“What are you thinking about so intensely?”
“Huh? Oh, um, nothing!”
I stumbled over my words in response to Agnes’s question, startled out of my thoughts.
“Ah, I see. You must have much to ponder from earlier today,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity.
“Yeah… something like that.”
Agnes nodded knowingly, then continued, “I usually prefer not to interrupt others’ musings, but since we’re holding swords right now, I must insist on caution. It’s better to be focused than distracted.”
With that, she plunged her wooden sword into the ground, resting her hands on its hilt as she gazed at me with concern.
“How about we take a break before continuing? It seems like whatever is on your mind isn’t a trivial matter.”
“No, it’s fine. Let’s start right away,” I said, shaking my head.
I could see that she had misinterpreted my distraction as deep, serious thought.
In truth, I had been preoccupied with something far less weighty—figuring out how to deal with Olivia’s inevitable questions tomorrow.
“Hmm… if you say so. I still worry, but I’ll respect your decision,” Agnes replied, pulling her wooden sword from the ground and raising it in a ready stance.
Seeing her prepare, I followed suit, raising my own wooden sword toward her.
The moonlight bathed us in its glow.
In the quiet night, we prepared for another sparring session. As always, our training would culminate in practical experience through combat drills.
Tonight was no exception, and the final sparring match of the day was about to begin.
‘If only I hadn’t been distracted earlier,’ I thought to myself.
Thankfully, Agnes had noticed my lapse and called me out before she made the first move. If she hadn’t, I might have ended up with a nasty lump on my head.
I couldn’t help but feel grateful to her for preventing that potential disaster.
But still, it was all Olivia’s fault for making me dwell on today’s events… No! Focus. I need to concentrate on sparring with Agnes.
I slapped my cheeks lightly with both hands, trying to shake off the stray thoughts.
Refocusing, I pointed my sword at Agnes and signaled the start of the match.
“Alright, here I come.”
“Bring it on!”
At her word, I closed the distance between us swiftly.
From there, the match followed a familiar rhythm.
I attacked, and she defended. Occasionally, she would seize an opening and counterattack.
‘She’s holding up well.’
I thought as my wooden sword was once again deflected.
Unlike our first sessions, she hadn’t let a single attack land tonight.
Her defense was so flawless it felt as though she could foresee my moves.
Even without using mana, her performance was impressive. It was clear she had grown accustomed to the Wind Dragon’s Sword.
‘It’s almost time to let her counter with the Wind Dragon’s Sword.’
Though she was still using the Fire Dragon’s Sword for now, mastering the Wind Dragon’s Sword would ultimately require her to use it directly.
Judging by her progress, that moment wasn’t far off.
Of course, the absence of mana likely made it easier for her to adjust.
The Dragon King’s style relied heavily on mana, and the gap between its mana-augmented and mana-free forms was substantial.
Still, her rapid progress was likely due to her innate talent.
After all, she was already a Sword Master, having mastered the Fire Dragon’s Sword.
‘My grip is loosening. I should create some distance.’
I launched a final slash at her, which she blocked skillfully, giving me time to back away.
‘Not a single attack landed this time,’ I thought, adjusting my stance.
“It’s over, then?”
“Yes, that was my last attack. You’re defending incredibly well now—there are barely any openings left,” I replied.
“We’ve sparred enough that I should be used to it by now. If I couldn’t defend properly after all this, how would I ever master swordsmanship?”
“You have a point.”
“So, how was my performance?”
“Very good. You’re almost ready to start countering with the Wind Dragon’s Sword.”
“Really? That’s gratifying to hear. It makes all the hard work worth it.”
She smiled, and her expression brought an unexplainable warmth to my heart.
Logically, her improvement should have concerned me. A stronger knight in the Hero’s Party meant greater risks for me.
But I couldn’t feel worried.
Her dedication and rapid progress overshadowed any misgivings.
Her aptitude for swordsmanship was remarkable.
She absorbed my teachings quickly, mastering them with ease.
Even when faced with difficulty, she persisted until she succeeded.
Watching her dedication was endearing.
I couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and admiration.
Was this what it meant to be a mentor? The desire to teach more, to help more, and the satisfaction of seeing a student grow?
Even now, I found myself thinking of ways to further her development.
From her movements, it seemed she had a good grasp of my basic attack patterns.
Though she hadn’t yet seen much variation, she had adapted to my style remarkably well.
This meant two things: she had talent, and she had reached a point where there was little left for her to learn from my attack style.
Of course, if I varied my attack style, she could learn even more.
But if I go beyond this, she’d end up knowing all my techniques.
That’s something I absolutely can’t allow.
No matter how impressive or endearing Agnes is, revealing my vulnerabilities to her isn’t an option. I need to maintain at least some insurance.
So, what should I do?
I pondered, trying to figure out how I could teach her more without putting myself at risk, how to broaden her experience without jeopardizing my position.
Then, a great idea struck me.
I turned to her and said, “Lady Agnes, let’s spar one more time.”
“Hmm? Are we doing extra practice today?”
“Yes, I feel you’ve grown accustomed to my current attack style. I think it’s time to show you something different.”
I raised my wooden sword again, and she followed suit.
I had given much thought to how I could offer her new experiences, and this was the conclusion I’d come to.
“This time, the attacks will be a little different. It’s not my style but rather that of someone else.”
I was going to show her another version of the Wind Dragon’s Sword—one used by a different practitioner.
“Someone else’s style?”
“Yes, the Wind Dragon’s Sword varies greatly depending on the user. I believe it will be a valuable experience.”
I adjusted my stance, adopting a posture different from what I had shown in previous duels.
“This is a style my mentor used to demonstrate,” I said.
This small lie would make Agnes assume that what I was about to show her was the style of Ares, the master she knew.
But what I was actually replicating was the technique of my true master, Redros, the first Grand Duke.
As I had explained to her before, the Wind Dragon’s Sword changes significantly based on its user. Redros’s approach differed from mine in many ways.
While my attacks overwhelmed opponents through relentless aggression and exploited the gaps it created, Redros’s style relied on minimal movement, responding to his opponent’s actions and drawing out their weaknesses.
In simpler terms, I found openings, and he created them.
It might sound like there’s an insurmountable gap between us—and that’s entirely correct. The difference in skill between us is like heaven and earth.
You might wonder how I could even attempt to replicate his technique.
But I wasn’t trying to mimic his swordsmanship perfectly—just enough to capture his essence.
Though the gap between us was vast, I had observed him more closely than anyone else. That allowed me to imitate his demeanor, gestures, and techniques well enough to convey a faint semblance of his style.
“Let’s begin,” I said softly, signaling the start of the duel.
At the same time, I conjured Redros’s image in my mind.
The first thing I visualized was his face.
In battle, Redros’s expression remained completely unchanged from start to finish. His detached, emotionless visage made his opponents wonder:
Am I so insignificant that I can’t even provoke a reaction from him?
Or:
Does he truly feel nothing about this battle?
These thoughts evoked one of two responses: either a surge of fighting spirit or paralyzing fear.
Humans read emotions and intentions from their opponents’ faces. Redros took advantage of this by maintaining a mask-like neutrality, fostering unease and intimidation.
Following this visualization, I wiped all emotion from my face.
Next, I imagined his stance.
Redros never initiated an attack.
There were two reasons for this. The first was that he saw no need to end a battle hastily. The second was his pride—he refused to make the first move.
He once told me that he approached every battle with the mindset of observing and appreciating his opponent’s swordsmanship.
As a result, he always assumed the role of the challenged rather than the challenger.
This mentality exuded superiority, which was reflected in his actions.
First, his stance was always relaxed, almost careless. He held his sword low, waiting comfortably for his opponent to strike.
Second, his demeanor was utterly calm, almost leisurely. His neutral expression and deliberate waiting conveyed a lack of tension, further unnerving his opponent.
These behaviors created a powerful aura of dominance.
Despite his detached expressions and relaxed stance, his presence was anything but passive. Standing before him felt like being crushed under an invisible weight.
This wasn’t due to mana—it was purely psychological, a sense of dread he instilled effortlessly.
You might call it “killing intent.”
Redros wielded it with expert precision.
Yet, contrary to his cold and ruthless image, he was a surprisingly kind person, embodying the values and convictions of a true knight.
I adjusted my stance, replicating his relaxed posture, and let the weight of his aura fill my imagination.
“Come at me,” I said, channeling Redros’s calm authority.
“He’s considerate and kind,” I thought, recalling the duality of Redros.
Yet, in battle, all of that disappears. When facing him, I always felt like prey—a mere target under the hunter’s gaze.
It wasn’t just his skill but the overwhelming presence of his killing intent that crushed me.
Overwhelmed.
That word encapsulated the experience of standing before him.
Redros was like a predator awaiting his prey. As predators hold their breath before pouncing, he would silently wait for his moment.
He never shied away from challenges but showed no mercy to challengers.
The calm before the storm.
People fail to recognize the disaster approaching, lulled into complacency by the stillness. Redros embodied that quiet devastation.
And now, in this moment, I tried to project him onto myself.
I erased the thought that this was a mere sparring session. In my mind, I turned Agnes into an enemy. I focused on a single thought:
Kill her.
“Wh-why…”
Agnes’s voice trembled as she stared at me, her expression frozen in shock.
“Why… Why… Why… Why!”
Her entire body began to shake lightly, her face a mask of disbelief.
Seeing her trembling form, I struggled to maintain the aura of killing intent. Her distress tugged at my conscience, making me want to stop.
Apparently, I had imitated Redros far too well. I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.
That’s enough, I thought.
I decided to end the session before something irreversible happened.
But just as I began to withdraw, something in Agnes changed.
“No… No… NO!”
Shaking her head violently, she screamed with a mix of fear and desperation.
“Lady Agnes…?” I called out hesitantly.
“NO!”
She didn’t seem to hear me. Covering her ears, she dropped to her knees, as if trying to block out something unbearable.
Then, the transformation began.
Her golden eyes shifted first, taking on the reptilian slit of a dragon.
Her hands followed, turning black as if consumed by darkness, the transformation spreading up her arms until they resembled armor.
Finally, wings sprouted from her back.
I stood frozen, unable to act as the sudden and terrifying scene unfolded. My entire focus was consumed by trying to make sense of the situation.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Before I could process it fully, Agnes had already completed her transformation.
Just as I decided to approach her, an immense wave of killing intent hit me.
At the same time, she lunged toward me with incredible speed.
I barely managed to block her strike, only to realize how much stronger and faster she had become.
What?!
Her strength was far beyond what she had displayed in any previous session.
I deflected her attack and pushed backward, attempting to create distance. But Agnes wouldn’t allow it.
Seizing the moment I was airborne, she swung her sword with ferocious power. I blocked the strike but was sent flying, landing roughly several meters away.
Thankfully, she hadn’t used mana. Otherwise, the impact might have been far worse.
But even without mana, her strength was monstrous.
She’s using a wooden sword, yet I was thrown like that…
This is bad.
I quickly moved to remove my sealing ring but was cut off as she darted toward me, her sword flashing.
“Argh!”
I was forced to block and evade her relentless strikes. Each blow was faster and heavier than the last.
“Lady Agnes! Snap out of it!”
I shouted, but she only muttered incoherently, her eyes wild and unseeing as she continued to attack.
Faced with no other option, I made a grim decision.
If it came to it, I would have to end her—strike her down to save myself.
As I prepared to deliver a decisive blow, I saw an opening. Her neck was exposed.
I aimed my strike there with all my strength.
But I soon realized my mistake.
It wasn’t an opening—it was a trap.
As I thrust toward her neck, her sword rose from below, aiming for mine.
Fire Dragon’s Sword—Form One: Fiery Ascent
Her sword was engulfed in flames, infused with mana, and coming straight for my throat.
At that moment, one thought crossed my mind:
I might die.
A chill ran down my spine. My senses sharpened, my mind racing as survival instincts kicked in.
As the sword’s speed slowed, the world around me began to fade into shades of gray.
Time seemed to crawl, and everything moved sluggishly.
I desperately tried to think of a way to avoid the incoming strike.
But soon, all my senses came to a single conclusion: there was no way to dodge it.
What if I remove the ring?
The sword would reach my neck before I could do so.
What if I deflect it?
Without mana, it was impossible.
Even as these thoughts raced through my mind, the sword drew closer and closer.
My thoughts quickened. The sword approached.
My eyes darted frantically. The sword approached.
I opened my eyes so wide they ached. The sword approached.
My head felt like it would explode from the heat of overthinking. The sword approached.
My entire body was tense to the point of pain. The sword approached.
I thought faster and faster, endlessly accelerating my mind.
The sword came closer.
Faster.
The sword was right in front of me.
Faster.
The sword touched me.
At that moment, I thought: I’m going to die.
It was then I felt something snap, as if a string inside me had broken. My mind wavered briefly.
And then, I was engulfed in a blazing heat that spread through my entire body.
I swung my sword instinctively.
Wind Dragon’s Sword, Form One: Gale Strike.
BOOM!
A blade imbued with wind clashed against a blade infused with fire. The impact produced a deafening roar, and the resulting shockwave rippled through both of us.
The force hurled me backward, and I found myself momentarily airborne before hitting the ground hard, tumbling twice.
“Ow, damn it…”
Groaning, I sat up. The pain coursing through my body was a harsh reminder that I hadn’t landed properly.
“Ruina! Are you alright?”
Agnes’s voice rang out, filled with concern. It seemed the impact had brought her back to her senses.
Her voice was shaky, suggesting she hadn’t fully recovered yet.
But her condition was the least of my concerns.
As I stood up, my gaze fell to my hand, transfixed by the sensation of unfamiliar power.
And then I saw it.
A light.
“Huh…?”
I muttered dumbly, sounding as clueless as I felt.
In my hand glowed a blindingly bright radiance.
“What the hell…?”
It wasn’t mana, nor was it the dragon’s power.
It was divine energy—so radiant it hurt to look at.