Central Army's 3rd Legion (4)
The central square was packed with throngs of people. It wasn't just the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps or the members of the smaller mercenary bands—crowds of ordinary free mercenaries had swarmed in like clouds.
Even makeshift street vendors had popped up, hawking snacks and treats.
"Maybe I should set up a popcorn stand..."
Krout, overhearing Calix's mutter, recoiled in horror and tried to talk him out of it.
"You're saying something strange again, my lord. Please, think of your noble dignity."
"Watching a fight without popcorn just isn't right."
"What even is that?"
"It's a thing. Exists."
The first duelists were Blanco from the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps and Medreb, the one-eyed captain of the Grizzly Mercenary Band.
"You think he'll be okay? I'm no expert, but with that size difference, it seems awfully disadvantageous."
Edirn asked in an anxious voice.
Blanco stood around 160cm tall, while Medreb was a towering giant over 2 meters. For a mage like Edirn, who couldn't easily gauge raw combat power, it was a natural concern.
But the rest of the group didn't seem worried at all. They were even placing bets.
"How many do you think he'll take down?"
"Even if they're scrubs, they're still Class 4. Two might be pushing it, right? He'll probably just wear them down a bit."
"That bastard Blanco's a real tenacious mutt. I bet he goes all the way to the third duel."
"Just crush 'em overwhelmingly, then forfeit the second one. We gotta get some action in too, yeah?"
Their confidence had solid backing.
It came down to mastering the Mana Breathing Method.
Plus, when a dungeon reconstructs itself, the mana density spikes dramatically, creating prime conditions for growth.
After Calix and Krout returned, the Red Wolf Mercenary Corps had fought tooth and nail in there.
A single brush with death in real combat often yields greater insights than hundreds of hours of training.
They were leagues stronger now than before taking Calix's commission.
"Begin!"
At the referee's shout, Blanco with his two-handed sword and Medreb with his warhammer closed in rapidly.
"Hyaah!"
"Hup!"
The two swung their weapons with full force, no holding back.
Boom! Scraaaape!
A deafening crash rang out as metal ground against metal, sparks flying everywhere.
Just moments ago, Medreb had been sneering at his opponent. No matter how thick a two-handed sword was, it couldn't stand up to his solid-iron warhammer.
Clashing head-on might look flashy, but it put massive strain on the blade.
'You punk! I'll shatter that sword and smash your face in. You'll be eating through a tube from now on!'
But the instant their weapons met, he had to rethink everything. The rebound was heavier than expected—heavy enough to mean the mana density in that two-handed sword far exceeded his own.
Gritting through the stinging in his palms, Medreb swung his warhammer again. This time, Blanco dodged, shifting his body to evade the hammer.
Thud!
The warhammer smashed into the ground, sending up a massive plume of dust with a thunderous echo.
'Of course. Had to put on a show at first—couldn't just run from the start without looking bad.'
Medreb twirled his ridiculously heavy warhammer like a pair of chopsticks, swinging wildly. The blunt head tore through the air with whistling whooshes.
Each time, Blanco dodged by a hair's breadth. The palms of the watching free mercenaries grew slick with sweat.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Thud!
Whoosh!
But that didn't last. After nearly ten minutes of one-sided attacks and evasions, the crowd started growing bored.
"Booo!"
"Fight for real! Boooo!"
For folks who lived by the blade, this bland slugfest was torture. That's when things shifted.
Frustrated at landing zero hits despite his relentless assault, Medreb overextended with a reckless swing.
"Graaah!"
Thud!
No matter how sturdy the warhammer, repeatedly pounding the hard training ground wasn't smart. The rebound alone was brutal, and heaving that massive head back up drained stamina fast.
Sure enough, Medreb's breathing grew ragged.
At the same time, Blanco's responses changed.
Bang!
They clashed weapons again. Sword and hammer met and parted in the blink of an eye. Using the recoil, they spun their bodies and collided once more.
Bang!
Like dancers, every twist brought their weapons crashing together automatically.
Bang!
Clang!
The duel reignited with fierce metallic clashes.
"Woooah! Awesome! That's the stuff!"
"Kill him! Kill!"
"Kuhahaha!"
How many exchanges later? Medreb, drained of mana and stamina, finally met his end.
Whoosh! Scrape!
"Hngh?"
Expecting another head-on clash, he'd poured everything in—only for Blanco to wield his hefty two-handed sword with the finesse of an artist's brush.
The warhammer's head, swung horizontally, slammed into the ground.
Boom!
In that moment, Blanco smoothly spun full circle, his sword carving a razor-sharp arc. Medreb squeezed his eyes shut as the blade hurtled toward him.
Slash!
The two-handed sword veered just before touching Medreb's neck, grazing by in a heart-stopping near-miss.
At the same instant, the plume on his helmet soared high into the sky. It felt so much like his own head that a chill ran down Medreb's spine.
Blanco snatched the falling plume with a flick.
"I'll be taking this. Remember forever that you owe me your life today."
Medreb said nothing, slinking back to his side in defeat.
A roar like thunder erupted from the spectator stands.
"Waaaaah!"
"Whooo! Best ever!"
No time to savor victory or defeat—the next fighter from the small mercenary alliance stepped up.
"Name's Joorang. You took down that bear pretty good, but why not call it quits now? My spear doesn't stop till it tastes blood."
Blanco steadied his ragged breath before replying.
"Ever fought pushing past your limits in a dungeon?"
"Don't act all high and mighty!"
"Two of you scrubs? I can handle that solo. Quit yapping and come at me."
"Arrogant bastard!"
Shwick!
Before the referee could call start, Joorang's spear tip flashed like lightning. Blanco tilted his head to dodge—only for the spear's path to snake like a viper.
Clangclang!
Blanco blocked with his broad blade, but the retreating spear tip lashed out again like a flicking tongue.
Shwick! Shwiick!
Blanco, sword raised as a shield, twisted his body desperately to evade the downpour of thrusts.
The first duel had been a heavy clash of brute force; this one was all blistering speed. Dozens of strikes flowed like water in seconds.
'Hmph! Think you can take me on back-to-back? I'll drill another hole in that cocky nose.'
Sweat beaded clearly on Blanco's forehead. No visible wounds, but he'd clearly burned through a ton of stamina.
"He gonna be alright?"
Edirn asked gravely from the sidelines. But Trias was utterly serene, making the worry seem unfounded.
"It won't take much longer."
Generally, same-class fights came down to luck that day.
Experience mattered too, but no one reached Class 4 or higher overnight, so it rarely decided things.
Blanco beating Medreb was understandable—weapon matchups or daily condition could swing same-class bouts easily.
But hoping for the same luck twice in a row was a stretch.
Fighting fatigued against a fresh opponent slashed your options.
Shwick! Shwiick!
Ting!
Shwick!
Blanco was on the defensive. Since the fight started, he hadn't landed a single real attack.
Their styles were polar opposites: Blanco's slow, crushing blows versus Joorang's endless light, rapid strikes.
Hard to say one was superior outright, but in duels, speed was king.
Humans lacked monsters' tough hides or thick fat layers to blunt blades.
Precision and quick hits trumped raw power.
From the outside, speedy Joorang seemed overwhelmingly favored. But Leoben, watching intently, grew more distorted by the second.
'This is bad. Hasn't landed a solid hit yet. Even I can see Joorang's getting antsy. Blanco, trading blows with him, feels it crystal clear. Is the gap between us and the Big Three guilds really this wide? Damn it!'
As Leoben thought, Joorang's impatience mounted. Hundreds of strikes, and all he'd managed were grazes.
The clueless free mercs went wild at the flying blood droplets, but to Joorang, Blanco looked unnervingly calm.
Shwick!
Splat!
Another paper-thin scrape.
Blanco was clearly running on fumes too—dodges that were razor-close at first now took small cuts to minimize movement.
Yet Joorang panicked because his stamina was draining faster.
Blanco was tenacious. Incomprehensibly so.
That's when Calix, watching the duel, murmured.
"It's over."
"Your eye for this is getting sharp, my lord. No matter how fast the attacks, repeating patterns means nothing. To wield a light, quick weapon, your mind must be just as swift and keen..."
Krout's words didn't finish.
Kiiiing!
A brain-rattling screech, and Joorang's spear tip flew upward. Blanco, who'd only dodged or parried till now, met it head-on.
The classic way to counter speed with slowness: predict the arc and smash back with power.
Weak speedsters get flung wide open, exposing their upper body.
It hadn't been easy before because Joorang kept varying patterns unpredictably.
But lose your cool, get lost in thoughts, and habits slip out.
The finish was quiet.
Blanco, turtle-slow compared to Joorang, simply brought his two-handed sword to the man's neck.
Tap!
Posture collapsed, Joorang could only stare.
Blanco heaved for breath.
"Huff! Huff! I... huff! Haven't hit bottom yet."
"Enough! A guy whose spear's shaking—what can you do? Give the others a shot too!"
Trias chided, pulling Blanco down. Partly worry he'd get hurt, partly heeding Calix's advice.
'Too dominant, and they'll grow suspicious. This feels just right.'