Using Sword Aura in a Spar?
"Using sword aura in a spar?"
It was beyond ridiculous—it was utterly infuriating. Sparring was meant to test each other's skills and sharpen real combat instincts. There was no reason to kill your opponent or cause real harm. They used wooden swords instead of live blades precisely to prevent accidents.
But unleashing sword aura mid-spar? That was no different from a duel to the death.
"If it pisses you off so much, use it yourself. Why don't you?"
Terriot twirled his wooden sword, now cloaked in shimmering sword aura, like he was mocking him. Yoahim ground his teeth, but there was nothing he could do. His own wooden sword was snapped in half, and he didn't even know how to use sword aura.
He was pissed, but he couldn't charge at Terriot recklessly. Sword aura wasn't for show—it was a real threat. Terriot meant to cut him down.
"Don't you get what a spar is, old man? Senile from old age? Why spar if you're gonna swing live steel until someone dies?"
"Then you use a live blade. This is enough for me."
"Don't you get what I'm saying? This is a spar. Not a fight to the death."
"Hey, apostle. Don't you think it's too damn peaceful around here?"
It came out of nowhere. Terriot, still twirling his wooden sword, spread his legs into a low stance. Shoulders pulled back, the tip of his blade aimed straight at Yoahim's heart. Simple pose, but rock-solid—no tremor at all. It spoke volumes of the elder dark elf's mastery.
"Back in my youth, I roamed battlefields with Lord Haellagos. Undead hordes, loyal soldiers, mighty black mages—what were they to us? At first, we had nothing. Just a handful of followers trailing him. We fought to survive, grew strong to survive. Clashed with countless foes in life-or-death struggles, got stronger, fought again, grew stronger still... and lived."
Yoahim shut his mouth. The aura pouring off Terriot was no joke.
"But now? Too damn peaceful, right? Huddled in the training yard, chit-chatting like kids playing soldier. Sure, training matters. Sparring matters. But that's not all there is, is it? Anyone else, maybe. But not you. You've got no fire in your gut."
The watching knights flinched at the barrage. They'd hoped to learn from a spar between Yoahim and Terriot, but things had veered off course.
Yoahim twisted his lips. Truth be told, he didn't deserve this lecture. As a former mercenary, he'd danced with death plenty. And he wasn't green as a commander—he'd led the vanguard, carved a path to Levia Castle, and taken Hallidery's head.
In short, Terriot's criticism was bullshit. No reason to take it.
Yoahim bit his lip hard, then let out a heavy sigh. He raised his broken wooden sword, pointing it at Terriot.
"There we go. That's the spirit."
Terriot grinned like a hunter scenting blood.
A beat of silence, then pounding footsteps slammed into his ears. With a sharp hah!, Terriot's wooden sword shot forward like an arrow.
Bam!
"Gah!"
A translucent glow flashed, and Terriot's body tumbled across the ground.
The knights gawked at Yoahim, then Terriot, then each other.
'Magic... right?'
'Obviously magic...'
'In a sword spar...'
Using magic in a sword spar was cheap. But Terriot had broken the rules first with sword aura, so...
Anyway, was this even a spar anymore?
As the knights panicked, Yoahim tossed his wooden sword aside with a smirk.
"What? Pissed? Then use magic too, old man. Can't, huh?"
"...Hah, this little shit's got balls."
Terriot brushed off the dirt and stood, unfazed. A magic missile wasn't enough to drop him—he wasn't that fragile.
Yoahim grinned. "Your words. Too peaceful, playing soldier. So let's drop the games and fight for real. You won't cry foul if I use more than a sword in battle, right?"
"Course not. But you sure about this?"
"Sure I'll win? Hell yeah."
Terriot shook his head with a grin. "Nah. You ain't beating me."
"Cocky much?"
"I can afford to be. I'm strong."
Yoahim sneered, lips curling. He knew it wasn't bluffing, but he couldn't help mocking anyway.
"And don't get me wrong—I'm not underestimating you. Apostle, your magic's top-tier. Casting speed proves it. But beating me with just spells? Nah. Your real weapon's the sword. You know it."
Yoahim said nothing, but he didn't deny it. Hell, it was true. Two months grinding magic at Jenahe Tower nonstop, zero combat experience. No spell spars even. Beating a sword master like Terriot on magic alone? Tough.
Yoahim grunted. "...So? Live blades from the start?"
"Nah. Kill you by accident, and what do I tell Lord Haellagos?"
Confidence for days. Yoahim chuckled and nodded. "Then?"
"Call it a draw. Push it further, I might kill you. Can't off his precious apostle. Plus, I like you."
Like me? But you tried to kill me?
Yoahim swallowed the retort. "Ends anticlimactically."
"You bored lately? Heard your magic tutor headed to the front today."
What's his angle? Yoahim nodded warily.
"Meet me here every day at this time."
"Why?"
"Spar with me."
"Spar? Hilarious. One minute it's 'spars suck, real fights only,' now daily spars? Memory going?"
Terriot cackled at the sarcasm.
"Can't kill you, right? And you benefit too. Saw you eyeing my moves. Best textbook in the city? Me."
True enough. Yoahim had stolen glances mid-spar. Terriot hadn't gone all-out yet—plenty left to learn.
"Then why the sword aura? Dangerous as hell."
"For fun."
Crazy old bastard. Yoahim ground his teeth. "So you'll mentor me?"
"Nah. I'm sparring to mess with you. Learn what you can."
"..."
"Don't glare. My personal favor. Daily spars with me? Rare shot. Look at these guys—jealous."
The knights eyed Yoahim enviously. Terriot's legend, forged fighting for Haellagos since forever, wasn't lightweight.
Yoahim snorted. "Favor? Why me?"
"Told you. I like you."
"What about me?"
"The rude banmal. War taught me—obedient ones die quick. Insolent bastards last."
"..."
Yoahim's mouth twitched. He bit back a retort. Yelling at this geezer was pointless—his loss.
"And who knows? Spar enough, maybe pick up sword aura."
Sword aura. The word sent shivers through Yoahim. Channeling mana into the blade—the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Turns a dull edge into a legendary blade; masters cleave foes with twigs. Sword aura users? Swordmasters. VIP treatment everywhere. Merc bands, knighthoods under kings or nobles.
But more importantly...
'Sword aura just looks badass.'
Lame, but key. Why buy cosmetic gear in games? Looks cool. Imagine lightsaber-swinging, slicing enemies like paper. Every guy dreams of it.
"S-so you'll teach me sword aura?"
Full of hope—but
"Nah. Figure it out yourself."
"You joking?"
"No joke. I'd teach if I could. But I don't know how."
"Don't know? You just used it."
"Can you explain breathing?"
"What?"
"Exactly. You breathe without knowing how. Same deal. Sword aura's natural as breathing for me. Can't teach what I don't grasp."
"Just survived enough near-deaths, and boom—one day it clicks."
Yoahim was floored. Not just him—the knights looked dumbfounded too.
Terriot shrugged. "Personal experience: Get beat to death's door, enlightenment hits. Figure it out before you die."
He stroked the wooden blade with his left hand. Yoahim realized: This old man's not helping. Just screwing with me.