Knight Tournament (9)

A few days later.

Lance and Calix faced each other in an arena packed with tens of thousands of spectators.

"Long time no see."

Calix didn't reply. He simply stared intently at his opponent's status window.

Overcharge.

It sounded like a beneficial effect at first glance, but it absolutely wasn't.

There was no such thing as power gained without cost.

Especially if it surged dramatically in such a short time—something had to be sacrificed.

Calix narrowed his eyes and spoke.

"You've changed a lot in just a few days."

"Haha, I was lucky enough to get sponsored with a decent mana breathing method."

"Is that so? And you haven't even finished the tournament yet... How generous of your sponsor."

"Reading the contents in advance doesn't wear them out, and if it leads to good results in the tournament, I don't think it's a bad choice."

"Yeah? I see."

Calix replied curtly, as if uninterested, then slowly raised his sword.

"Enough chit-chat. Plenty of people are waiting for our ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠duel."

"Tch! Fine. Let's see how long you can keep looking down on me from up there."

Whoosh!

Lance, mana surging through him, stomped the ground powerfully.

In an instant, he closed the distance to Calix, gripping his sword with both hands ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and swinging it down with all his might.

Boom!

A thunderous crash announced the start of the duel, met with roaring cheers from the stands.

"Wooooaaah!"

"Lance!"

"Dark horse Lance!"

"Crush him!"

Lance pursued Calix, who had dodged backward, and swung his blade upward with ferocious power.

Upward strikes were generally slower and weaker than downward ones, but Lance didn't care.

He was confident he could overwhelm his opponent in raw power and speed.

And he was right.

Normally, Calix preferred dodging attacks with minimal movement, just barely evading them.

It conserved stamina and made it easier to exploit openings.

But not now. He couldn't afford to.

The reason was simple.

A close dodge could leave him vulnerable if Lance forcibly altered his trajectory—he'd take heavy damage.

Lance was that strong and fast.

"Can you hear it? The crowd chanting my name."

Calix kept his lips pressed tight, focusing solely on evasion.

"Booo!"

"Fight for real!"

Jeers rained down from the audience.

But as time passed, Lance was the one growing anxious.

He was clearly stronger and faster, yet he couldn't land a single hit.

He couldn't comprehend it.

Why! Why! Why won't it hit! Damn it!

His face flushed beet red as he ramped up his attack speed.

Swoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

The sound of his blade slicing air like a serpent's tongue flicking endlessly.

His sword pursued Calix relentlessly, venomous and obsessive.

But it always missed.

Realizing this wouldn't work, Lance stepped back a couple paces to catch his breath.

That's when Calix spoke.

"You were the weak link."

"What do you mean by that?"

Calix ignored the question, hurling a curse-like barb instead.

"You should've lost in the first round of the tournament."

"What? You saying I was fated to lose?"

"It means there was no way you could've bridged the gap with your first-round opponent in that short prep time."

"It's about my background again, huh?"

"Well, you could see it that way."

"So I was doomed to lose from birth? Just live out my predetermined life? Plant seeds in season, harvest when the wind blows, repeat it year after year?!"

Fury boiling over, Lance charged again.

But Calix, who had been purely evading, changed tactics.

He met the strike head-on.

Clang!

Lance poured all his strength into pinning Calix's sword.

As if refusing to let him escape.

But in that instant, Calix's sword vanished.

"Ngh!"

More precisely, he released the force propping it up and let it flow backward.

The blades still clashed, but the contact point had slid behind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Calix's side.

Naturally, the hilt of Calix's raised sword ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now aimed at Lance's philtrum.

Startled by the sudden round guard filling his vision, Lance stumbled back a step.

But Calix didn't pursue.

He simply readjusted his grip in place.

Lance felt embarrassed, like he'd flinched at nothing.

His face burned as he bit his lip and swung again.

Clang-clang!

This time, their hilts nearly touched—they were that close.

Now I've sealed his movements, Lance thought.

As he pressed down to crush Calix's blade, veins bulged on his forearms.

Then, a chilling instinct screamed danger.

Slash!

He barely dodged on reflex, but the tip of his ear was nicked.

Pain was the last thing on his mind.

"Ngh! How...?"

He couldn't fathom how Calix had attacked.

No second sword drawn.

It was like a phantom strike.

Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

"Without that underhanded method, you'd have dropped in the first round. But you'd have grown far more than you have now. Analyzing your loss, training harder. Instead, you chased a mirage that'll vanish soon—stunting your growth compared to the others."

"Raaagh!"

Lance screamed, swinging wildly as if to drown him out.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

But the lump in his chest only grew.

Each clash felt like stabbing a stick into sand.

His breath came in ragged gasps.

What the hell is this?!

In a split-second lapse, Calix's foot slammed into his chest.

Thud!

"Ngh!"

"Your focus is slipping."

"Raaaaah!"

Yurin, watching the duel with Krout, asked,

"Why's he swinging so wildly?"

"Seems he's lost his composure."

"He had the edge early on. Doesn't look disadvantaged now either. So why the panic?"

"It's the young master's deflection. He's reached true mastery."

"Deflection?"

"Redirecting the opponent's force with minimal effort. Like when their blades met earlier—he just flicked his wrist to slice the ear."

"He looked clueless about how it happened..."

"It's invisible from his angle. Feels like the blade materialized from thin air."

"Now I get why big brother predicted all the 12th group's first-round losses."

Krout nodded.

"Few can teach such advanced techniques properly. And it takes consistent sparring to make it instinctive in real combat. Only noble candidates with full family backing can afford that."

"Shame."

"Making the top 64 in all of Lock Kingdom is a miracle as is. They train elite picks for years, staking family honor. High scores don't guarantee battlefield wins."

Krout turned back to the arena.

The duel between Calix and Lance was nearing its end.

Stamina wasn't infinite.

Amplifying power and speed came at the cost of endurance.

Even to the eye, Lance's muscles had visibly shrunk since the start.

"Grgh..."

"Enough."

"Not... yet...!"

"If you can't let go of that obsession here, there won't be another chance."

Lance bit his lip, hesitating, then slowly lowered his blade.

"I lose."

After the duel, as soon as he descended from the arena, Lance sought out Calix.

He handed over a small stick.

"You've probably guessed already, but..."

Hearing the full story, Calix focused his mind on the stick Lance offered.

A status window appeared naturally.

"I meant to come straight to you, young master. But... I wanted just once to face you for real. I'm sorry."

Calix clicked his tongue inwardly.

Lance had considerable talent, really.

But that made proper rivals scarce.

Nobles avoided him to protect family honor; commoners rarely matched him.

And facing an overwhelmingly superior foe? It was a spark no fighter could ignore.

Even if the "breathing method" was dubious.

Punishing him felt pointless.

Bad luck that the tempting hand reached him, not the others.

Calix opted for greater gain over petty revenge.

"Still got that mana breathing method?"

"Ah, yes, here."

As expected, less a true mana breathing method and more a forbidden art exploding latent potential momentarily.

B-grade meant poor efficiency in real combat.

Only viable from Class 4, but knight-grade talents were too valuable for one-shots.

Still, immense research value. Several mad geniuses would kill for it.

Like Cezare Archduke or Edirn Bertua, curiosity incarnate.

"Hmm... Normally, I'd half-kill you for this."

"I'll take my punishment gladly."

"Thanks to your confession, we can turn their plot against them. No further charges."

"Thank you."

"Inferiority from your background can fuel drive, but excess hinders growth. Build skill steadily—the world will recognize your worth someday."

"Haha, hope so."

Lance seemed skeptical, but Calix's words were near-prophecy.

Great wars would cull nobles; commoners with talent would fill the void.

"Stay at the salon where I'm lodged for now. It'll be resolved by tournament's end."

"...Thank you."

Well, he's suffered enough... Time to collect on the debt? Calix clenched and unclenched his fist, loosening up.

His chest thrummed with pleasant anticipation.

This'll be fun.