A Duel I Couldn't Lose (2)
We faced each other with swords drawn, locked in a standoff. The duel had already begun, and a heavy silence blanketed the training grounds.
Standing before me was Rona Scott, gripping her trembling blade. Her eyes quivered with terror and confusion, her mind on the brink of collapse. Yet, even in that state, the training she'd received as a knight trainee in Valenvalt Territory showed through—she at least held the basic stance instinctively.
Even rotten, she got that family education, huh.
I stared straight at her sword. Objectively speaking, I was weaker than Rona right now. I was just a kid whose growth wasn't even complete. I'd heard that I'd unconsciously awakened my unique ability during that last crisis, but I still had no idea what it actually was.
This world's rules were bizarre. You couldn't freely wield your unique ability until you clearly recognized and defined it. That's why the Empire held the Ability Selection Ceremony at age ten. Commoners gathered at temples, while nobles shelled out massive sums to summon priests directly to their territories, skipping the hassle. For me, who hadn't gone through it yet, my unique ability remained an unknown.
But Rona, standing before me, was a full-grown adult over eighteen. She had the physical edge, and even just counting years with a sword in hand, she outmatched me by at least a decade. To bridge that overwhelming gap in experience, I waited for her to move first. For a smaller, weaker fighter facing a stronger one, rushing in was suicide.
The way the weak beat the strong was surprisingly simple.
Keep your eyes glued, watch, and strike the gap the moment they let their guard down.
Of course, this situation wasn't your standard matchup. Technically, Rona might have the edge over me, but her mentality was already shattered. Her swordplay, gripped by fear and flailing without direction, had to be rougher and full of openings compared to her norm.
I focused every nerve on her blade tip, waiting for that gap to open.
The tense standoff dragged on briefly. Finally, Rona—eyes darting warily—seemed to steel herself and thrust her sword sharply at me.
A textbook stab. The go-to move for female swordswomen with shorter reach to close distance.
Instead of meeting it head-on, I twisted my body lightly to dodge. The thrust's trajectory was straightforward and predictable, making it easy to evade. But the real danger came right after: the follow-up.
Female swordswomen favored this for a reason. Disrupt the opponent's balance with the stab, then dart in low, slipping into their blind spot and whipping the blade like a flexible lash to exploit any weakness.
But against a kid like me, that intricate combo was actually awkward.
No surprise—her build's bigger than mine.
Dropping low to hide from sight only worked against taller foes. Against someone my size, she'd still be squarely in my view.
Yeah, that's it. Not real combat—it's Rona Scott's ingrained habit from the training grounds.
She was moving on autopilot, like she always did against bulkier knights, ignoring the opponent entirely. Whether her mind had checked out or she'd slacked so hard on training that she'd forgotten I was a "little kid," there was no time to analyze.
I seized the opening and plunged in. Mana coiled around my hand as I slashed fiercely at Rona's exposed side, her stance crumbling since her attack fell short.
Thwack—!
A sharp whoosh cut the air, but Rona—talented enough to be a squire, rotten or not—was no pushover. In that split second, she yanked back, dodging my strike.
I pressed forward without pause, foot lunging to chase. But at that instant, the air shifted violently as her unique ability activated.
Water...?
Transparent liquid surged from nowhere, forming a massive wall blocking my path. The sudden water barrier had real physical weight, hindering my movement.
Through the rippling water curtain, I glimpsed Rona's distorted face. I retreated from the barrier, resetting my stance.
No lake or well nearby, yet she'd summoned this much water from thin air. No wonder her family invested in training her as a knight.
But what good was talent without the personality or diligence to back it up?
I charged first this time, swinging as per family training, but she blocked desperately with another water curtain. To me, it seemed like a waste to use it so defensively. The fact she did anyway suggested she'd never truly pondered her ability.
Feeling the barrier's resistance, I pulled back instantly to regroup. The same exchange repeated several times.
Was she trying to soak my clothes and slow me? Nah—she seemed straight-up afraid of my sword.
If she'd even hunted a goblin once, she wouldn't be like this.
Someone had definitely pulled strings for her. I'd report it later. For now, focus.
Unique abilities varied wildly; hers might just be water curtains. But seeing her use it only for defense made me chuckle softly.
Kalia had called this her unique ability, and damn, it was pathetic.
I hammered relentlessly like raindrops on a pond surface. She shielded with her curtains, holding on for dear life. But the endless-seeming barriers thinned as their medium ran dry, then scattered away.
I didn't miss the gap, unleashing the family's orthodox swordsmanship. But Rona wasn't done. Terrified or not, she'd had proper margrave knight training.
Clanging metal echoed across the grounds as our blades clashed in earnest.
The problem was physical specs. Her mana pool and proficiency wrapping it around her sword outclassed mine. Facing an adult head-on as a kid was too much.
Can't overcome the height and strength gap with noble, upright swordplay?
A dull shock jarred through my wrist, defeat flickering in my mind. Sensing my strain, Rona's strikes grew bolder. Confidence crept into her once-fearful eyes.
Need another way.
Parrying desperately, I blocked her blade and searched for a breakthrough. Then it hit me: Kalia's movements under the moonlight before I blacked out.
Beautiful yet destructive, overwhelming and domineering swordplay. Intense enough to leave me awestruck and yearning.
Can't match it perfectly, but I can imitate, right?
I abandoned the family's refined, noble style. No precise paths—just pure, devouring ferocity. Defense minimized, everything poured into offense.
Strike faster at any glimpse of weakness, no breathing room. As trajectories layered into a massive net, Rona's smug face paled again. Blocking alone overwhelmed her now.
But as momentum tilted my way, a strange unease surged inside me. Each assault spun my vision, vertigo crashing in. Like something inside was ebbing away like the tide.
Couldn't stop.
Just a bit more—end it here.
One step forward. The world shook violently, dizziness stabbing my brain, but I endured. Rona ahead was petrified, barely swinging her sword amid my freakish speed.
Her confidence? Gone. She backpedaled, overwhelmed.
This is it—the last one.
I wrung out my final strength, swinging wide in a Kalia mimic. Pure overwhelming power clashed her blade head-on.
Clang—!
A sharp whoosh, and her sword flew high into the air. Her wrist limp, she lost balance and crumpled unceremoniously to the ground.
I pressed my blade to her throat. Victory decided.
"Winner, Kasian Valenvalt!"
Khan announced it, and relief washed over me.
I won.
Turning, I saw Kalia with uncharacteristically wide, shocked eyes. I wanted to rush over and brag.
But before triumph could settle, the gnawing pain and dizziness hit critical. Vision blackened, knees buckled.
"Young master!"
Someone's scream echoed distantly as I collapsed onto the cold training grounds.