Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Final Squad Showdown
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“……”
“……”
Unlike the previous match, where they had swung their weapons at each other the instant the coin hit the ground.
In this fight, neither of them moved, as if they had made a pact.
It was inevitable.
Helena's arrows possessed an accuracy that anyone would acknowledge.
Thus, Guplan refrained from rash movement, patiently watching for an opening.
Even if it was an arrow from a priestess who couldn't wield aura, getting it pierce straight through his brow like a skewer would be far more than a fatal wound.
On the flip side, Helena needed a short time to reload after firing one arrow before she could loose the next.
In other words, wasting her first shot would make the rest of the fight exceedingly difficult.
Guplan didn't rush at all, simply observing the situation.
An agile fighter like Asurin might have closed the distance before she could even draw her bow.
But swift footwork wasn't his specialty.
So, he waited.
Helena's movement would come first, maximizing Guplan's advantages.
Time was on his side.
Barring a surprise attack, there was no reason for him to move first when he was already fully alert to the incoming arrow.
He was confident he could dodge it.
Whether from the strain of holding the bowstring taut or frustration at the prolonged standoff.
Helena moved first.
Twang!
The arrow flew straight and true.
It hurtled toward Guplan's shoulder with blinding speed.
On a real battlefield, she would have aimed for the brow, but this was a spar.
She likely avoided lethal shots out of concern for taking a life.
Whoosh!
Guplan effortlessly sidestepped the arcing arrow and began stepping in flashy patterns.
Thud, thud, thud!
Starting light, he gradually widened his circle, moving unpredictably like a dance.
Guplan's strength lay in his variability.
He lacked Asurin's blinding speed, but his dazzling, patternless footwork was the most vexing foe for an archer who needed a clear target.
That was exactly what Heto had aimed for in sending Guplan out.
Twang! Twang!
Helena's arrows kept coming.
But as Heto predicted, they couldn't land against Guplan's erratic steps.
In the meantime, Guplan slowly narrowed the gap.
Like a spider patiently awaiting its ensnared prey to tire.
Screeech!
Finally closing to a range where Helena could scarcely loose another arrow, Guplan spoke calmly.
“Miss Helena, just give up. At this distance, even you, a master archer, won't raise your bow before my sword reaches you!”
He was right.
This was no longer bow territory.
Yet despite his urging, Helena silently nocked another arrow.
“...No choice, then. Don't hold it against me too much!”
She didn't want bloodshed, but there was no helping it.
Guplan sighed at her stubbornness and raised his longsword.
Slicing her torso would leave a deep gash, but this was the martial clan's training ground.
It wouldn't be fatal.
'Didn't want to hurt her, but oh well.'
As Guplan committed and lunged to cleave her chest.
Flash!
“……?!”
A brilliant light erupted from beneath Guplan's feet.
Helena had always been timid.
Not just somewhat—she struggled so severely with fear that even conversing with others was a ordeal.
Because of that personality, she couldn't form proper bonds, becoming a lone wolf despite her archery prowess and priestess skills.
The Trial Chamber had pinpointed that weakness in her character and exploited it relentlessly.
“Kyaaaaaaaah!”
Slither, slither!
The chilling sounds creeping from beneath Helena's feet stirred primal terror.
And the reptilian stench filling the air triggered instinctive revulsion.
Yes.
The Trial Chamber had thrown the terrified Helena into a writhing mass of snakes.
“Stay away!! Don't come any closer!!!”
Twang! Twang!
Helena fired her arrows wildly to fend them off.
Thuck! Pffft!
True to her exceptional archery talent, her shots struck true.
Though in that chaos, even a novice might have hit by sheer chance.
Helena resisted fiercely, but she was outnumbered.
Her arrows were finite; the snakes endless.
She had chosen the bow to compensate for her frail nature, yet the Trial Chamber forced answers from her.
Find another way beyond arrows.
Or perish miserably as snake food.
Under that ceaseless pressure, she bore fruit.
The clumsy priestess who once folded helplessly at close range had found her answer in that snake hell.
Flash!
Guplan, having dodged Helena's arrow leisurely, saw it as he approached.
The light at his feet coalescing into a massive form.
“What in the—?!”
Thwack!
The form solidified before he finished speaking.
Offensive holy magic.
Divine Punch
A monstrous physical-force holy spell slams into Guplan's abdomen.
“Guhack!”
Crash!
Perhaps no one expected the notoriously timid Helena to unleash offensive magic.
Guplan tumbled defenselessly, and in his vision, Helena's arrow locked on him perfectly.
“Ha, haha… I lose.”
Twang!
The arrow embedded in Guplan's shoulder as he laughed hollowly, ending the second bout.
Clang!
After fierce combat, Ryu An's blade shattered the sword of Maruka, deputy captain of the Red Thorn Squad.
Maruka stared blankly at his broken sword before calmly admitting defeat.
“...I lose.”
Psssh!
“Kreeeeh! Cough, cough! I-I lose…!! Cough, cough!”
A Red Thorn Squad member, paralyzed by Sylvia's poison, tearfully surrendered.
And.
Sizzle, sizzle!
As the stench of burning flesh filled the training ground, the referee quietly declared victory.
The squad member hadn't surrendered verbally, but no one thought he could continue.
Burnt to a crisp, treatment was urgent.
“...The winner is Dane, mage of the Latent Dragon Squad.”
“...Impossible.”
Heto couldn't believe the results.
Again.
Helena was a half-baked priestess who only shot arrows and cast buffs.
Doubt had crept in when even Guplan, who pursued variability without complacency, fell.
Sylvia's darts and poison felled another.
Maruka's sword broke against Ryu An's blade.
And just now.
His mage, whom he trusted to win, got roasted instead.
Many warriors had watched these spars.
By tomorrow, the whole clan would know.
The Latent Dragon Squad's feat at the Mountain of Fire wasn't luck.
As their reputation soared, sacrificial lambs were needed to highlight them.
'...It's over.'
The Red Thorn Squad's fall was inevitable.
A utter, excuse-less defeat.
With so many witnesses, they'd never catch any elite's eye again.
This was the Lichtenauer Martial Clan.
No soft hearts to pity weak strike teams.
Step, step!
“……?”
A languid footfall pierced Heto's despairing ears.
He looked up dazedly, filling his view with a boy.
Black and white swords at his hips, arms crossed arrogantly, gazing down from the training ground edge.
“What're you doing? Come up.”
Why climb up?
The matches were long over.
As if reading his thoughts, the boy pressed.
“The finale should be captains, right?”
The boy smirked down imperiously.
Arrogant, yet not cheap—Heto recalled one man's face.
Paon Lichtenauer, the clan's ruler.
'...So that's the blood of a ruler.'
Born different from us rabble.
They'd charge ahead unstoppable.
Not like us.
Something boiled up from within.
...Grrrr!
Strength returned to Heto's limp fists.
'Fine, then.'
Red Thorn Squad ended here anyway.
No paths left for a severed strike team.
But at least.
Land one blow on those who crushed our fate.
Ian smiled satisfied at Heto's blazing battle intent.
“Yeah, that's more like it.”
Heto ascended slowly, gripped his sword facing Ian.
Grip!
'I'll show you everything.'
Heto steeled himself; Ian relaxed leisurely.
Contrasting them, the referee's coin fell.
Clink!
Fwosh!
As it hit the ground, Heto lunged.
Clang!
Heto's sword swept up from Ian's low guard.
Ian drew his short, thick black blade, Sosa, blocking effortlessly.
Whirl!
Expecting the block, Heto pressed without pause.
Switching grip on his upward slash, he thrust from overhead at the collarbone.
Plain strike, but unblockable it'd pierce the throat.
Heto's swordplay was restrained overall, neatly disciplined.
Offense-defense unity: parrying while angling his blade at the foe.
Utterly basic clan foundational swordsmanship, embodying strike and guard in one motion.
Ian was inwardly impressed.
Trained in supreme Blood Demon Iron Chain Art, he skimmed basics.
But his keen eye for martial arts remained.
Heto's basics were no ordinary polish.
Minimal moves executed fundamentals: attack and defend simultaneously.
Whirl, block, thrust—deflecting foe's blade too.
“Nice!”
Excited, Ian drew Da-sa alongside Sosa.
Clang! Clang!
“...Nngh!”
But as Ian heated up, Heto struggled more against the Twin-Headed Blood Serpent.
Even one small sword blocked him; now dual blades overwhelmed like facing two foes.
'Monster...!'
The second young lord once dismissed as halfwit ignorant of martial arts.
How in that short time master dual swords, infamous for difficulty?
'...Clan direct lineage, huh.'
Born to elites, supreme arts and elixirs accelerate growth.
An uncrossable wall between Ian and him.
No matter the effort.
No matter the struggle.
Endless basics couldn't breach status.
'...If I'd had that chance...!'
Supreme arts.
Elixirs to raise realms.
He wouldn't crumble so pathetically.
Infuriating.
All he'd built.
The dream of rising with his men.
Cruel reality: collapsing like seaside salt pillars.
Kaaang!
Ian's Da-sa smashed Heto's claymore; unable to withstand, it flew, reflecting sunlight, embedding outside the ring.
Warrior disarmed—winner obvious.
“...I lose.”
Heto dropped his arms limply. With surrender admitted.
“The winner is Ian of the Latent Dragon Squad.”
The referee's indifferent echo declared Latent Dragon's victory atop the training ground.