Mad Dog Izeltier (2)
Izeltier's match ended anticlimactically.
Actually, no match even took place. His opponent forfeited.
The guy must have been intimidated by Izeltier's ferocious aura even before the fight began. Deprived of a proper scrap, Izeltier tried to throw another tantrum, but the arena staff barely managed to restrain him.
'Pitching a fit there wouldn't get him any strong opponents anyway.'
The tournament's main bracket was one match per day. Unless there was a special case like a forfeit, the bouts were brutally intense.
So the arena avoided scheduling back-to-back fights to protect the competitors.
'Too bad. I was hoping to observe and learn from Izeltier's swordsmanship up close.'
My blood, which had finally heated up, cooled just as quickly. Soon enough, it was my turn. My opponent and I donned the special armor provided by the arena and took the stage.
'Expensive stuff that blocks blades easily without mana infusion.'
The crowd craved blood sprays and limbs flying, but losing a skilled fighter would hurt the arena's business, so they'd introduced this measure.
"Our fighters for this bout: George from the Shoulderborn Guild and Goethe from the Itzel Guild!!! Give them a big round of applause!!"
The announcer bellowed.
"Who's George? Anyone heard of Shoulderborn Guild?"
"Me neither. The bracket says it's from Essemont?"
"Essemont? Northern hicks! Itzel's a prestigious central guild! Crush that stinking barbarian!!"
"Still, Essemont guys are famous for being brute savages. He might put up a fight."
"No chance! I bet my whole fortune on Goethe!!!"
With such a large crowd, all sorts of chatter filled the air. My great-grandfather Wilhelm was an object of respect, of course.
But the capital's citizens seemed to look down on the north more than expected. Some sense of superiority from living in the empire's heart.
'Even in a place named after Wilhelm Arena, they're dissing northerners too much. It's my future territory, after all.'
Time to deliver the opposite of what they expected.
I clashed blades with my opponent.
Clang—
Just a light touch to show respect.
But he swung hard. A bald, snake-eyed musclehead. Ugly bastard.
"Gonna show this northern bumpkin how scary the capital can be. I made it to the quarterfinals in the last tourney, you know. Heh."
Just like the crowd.
Spouting lines straight out of a '90s shonen manga villain. I gauged his momentum.
Couldn't heighten my senses without mana, but his grip on the sword, preemptive movements before the first strike.
A seasoned swordsman could estimate skill from stance alone.
'Honestly, not tense at all. All talk.'
But he'd made it to the main bracket, so not a total pushover. At least 4th Tier.
Maintaining distance with his raised sword. No reckless openings.
Just far inferior to me.
"Fight begin!"
With the referee's call, Goethe thrust at me.
"Tchah!!"
His shout and blade already at my chest. Thinner than my longsword—a rapier, speed-focused like Lucia's style.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
Fast strikes leaving afterimages. Relentless, no openings for counter.
"That's Goethe! Look at that insane speed!"
"That George guy's gonna be swiss cheese soon!!"
But after Lucia's speed sword, it was yawn-worthy. And reaching 4th Tier meant relying on his Mana Heart.
His sword path and strikes? Barely "style" level.
'Boring.'
Style: Simply chaining basic thrusts and slashes—like my early Lion Heart Sword 1st Chapter forms.
Fundamentals every swordsman masters.
Post-awakening, I'd drilled them relentlessly.
But I'd reached the pinnacle of style: the ultimate art White Night. Now, beyond that.
'Form (形).'
Next realm after style. Still basics, but infused with intent.
The essence of swordsmanship poured into the blade. And Lion Heart Sword's form was...
'Like an avalanche on a snowy peak. Overwhelming霸 sword (覇劍).'
Speed and power combined. Reinhardt's Lion Heart Sword way.
He kept pressing nonstop. Feints mixed with real strikes.
But just style variations—easy to handle.
'Monotonous. Light weight behind the strikes.'
Dodging without countering drew boos.
"What the hell!! George!! Fight back!! I bet on you!!"
"Heh. Idiot. Even with reverse odds, betting on some no-name rookie..."
That instant.
Thud—
A dull impact echoed. Goethe's body launched upward, then slammed down.
"W-Winner: George of Shoulderborn!!"
Lion Heart Sword 2nd Chapter, 1st form. One strike sealed my victory.
***
Today's matches were the round of 32.
Skill gaps were wide, even in the main bracket.
Daren and Mithers hadn't spotted Pantheon students, but stuck around to watch.
Mithers said to Daren,
"Too bad we missed that Izeltier guy's match. Was curious if he fought as fiercely as he looked."
"No need to see it. Like that crater he made—opponent didn't land a hit. No one here could match him..."
Daren paused, then continued,
"Actually, one guy. That blurry-faced man from some Essemont guild."
"Joshi? George? That name?"
"Yes. Took down a speedster with one strike."
Daren recalled the scene. George helpless against Goethe's flurry.
Boos rained, then sudden end.
'Goethe flew back faster than his own strikes.'
To the crowd, probably looked like Goethe tripped.
'What! Goethe too tense? Footwork slipped!'
'Too fast even for himself. George got lucky—self-sabotage.'
But Daren saw clearly.
Countered blinding speed, circled behind. Incredibly refined.
Then, mana-less longsword. Majestic arc smashed Goethe's back.
'Even through armor...'
Sheer sword pressure—like a hammer or maul.
Even Roia instructor Daren was stunned.
"Fast and powerful strike. Overwhelming霸 sword?"
Mithers felt it too. He added,
"That heavy blow—like White Night Knights'Lion Heart Sword. Roia uses the imperial variant too."
"Yes. Essemont native—probably from the White Nights."
"Huh. Proud knights in a seedy pit? Maybe banging some northern noble's wife, got exiled."
"Ahem. Instructor Mithers always twists everything that way..."
Mithers had a knack for derailing Daren's straight-laced mind.
As matches ended and they headed out, commotion erupted at one exit.
"What's that?"
Both turned. Crowd yelling around someone.
"Dunno. Check it out?"
Mithers said. Approaching, they saw.
"Hey, you! Play with me. Came all this way myself. Can't swing once and leave? Bullshit!!"
Brown long-haired giant: Izeltier. The crater-maker blocking another man. Mithers noted,
"Isn't that... George?"
Daren nodded. Unmemorable face, but impressive skill. They drew closer.
"Whoa... even scarier up close. That Izeltier."
Nearly 2m tall. George over 180cm, but dwarfed.
Mad, predatory eyes—like a beast starved three days.
"Look at those eyes. Total mad dog. Normal swordsman would piss himself."
Daren agreed.
"Dangerous. That gaze and killing intent—only from brutal battlefields."
And he targeted George among all. Reading Daren, Mithers said,
"Giant thinks like us. Good eye. I'd pick George too."
Izeltier awaited George's response. Crowd and duo too.
'Refusing a brute like that wouldn't be weird...'
But opposite. As Daren checked George's face—
Shockingly, George smiled at Izeltier.
***
Tournament matches done. As Lucia and I turned to leave—
Brown-haired giant Izeltier blocked me.
'Unexpected windfall.'
Reason I came: him. Execution Squad leader, Act 2's major villain.
Read Rene's subconscious—knew he entered. Didn't expect full name and face reveal.
Anyway, gauging his skill now would boost my swordsmanship.
'Different from Reinhardt's霸 sword, but that raw power has lessons.'
Next week's Roia trial—highest difficulty, unlike Demon King Slayer.
Wanted to scout Izeltier today...
"Hey, you! Play with me. Came all this way myself. Can't swing once and leave? Bullshit!!"
Perfect—he came to me.
'And singled me out. I piqued his interest.'
Lucia scowled beside me.
"That psycho... knows who he's messing with...?"
Stopped her from drawing. Good experience for her, but
'I fight him first.'
Izeltier glared with thick killing intent.
Beast eyes from slaughtering beasts, monsters, humans alike.
Beyond my current battle experience.
But thrilling. Reinhardt blood reignited. I grinned.
"As you wish. Let's play."
To the provoker, I struck first.