Clash of the Superhumans
Thud. Thud.
In the midst of tens of thousands watching, a particularly resonant footfall echoed, swallowing the surrounding cheers. Grid van Selden felt the noise around him fade and allowed a faint smile to creep across his face.
"Yes, this is just right. Too much racket lacks dignity."
He flicked his neatly trimmed mustache, checked his sky-blue hair slicked back impeccably, and turned his gaze forward once more. Spotting his archrival approaching from the opposite side, Eschard, he offered a sly grin.
"That's more like it."
As if grasping his intent, Eschard contributed to the silence with his own spirit-shaking presence. It was exactly to Grid's liking. When aura users deliberately unleashed their mana-fueled intimidation, it dominated the battlefield's atmosphere. This vast space hushed by two aura users was a stage perfectly tailored to his tastes.
"It's been a while, Eschard."
"Indeed. It has, Grid."
The voice of his rival—now Duke of Valentia—felt as familiar as if heard yesterday, despite the years apart.
"Crashing someone else's party has its limits. Do you even grasp your own station?"
Even the booming accusation, amplified by mana, felt oddly welcoming. Their rivalry had begun in childhood over something trivial like similar-sounding names. Now, it blurred into something ambiguous—enemy or friend?
At least for now, he's definitely an enemy...!
Grid clicked his tongue lightly and projected his voice with mana in kind.
"Crashing? That's why you grate on me. Ungenteel speech unbecoming a high noble... Now the empire's people see your true colors at last."
Eschard's retort was immediate.
"Mind your own actions before critiquing speech, Grid. Better rough words than undignified deeds, no?"
...As expected.
The irritating bastard.
Clang.
"No need for more words. Let's settle it today."
Grid drew his longsword from his left hip as habit dictated. His style cycled through sword as primary, spear and bow on his back, hand axe on his right hip, and buckler on his wrist. Before ascending to mastery, he'd often heard his erratic methods lacked knightly grace—worse than Eschard, even. The man who preached dignity fought without it.
The more I think, the more absurd it sounds.
Dignity on the battlefield meant victory. Grid believed himself the true gentleman and master of war, adapting flawlessly with five weapons anywhere.
Which made it all the more vexing...
"Sword against me? Time to quit those reckless antics, no?"
He loathed comparisons to the brute who wielded a massive greatsword like a club to crush foes.
What irked him more? It held a kernel of truth—before he'd mastered aura.
"After becoming an aura user, I gained special insight. As your 'senior' by years, allow me to teach you a lesson."
Eschard's flushing face pleased him; Grid grinned slyly.
"Then that lesson..."
Whoosh.
"...let's see it."
The foe, a hundred meters away, closed in instantly, swinging.
Kwaaaaang!
Grind.
"Urgh..."
Like the man's temper, rippling red aura bore incomprehensible force, pressing him relentlessly.
Crack.
Grind.
As ever, the pattern held.
"What the...!"
His longsword instinctively parried, dispersing shock, yet the ground sank beneath him.
"...is this swordsmanship?!"
Boom!
Long-nursed frustration exploded, repelling the foe. Grid despised calling brute force and speed "swordsmanship."
I'll show you true swordplay.
Fwosh.
He closed the gap in a blink with swift steps. Mana and bodily efficiency maximized, no motion wasted—a thrust born of endless refinement, pinnacle of speed and economy. At its tip, swirling blue aura obeyed, vortexing to pierce all.
Yet.
Ting.
A pathetically small sound—not clash of destructive auras—echoed softly, twisting fate.
"What!?"
His masterpiece grazed the greatsword's side. Red aura flared like flames, countering his flank.
...Damn it!
Sword deflection. A novice trick foiled him.
Destructive aura wasn't blocked or canceled... but deflected?!
Ancient humiliation from his green days flashed. Against his resolve, Grid's left arm rose instinctively. Blue light shield from his buckler lightened his frame.
Kwaaaaaang!
The greatsword smashed it, shaking the colosseum. Body hurled skyward, Grid gritted teeth, spotting the charging rival. In that instant, he drew his bow from behind.
No quiver, yet a white ice arrow nocked, blazing blue aura.
Shwish.
"Tch...!"
Kwaaaaang!
Ice shards shattered on red aura, yet pierced the foe's advance sharply. Dozens of fragments, laced with faint aura, blanketed in Frozen Exploding Arrow—one of his secret arts.
"Hmph!"
Eschard snorted, slamming his greatsword down. Grid's ice exploded prematurely.
What the hell?!
Boom.
Grid embedded his foot in the colosseum wall to steady, grinding his teeth.
- Wooaaah!
- What, what is it!? What's happening?!
- So fast!
- As expected...
"Didn't say I'd teach with sword alone? Is this the 'senior's' swordsmanship?"
Amid roaring cheers, the rival's clear mockery should've galled—yet Grid burst laughing.
"Puhaha! Yes, one sword won't do. Fitting for my archrival."
A lifelong foe felled by one blade? Disappointing.
Heart racing with thrill, he drew his hand axe too.
"Changing tunes already? Thick-skinned."
"Thick as they come. You know me."
Excitement spread to his face, a grin forming unbidden. Imagining full mana and strength unleashed sent shivers of exhilaration.
"...Berserker in action, preaching dignity? Pointless."
True. He preached dignity to suppress this very bloodlust.
But now? No need.
"Kuhahaha! Round two, then!"
Crack.
Ice crept along his longsword, whitening it; the axe blunted similarly.
"Then, let's..."
Blue aura ignited on both weapons. Grid leered, charging.
"...die trying! Ahahaha!"
Eschard's faint smile? Welcoming now.
Boom!
Kwaaaang!
Crack.
Rumble.
Each clash shook the colosseum. Sword Emperor overwhelming with one greatsword's speed and destruction, red aura threatening to cleave the arena. Weapon Master countering fluidly, lightning-fast deflections and strikes cycling five arms.
Shockwaves lethal to commoners radiated.
"...East shield! Gather more mana!"
"Damn, the power..."
"Ugh, human strength!?"
"That's a true superhuman..."
Mages shielding spectators trembled on the brink. Citizens, once cheering, clutched chilled arms, staring blankly.
One observer among them voiced a unique sentiment.
"...Same as ever. Still raw, too."
The Weapon Master preached dignity daily, yet went berserk in battle. Nostalgic memories stirred.
Of course, no one else grasped it.
"Tiny, what was that...?"
"Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing."
"Focus! Every moment inspires knights!"
At Jenas's bark, Tiny smiled and nodded.
"Yes, sir. But you—watch the match. Only that Weapon Master wields freezing aura."
His advice fell on deaf ears; Jenas fixated on the Weapon Master's attribute mastery.
Close-quarters frenzy with sword, axe, buckler spawned dagger-like ice shards. Fleeing? Bow unleashed icy storms. Gap? Spear warped space, thrusting forth.
That impossible weapon swap was perfected even then.
The sight felt fondly familiar.
But overwhelming it all...
Kwaaaaaang!
...Sword Emperor's greatsword nullified assaults in one swing.
"What the hell is this!!"
Grid's scream echoed Tiny's shock at Power Lockdown—later the Emperor's hallmark. Like ancestral Absolute Defense, a lesser variant.
Not infinite. Clear limits...
As Tiny noted, Grid adapted, swapping to spear blazing white ice and blue aura—all power converged.
Correct.
Even knowing the outcome from past life, Tiny focused.
The Weapon Master bellowed.
"No more tricks!"
"As you say!"
Fiery cold temperaments clashed—red and blue auras tangled, bathing the arena in auspicious glow.
Kwaaaaaang!
Rumble.
"Kyaaak!"
"Wh-what!"
"How...!"
Explosion and quake rocked the world a beat later.
"...East shield shattered!"
"West too!"
"North half-gone!"
"Casualties...!?"
Mages dashed amid dust; spared spectators held breath.
Soon, mages cleared the haze.
"Eh...!"
"Oh...!"
"Woooah!"
Cheers erupted.
Clear sight: Sky-blue-haired man kneeling, vomiting blood; golden-haired foe standing proud. Enveloping red aura barrier betrayed the victor.
"Duke Valentia wins!"
"Empire triumphs!"
"Weapon Master? Our empire rules with sword alone!"
"Woooah!"
Mostly capital folk, roaring approval.
In the din, Grid spat blood, grinding teeth.
"Th-that filthy tr-trick? What cheat...!"
Black blood gushed; fury and disbelief twisted his glare.
Sword Emperor wiped his lip blood, smirking.
"Didn't you mock my speech for lacking dignity?"
"Sh-shut it! What nonsense was that? You...! Stubborn fool like you, pulling cheap tricks?!"
Disbelief lingered. At crossing strikes, inexplicable force twisted him, attack veering astray. Limbs, torso, mana flowed chaotically. Bracing death, the blade halted.
Eschard's blood was backlash cost—stinging his pride. Utter defeat.
"Magic? How on an aura user..."
"Force field control. Future me used it, they say. Cheap, but useful?"
The abrupt answer warped Grid's face further.
"What bullshit!"
"Curious? Come find out. Someone to introduce."
Realizing the red barrier blocked leaks, Grid's expression mixed as it vanished.
Eschard raised his greatsword dramatically.
"I, Eschard von Valentia, as victor, demand the wager honored."
His calm voice boomed; Grid's face twisted anew.
Damn...
Private ties aside, he represented the kingdom alliance. This exposed weakness shamed his lord-brother and allies.
He'd wagered confidently—senior by years, unbeatable. Yet lost.
Promises bind.
If unreasonable, his life sufficed. Lips bit bloody...
Eschard spoke unexpectedly.
"Grid van Selden, remain in the capital until His Imperial Highness's wedding ends! That's my demand as victor!"
Custom: Superhumans, potential threats, gifted tokens pre-state events then left. This mess stemmed from Grid's stubbornness.
Stay entirely?
Grid stared blankly as his rival mouthed:
- Come. Got it?