Here We Are! Alben! (3): Duel with Taesan

"…I have no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠idea."

I was scrolling through the Libion wiki, searching for info on Nishiyama.

The Lydia Continent, the main stage of Libion, is broadly divided into the West and the East. The key difference between them? Difficulty.

The West covers the early-to-mid game, where levels come easy and you can bulldoze through with raw stats. But things change in the East.

Monster patterns get diverse, and levels stop climbing so freely. The gateway to that brutal East is the infamous Nishiyama.

Nishiyama is packed with monsters along its mountain paths, plus bosses stationed at key points—you have to smash through every last one. And those bosses? Their power rivals main story bosses, doubling the nightmare.

That's why everyone calls it the "Human Great Wall."

Yet one of those wall guardians, a boss meant to block players there, had come all the way here on his own.

His level seemed tuned down a bit for the low-level zone, but that didn't matter. Nishiyama bosses shine through technique, not stats.

Clang—!

A crystalline ring echoed through the Colosseum—impossible for just arm meeting blade.

"I challenge you, Yamada Ryo, to a duel."

Baldojang's voice drew every eye after a beat.

"A duel…?"

The prelims were individual survival—would they even accept a duel request?

"I must decline."

"…Yeah, figured."

"Your swordsmanship is undoubtedly superb, teacher, but your physical conditioning seems lacking. Fighting you would yield a predictable outcome, plain as day. Apologies, but let's call this never happened."

As Yamada turned to leave—

"Have you ever reached the end of training?"

"…A foolish question, teacher. Training has no end—merely walls that seem like it."

"I have. Touched it myself."

"Quite the arrogant claim, teacher."

"But you can't deny it easily, can you?"

"…."

Drip.

A red droplet trickled from Yamada's arm.

"How…."

Yamada Ryo's nickname was Taesan—Mt. Tai. Even geared players struggled to land a scratch without knowing his gimmicks.

'That's what I heard, at least….'

Yet the fresh gash on his arm denied it.

"To me, you look blocked by a wall. Probably why you're here—searching for a way over."

"Are you saying you can show me that way now?"

"Even a glimpse would do."

"…Can you stake your life on it?"

Yamada's closed eyes cracked open at Baldojang's words.

"…It had better not be the bravado of a fool, teacher."

Yamada stepped one foot back, assuming stance.

"Yamada Ryo of Nishiyama accepts your challenge."

——!!!

The crowd's roar exploded the instant his voice rang out.

"This might actually work."

Nishiyama's warrior bosses prized fairness as much as Alben's folk. They even had gimmicks where the warrior blasts away interfering mobs mid-fight.

So no ganks in a one-on-one.

"Should've led with that."

Baldojang sheathed her blade, settling into battō stance. I hurriedly flipped on her stream.

Not the most professional streamer move, sure. But honestly?

"You guys are curious too, right?"

All I could do was spectate from the stands anyway. Might as well enjoy the show properly.

I locked the stream cam on the arena and glued my eyes to Baldojang's broadcast.

Viewers: around 20k. I slipped into the massive crowd chat.

"Not gonna sit?"

I snorted.

Should've led with that.

*

"Hoo…."

No more cheap losses in the prelim chaos now.

This was glory-worshipping Alben. Butt into a sacred duel? You'd get stoned to death, no questions.

"…."

Regulating her breath, she eyed the man. His presence was otherworldly—a towering giant, like Mt. Tai breathing.

But it all fell short by a hair.

'Hasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crossed the wall yet.'

Realm.

Not for brute-force hacks. Reserved for true warriors who'd devoted lifetimes to honing.

His near-attainment screamed, pricking her skin.

'Such a pity.'

Yet that sight thrilled, a sharp shiver for any warrior. Long-forgotten excitement twisted her lips, pounded her heart.

Honoring the one who'd awakened it—

Ting— She flicked her nose bridge, gripped the hilt.

Needed: senses sharp enough for split-seconds. Self honed to near-madness.

Target: always.

"Your head!"

——!!

Cracking stone, splitting wind.

Clang—!

Another impossible clash rang through the Colosseum.

"I'll show you what you're seeking!"

"Hmph!"

Sensing his sweeping left arm, she retreated. He read her prior exchange, stepping in to close gap. Heavy fist whistled through air.

Dodging the siege-engine punch effortlessly, she swung.

Blade arced for shoulder. Yamada ignored it, guarding neck and head with arms.

Ishina-ryū — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Phantom Sword 4 Strikes.

Kagang—!

First phantom feint masked as lethal. Real deal: high-speed barrage after.

Subtle, swift cuts to vitals—hard to counter, instant fatality if any land.

But only if they connect.

Gashes bloomed on his arms. The four strikes aimed at neck and head? Perfectly blocked.

First to read Phantom Sword here. Her voice slipped out.

"Magnificent!"

"You're the magnificent one!"

Clang—!

Next swing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠met fist, sparks flying. Clear parry sound.

Not like before's one-sided. Mutual block. Minimal damage, stance held.

Temporary lull. His dripping blood alone stirred silence—then his voice boomed.

"I apologize for calling it predictable, teacher! Four strikes after the feint—each flawless!"

His thrilled tone met her sharp retort.

"Got it, so shut up and stance."

Thrill soaking her voice lent power. True duel after ages.

It sparked emotions aplenty—no need to voice them.

We were warriors before humans. Blades before words.

"Express it with body, not mouth!"

"Well said, teacher!"

——!!!

Fist and sword crossed between them. In ceaseless exchanges, her blade glanced his arm.

Ishina-ryū — Cherry Blossom Deflect.

Intentional parries skipped; avoidable attacks evaded, zero damage. Unblockables perfectly deflected, sustaining offense-defense flow.

Textbook fluid guard.

Shift from aggression puzzled Yamada's gaze. Ignoring it, she pressed—his eyes shifted from doubt to realization.

Yes. This duel wasn't for win/loss.

Simply: guidance.

Core: clue for wall-blocked Yamada.

Kindly: steadfast. Harshly: slow, brute. Log-like body lacked fluidity, creaking like unlubed gears.

So he minimized motion. Easier to tank with rigid frame than dodge.

But suboptimal. Her stats a tad higher? His arms would've shredded already.

So she showed him. What he needed most.

——!!

Gliding pouring blows aside, she eyed openings. Seeking: creak and gap overlap. That instant—

Clang—!

"…!"

Soft flow honed razor-sharp, blade thrust.

Ishina-ryū — One Point Thrust.

Tip pierced gap, rocketing for throat. Blood sprayed; his HP bar dipped.

Light for critical. But enough.

"…My defeat, teacher."

Enough for him to concede.

"Learn anything?"

"More than my heart can hold."

"Can you mimic it?"

"Not about can or can't. Must."

"It'll hurt."

He'd stacked rigidity to tower height. Now: infuse softness. Mocking prior efforts in difficulty.

"No matter. If it reaches there."

"Yeah."

She turned with that. Then from behind—

"I, Yamada Ryo, forfeit!!"