Winter of the Cold Rose (15)
Marc and Rofel lunged at each other simultaneously. Naturally, it was Marc, with his overwhelming talent and skill, who struck first.
Although he was momentarily taken aback by Rofel—a mage who, instead of keeping his distance, charged forward with unexpected speed and audacity—Marc quickly relied on his sharp reflexes to target an opening in Rofel's advance.
He swung the Serion family's treasured sword toward that vulnerability. Despite it being a heavy two-handed broadsword, he wielded it as lightly and sharply as if it were a mere one-handed blade.
His goal was to carve a massive gash across Rofel's torso, just as he had planned.
Marc already anticipated the pathetic, high-pitched shriek that would soon echo through the empty sub-space.
Clang!
But the sound that reached his ears was not a groan of agony. Instead, it was the crisp, ringing screech of metal grinding against metal.
It wasn't that Marc had been sluggish, nor had he made a mistake by underestimating Rofel.
His strike had been a calculated preemptive blow, designed to bypass the trajectory of Rofel's mace and pierce his exposed flank.
Yet, with astonishing reflexes, Rofel had redirected his mace mid-swing, accelerating in a fraction of a second to deflect Marc's sharp thrust.
Rofel did not stop there.
Maintaining the momentum from parrying the greatsword, he drove his shoulder forward, throwing his sturdy frame into a heavy tackle.
Staggered by the impact, Marc stumbled back, unable to regain his footing. The next thing he knew, Rofel's mace was hurtling straight toward his face.
Marc jerked his head back in a desperate dodge, but the weapon still managed to graze the bridge of his nose, leaving a thin red scratch.
"You bastard...!"
Before Marc could even process his shock, Rofel's leg swept toward his knee.
With his upper body already bent backward, the sudden blow to his knee completely shattered Marc's balance, sending him teetering on the edge of a fall.
Desperate to turn the tide, he scrambled to steady himself and raise his greatsword.
But what filled Marc's vision next was a sphere of blazing red heat erupting from Rofel's hand.
Rofel had already finished casting a fire-attribute spell the moment he threw the low kick to break Marc's stance.
Spotting the incoming threat, Marc aborted his swing and hastily aligned his sword vertically, blocking the scorching fireball with the flat of his blade.
However, because his guard was late, he couldn't fully absorb the sudden impact. A searing, burning pain shot through his fingertips as he was blown backward.
"Ugh...!"
Before Marc could even lower his sword to clear his vision, Rofel's mace came flying at him again with terrifying speed.
Rofel had cast a jet of fire behind himself with one hand, using the explosive propulsion to close the distance instantly while swinging his mace with the added momentum.
He didn't stop there. Riding the inertia of the swing, Rofel spun his body and redirected the flame jet—which had been propelling him forward—straight into Marc's face.
In an instant, Marc was engulfed in a massive, roaring wall of fire.
"Aaargh!"
I can't let him keep dictating the pace like this.
Marc quickly shifted his grip, holding the greatsword with one hand.
Predicting where Rofel would close in next, he threw a swift punch aimed directly at Rofel's ribs.
"Tch...!"
The surprise blow connected, forcing a sharp grunt from Rofel.
Even so, Rofel didn't stop the right hand swinging the mace. However, the brief distraction allowed Marc to regain his footing and easily deflect the strike with his one-handed guard.
This was his chance!
Seizing the momentum, Marc swung his sword to deliver a decisive counterattack.
But it was as if Rofel already knew the exact trajectory of the blade. Ducking under the swing, Rofel lunged inside Marc's guard and drove his elbow hard into Marc's solar plexus.
"Gkah...?!"
Marc swung his greatsword to force some distance, but Rofel immediately pressed the attack, closing the gap once more.
Only after they locked in a frantic, desperate exchange of blows did Marc finally manage to regain a sliver of composure.
"Damn it..."
This was completely unexpected.
Rofel Teufel. According to the background checks, he was supposed to be a mediocre nobody with subpar physical and magical abilities.
Even now, as they fought, Marc couldn't feel any monstrous strength or vast reserves of mana from him.
Yet, his combat experience and battle instincts were extraordinary.
On top of that, he was relentlessly pressing the offensive as if he possessed an infinite well of stamina.
Most baffling of all, he seemed to read the Serion family's swordsmanship perfectly.
Did Seraphina help him?
No, there's no way he could have grown this much just by sparring with her a few times.
...
Marc had entered this duel expecting nothing more than a light workout to break a sweat. He never imagined he would be pushed this hard.
He had even suffered a minor, unexpected wound.
At this point, he began to wonder if he was trapped in some terrible nightmare.
After all, hadn't he just overwhelmed Seraphina Serion yesterday?
Though she was weaker than him, she was still a warrior he acknowledged.
And since Rofel was rumored to be unable to defeat Seraphina, fighting him should have been even easier.
So why? Why on earth was he struggling so much?
A wave of intense, sickening irritation and anger surged within him.
He had clawed his way through a collapsing dungeon to claim his artifact, securing an almost absurd amount of luck.
It was his destiny to be surrounded by beautiful women and bathed in glorious fame.
He was the protagonist of this world, and his path was supposed to be a smooth, royal road.
Yet here he was, being blocked by a worthless extra!
...Damn it, what's the point of whining now?
I didn't want to waste this on a nobody like him... but I have no choice.
He had planned to toy with Rofel, but if this dragged into a battle of attrition, his own stamina wouldn't hold out.
Marc swung his greatsword in a wide arc around him, forcing Rofel back as he retreated to create some distance.
Dropping into a strange stance—kneeling on one knee while keeping his torso perfectly upright—he drove the Serion family's treasured two-handed sword into the ground.
Instantly, the ornate, brilliant decorations on the greatsword began to glow with a blinding light.
A sinister, ominous energy began to coalesce around Marc, visible even to the naked eye.
Rofel didn't know what Marc was planning, but he had no intention of standing by and watching.
Sensing the danger, Rofel immediately charged forward.
But just as he raised his mace to crush Marc's skull, a primal instinct screamed at him. He instantly flipped his grip on the mace to a reverse hold and brought it to his side.
Crash!
A deafening boom echoed, followed by the screech of metal being crushed.
Marc, who had been kneeling with his sword planted in the ground just a moment ago, had unleashed a slash so fast it was invisible to the naked eye.
The impact was as devastating as it was swift. Rofel looked down to see that his iron mace was slightly bent.
"You blocked that? Lucky bastard."
"...What did you do?"
"Ha, you finally decided to open your mouth."
"..."
"Well, fine. I'll give you an answer as a special favor. The Serion family heirloom isn't just exceptionally sturdy and sharp. When you channel mana into it, it draws out the wielder's potential to its absolute limit, proportional to their talent. I never expected to use it against a bug like you, though."
"But since we're here, let me show you something else."
Marc raised a hand and gestured in the air, and a physical manifestation of mana began to take shape.
"I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve, and they aren't limited to swordsmanship."
A faint, undulating flow of mana rippled through the air.
A smoky, dark energy surged from Marc's hand, darting toward Rofel.
Rofel instinctively swung his mace to intercept the incoming spell and cast Dispel, but strangely, the faint black smoke did not dissipate.
"This is on a completely different level from your cheap tricks. I learned this directly from the Magic Tower Master, Lord Shangri Kshatri."
Soon, a massive barrier of dark light began to form around Rofel.
It was a small, spherical cage, barely large enough to fit a single person.
Because the barrier formed just out of arm's reach, Rofel couldn't touch it to cast Dispel.
His vision was completely cut off, and not a single sound penetrated the darkness. He was entirely isolated.
Looking around in the pitch-black void where he couldn't even see his own hand, Rofel realized things had taken a dangerous turn.
"...You brought this on yourself. I was just going to break a few limbs, but you really pissed me off. I'll make sure you can't stand up for months—no, years."
"*Pant, pant...* Where... where is he? Rofel... where on earth are you?"
Seraphina was currently in the academy's duel examination hall—the building housing the numerous portals that led to individual testing arenas.
She stood there, cold sweat dripping down her face as she frantically scanned her surroundings. Her sole purpose was to find Rofel Teufel's dueling arena.
She was deeply worried about him facing Marc, but more than that, an inexplicable, driving urge told her that she had to witness this duel with her own eyes.
But something was wrong.
No matter how hard she searched, she couldn't find the portal leading to Rofel's sub-space.
While active dueling arenas generally restricted outside entry, they did not completely block access.
This was a safety measure in case of emergencies, such as a sub-space collapse or a student being too severely injured to activate their recall magic.
For this reason, every portal leading to a sub-space was inscribed with detection magic. It was meant to prevent accidents rather than entertain spectators, ensuring that locating any active portal was a simple task, regardless of who was inside.
Yet, the sub-space Rofel was in proved to be an exception.
Even when Seraphina used tracking runestones designed to locate active dueling spaces, she found absolutely nothing.
Every time she felt she was getting close, the signal would abruptly vanish.
It was as if someone had intentionally masked the location of Rofel's arena to keep it hidden.
"Ah... Rofel... Please, be safe...!"