinced he wouldn’t lose.
Usher belatedly realized this but hesitated to retract his statement.
A competitive atmosphere brewed.
Halia seemed entertained by it and offered a conclusion.
“Then both of you should give it your all. Whoever wins advances.”
“Didn’t you just say one saintess skilled with her body is enough?”
“Ha! That’s a different matter from competition!”
Bersia subtly urged her to reconsider, but it was no use.
Though impulsive, Halia was the eldest saint and the leader of this journey.
Bersia sighed, and Usher smiled awkwardly.
Unexpectedly, the two old friends were now destined to cross swords.
“Will you be alright?”
It was a question that came directly after the meeting.
Usher replied with confidence.
“Yes, I will be. I’ve told you before, Gester has never defeated me in a duel. The closest he came was a draw during our first bout.”
Extreme skill could overturn disparities in strength.
Though Gester had undoubtedly honed his abilities, his assassination sword style from Halan had its limits.
Usher knew all its variations and extensions, making victory a near certainty.
“That’s not what I was asking.”
The follow-up made Usher freeze momentarily.
But soon, a clear smile graced his lips.
“That, too, will be fine. In fact, it’s a good thing.”
Usher took a deep breath and added, “It’s truly a joy to reunite with an old friend, but I haven’t been able to freely reveal that I am Usher Therbion. Isn’t this a rare opportunity? Warriors speak with their swords. That is one of Baern’s oldest rules.”
A chance to cross swords with him—a way of greeting that wasn’t so bad, at least when he thought of it that way.
Bersia refrained from voicing her concerns further, and Usher also chose not to add any unnecessary words.
Thus, a day passed.
There were only a few minutes left before the tournament began.
“Well then, I’ll be off.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
Gester and Usher stood from their seats. An awkward tension arose. Considering their outward relationship, it was only natural, given they were moments away from clashing blades.
Gester, trying to ease the atmosphere, cracked a joke.
“Don’t worry, Usher. Since you serve her, I won’t handle her too roughly.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Should I call her ‘young lady’… or perhaps ‘Saint’? Just because she learned swordsmanship from you doesn’t mean everyone can become you. A prime example would be me. Despite a lifetime of training, all I managed to master is an assassination blade. Didn’t she only start learning less than a year ago? Her growth is fast, but it’s easy to get overconfident. The gap between us is bound to be vast.”
It was clear his words carried a touch of care and concern.
However, Usher, as he had told Bersia the previous day, had no intention of taking his duel with a reunited friend lightly. Hence, his response was deliberate provocation.
“That’s just because you lack talent, Your Highness.”
The faint smile that accompanied his remark hit Gester right where it hurt.
“…What?”
A dry laugh escaped him as he tried to maintain his composure, but a vein bulged on his forehead. His eyes narrowed, and red veins crept across the whites. His body trembled slightly.
How could someone stay so unchanged from childhood? A little provocation, and he was still easy to rile up. Usher couldn’t help but find it amusing.
“I trust you know how to counter that?”
With that, Usher walked gracefully down the corridor. Behind him, forced laughter echoed.
“Haha, ha… ha!”
Soon, they were in the tournament arena.
Facing Gester, Usher’s expression turned serious.
‘I can win, but he’s not an opponent to underestimate. What Gester learned is precisely that assassination blade.’
To counter it with Versia’s body would require sharp focus. A single lapse in guarding his blind spot would mean that dagger piercing through.
Usher gripped his twin curved swords in reverse and let his posture loosen.
Gester, on the other hand, stood diagonally, holding a dagger between his fingers in one hand and a short sword in the other.
The announcer’s voice boomed.
“Today’s matchup—Ohhh! It’s Baern’s infamous Backside Breaker versus the rising star, the Sacred Kinship Tia!!!”
“Wooooooo!!!”
Usher ignored the crude nickname, breathing deeply to steady himself.
Sharpening every sense to its limit, he tuned in to the flow of air around him.
‘Focus.’
He chanted inwardly. Despite this body, there was no way he intended to lose to Gester. His face was set with determination.
And then, just as the duel was about to begin—
“You insolent little stray cat! I’ll take your brother for myself, so why don’t you scurry off?!”
Usher froze.
His body came to an abrupt halt, and his mind went blank.
“I’ll show you who his real woman is!”
The shrill voice and grotesque expression with which the words were declared—Gester’s voice in his “Milla” persona—threw his thoughts into disarray.
In that instant of distraction, the match began.
Gester closed the distance in a flash.
The mental assault was tremendous, enough to scatter even Usher’s determination to remain focused.
But Gester had overlooked one thing.
Smack!
Usher felt a visceral sense of revulsion, a gut reaction that went beyond thought.
The movement of Gester’s presence was etched into Usher’s senses, much like the instinctive recoil one has when spotting a cockroach out of the corner of their eye.
Clang!
“What the—?!”
Usher, shuddering from the sheer creepiness, reflexively blocked the short sword.
The romantic notion of greeting through swords—a dramatic reunion after ten years—dissolved like the tide receding from the shore.
“Aaaand the winner takes the man as their prize! What a match! What stakes!!!”