The Weak and the Strong (1)
Crash! Bang! Clang! The only sounds filling the Sealed Training Arena were metal colliding with metal. Relentless clashes. No, assaults was the proper word. Rayna was pouring attacks down on him unilaterally.
"Hah!"
A sharp battle cry burst from Rayna's lips. Her sword, steeped in blue aura, charged without pause. From above to below. Diagonal cuts angling inward. Neck, shoulder, inner elbow, flank. Each strike fixated on a vital point, fast and precise befitting the reputation of the north's greatest genius knight.
But—
Whirr! Crash! Bang!
Kyle didn't meet any of those attacks head-on. He twisted his upper body. Shifted the angle of his ankles. Simultaneously, he tilted his blade at an angle.
Rayna's sword passed close enough to graze him. It was hair-raising—fabric tore, the tip of her blade swept just past his skin. Yet Kyle's expression held nothing but ease.
'Good. That's how you do it.'
Rayna was pouring everything she had into this fight. 'She's growing.' Even in this battle, she was evolving. Her swordsmanship was solid. She attacked without hesitation, recovered her blade quickly, and didn't panic when her strikes were blocked.
Instead, she used the recoil to chain into her next attack. Most importantly—there was no hesitation. The blade that meant to cut. The blade meant to prove everything she was. She was trying to strip away every wasteful, inefficient movement.
But—
Kyle's lips curled into a faint smile.
'You've been spoiled too much.'
Beautiful swordsmanship. Well-polished knightly technique. Though it had been refined for real combat, flaws of the ostentatious flourishes unique to romance-fantasy sword styles still showed up here and there in Rayna's forms.
'This is something a master should polish out, isn't it.' No matter how much of a genius Rayna was, she couldn't fix all of her shortcomings alone. That was both her strength and her limit.
"Tch…!" Rayna gritted her teeth.
'Why…?' She was the one pressing forward. She was the one attacking. Her aura output was superior. And yet—
'Why won't he fall?' It was strange. Her attacks didn't seem to land. It felt like striking a wall. 'I'm the one attacking, but it feels like I'm the one being pushed back.'
Conversely, Kyle wasn't being pushed back at all. Every time her blade met his, a little more of her force bled away. Her grip slipped slightly. Her center wavered bit by bit.
'This won't do. Faster. Sharper!' Rayna's gaze hardened into ice. The moment she resolved this, her blue aura deepened.
Her sword path bent—ever so slightly. A strike that broke free of the rigid patterns she'd been locked into. A momentary improvisation. She had grown once more in this instant, mending yet another flaw in herself.
Whoosh!
"…Hm?" Kyle's head tilted a fraction.
He hadn't dodged completely. Rayna's blade grazed the left side of his cheek, leaving a thin line of blood. The crimson seeped slowly outward. Her first valid hit.
A flicker of light passed through Rayna's eyes—just for an instant. But before it could bloom into satisfaction, it vanished. Because Kyle was smiling.
He wiped the blood from his cheek with his thumb. Then grinned wide.
"Not bad for a little bitch."
A compliment laced with open mockery. Rayna's brow furrowed. The fact that he showed no alarm at the sight of blood—indeed, that his eyes seemed almost pleased—sent a chill down her spine.
Kyle brushed the blood from his fingers with a casual flick.
"Hey." A faint crimson sheen glimmered in his green eyes. "Wanna make a bet?"
"…What kind of bet are you referring to." Rayna held her blade steady and asked.
Kyle leaned on his sword and spoke languidly. The bloody glow in his gaze deepened.
"Simple bet." His lips twisted. "The winner takes everything. The loser loses everything."
"……"
"History's always been that way, hasn't it? The one who wins takes. The one who loses gets taken."
Kyle took one step forward.
"So the loser obeys the winner absolutely. How about it?"
Rayna's expression hardened to ice. Absolute obedience.Kyle Hartvalt, the eldest son of the Grand Duke. Herself, a mere knight. Given the gulf in their stations, those words were undeniably dangerous.
"Are you saying that with sincerity?" Disgust laced her voice. She took his casual demeanor for flippancy.
But Kyle nodded.
"Of course."
"……"
"If you win, you can kill me. Go ahead."
Rayna's eyes widened in shock.
"What did you say?"
"Cut off my arms and legs. Crack my skull. If you want, snap my neck right here on the spot. That should satisfy you, yes?"
Kyle was utterly unperturbed.
"If I'm the loser, I have to accept it. That's the bet."
There was no flippancy in those words. They sounded like a jest, but his eyes were deadly serious. Rayna sensed that fact.
Kyle Hartvalt is truly placing his life and his limbs on the line of this wager.
'He's insane!' It was madness. A mere knight versus the eldest son of the Grand Duke. Given the gap in status, it was absurd.
Rayna tightened her grip on her sword. She didn't want to kill Kyle. She didn't want to cut off his arm.
'What I want is…' There was only one thing she desired. Proof. That her sword and her worth—that her very life—were not so trivial as to be crushed under a handful of crude words.
She wanted nothing more than to prove that.
"Very well." Rayna's gaze sank deeper. "Do not come to regret those words later."
"Regret? Me?" Kyle laughed.
With that single word, the air in the training arena shifted.
Whoosh—
Blood-red aura erupted from Kyle's sword. The volume of aura itself wasn't great. Compared to Rayna's blue aura, it was still paltry. But the texture was different. Like a miasma soaked in the stench of blood, the energy radiated a suffocating pressure that made the lungs seize just from witnessing it. She couldn't know it was the distilled experience of the Blood Cult Leader from his past life. All she felt was—ominous aura.
"Bet's on then." Kyle smiled.
The next instant—
Thwack!
Kyle moved first.
"…!" Rayna's pupils dilated in shock.
'Fast!' No—simple speed wasn't the issue. The structure of his movement was different. Kyle's stance, which had been focused on defense until moments ago, instantly pierced through her guard. The very instant she thought the attack was coming straight-on, his blade was already sliding in from the side.
Crash!
Rayna barely parried. But her wrist jolted.
"Ugh!"
Crack! Boom! Crash!
Kyle's blade didn't relent. Every strike connected in seamless succession, as though each was calculated down to the smallest margin. Rayna blocked. Deflected. Counterattacked. But each time, she lost ground.
'What kind of swordsmanship is this!' Rayna gritted her teeth. Her aura output was still superior—that was certain. But Kyle's blade was heavy. Not merely a matter of raw strength. His sword twisted the axis of force on impact. Where she thought she'd blocked, she was pushed back. Where she thought she'd deflected, the blade burrowed in again. Disgustingly precise. She was forced to admit that she was overwhelmingly outmatched in this swordsmanship.
"Hmm. Up close, you really are…" Kyle's face was right before Rayna's nose. Blade locked against blade. Close enough that their breaths nearly mingled. He grinned wide.
"Truly a pretty face."
"Get lost!" Force surged through Rayna's blade. The meaning behind those words was unmistakable. Kyle was deliberately making her imagine how far she could trample him if she won.
'I won't lose! I absolutely cannot let that madman defile my life!' If she lost, she would become a plaything. Humiliation, rage, shame—all of it surged up at once. But Rayna's blade didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper.
"Ha!" Kyle liked that about her.
'That's the way to fight.' Don't get consumed by emotion. Channel your fury into the tip of your blade. Lay your fear beneath your feet and advance. Her talent still shone in this moment.
But—
It wasn't enough.
Clang!
Kyle's blade twisted Rayna's sword upward.
"Ghk!" Rayna tried to recover instantly. But it was too late. Kyle's blade was already on its next trajectory.
Whirr! Clang! Cha-yaeng!
The swordsmanship of the Blood Cult Leader from his past life evolved in real time to match Kyle's body. Rayna was a genius. But Kyle's past self—the Blood Cult Leader—had been an even greater genius, with far deeper experience.
'Different!' Rayna felt that Kyle's power was abnormal. His aura was still weaker than hers. His stamina wasn't anything extraordinary. His body wasn't that of a warrior perfected through decades of training. Yet the level of his swordsmanship was beyond reason. His aura control transcended common sense. And his energy expenditure was almost nonexistent.
"Hah… hah… kgh!"
Meanwhile, Rayna's breathing grew ragged. Gaps appeared in her defense. Kyle didn't miss that instant.
Chaaeng—!
Kyle's blade struck Rayna's sword with force. The arc of her blade collapsed. The shock opened her upper body completely.
"Ah…!"
In the panic to recover her stance—
Whap!
Kyle's foot swept the back of Rayna's knee.
"Ugh!" A short cry tore from her throat. Rayna's balance shattered. She gritted her teeth and tried to hold on.
But—
Smack!
Kyle's palm struck Rayna's cheek without mercy.