The Striving Genius
Neither the towering authority of a great noble house, nor mountains of unfathomable wealth, nor an army of tens of thousands swore to fealty could protect you when true disaster struck.
Yelena Frost had just turned nine when her carriage was ambushed on their journey home. Forced to watch her mother being ravaged and slaughtered by ravenous monsters, she had swallowed her boiling fury and carved that cruel truth deep into her soul.
From that day forward, Yelena lived as a girl possessed by the sword. Driven by the obsessive belief that the blade was the only thing capable of protecting her, she fueled her training with sheer hatred for her own weakness. To never forget that wretched powerlessness, the girl abandoned everything and tempered herself against the northern continent's murderous frost.
Yet for all her resolve, Yelena was still just a child. There were days when deep cuts left her wanting to cry, and days when muscle aches racked her entire body so fiercely that she longed to set the sword down and rest, if only for a single afternoon. There were days when she missed her departed parents so dearly it broke her heart, and nights when she wept in suffocating silence, starved of the affection that might soothe her withered spirit.
Yet the memory of that day—etched into her mind like a brand—refused to grant her respite. There was no one left to approach a girl who was already so broken. Whenever the urge to rest crept in, she swung her sword with mad fervor; as much as she wanted to weep, she cut down monsters instead. If she stood still for even a moment, that nightmare would claw its way back into her thoughts. Bound to the singular vow that she would grow stronger than anyone and never lose anything again, Yelena steadily forged herself into the true guardian of the North.
A genius could never surpass someone who strived with all their might, and one who strived could never defeat a striving genius. Yelena was precisely that—a genius who worked like a madwoman. Naturally, among swordsmen her age, no one could defeat her. No one should have been able to. That was how it was supposed to be.
"Sian... was it?"
Yelena closed her silver eyes, murmuring the name of the girl she had encountered two days prior. Until their bodies had collided, she had barely sensed her presence at all. To the guardian of the North, to a swordsman who had reached an elite realm, that was nothing short of a profound disgrace. Had the girl been an assassin, or someone approaching with malicious intent, Yelena would have tasted the bitter misery of the weak once more.
In truth, Sian was simply an adventurer who had honed her stealth techniques to the absolute limit in order to survive, but Yelena had no way of knowing that. She simply could not accept it. She needed to prove to herself, even through a duel like this, that she was not weak.
"So... that, too..."
The sudden heat that had flushed her cheeks when Sian called her pretty—that, too, had to be nothing more than anger at herself for letting her guard down. To someone who had spent her entire life looking only at the edge of a blade, pure compliments and bashfulness were entirely foreign concepts. Even now, facing Sian again after several days, the lingering memory of that encounter, the heat creeping up her neck, and the gentle, fluttering mood between them were things she stubbornly dismissed as a fluke.
"A coincidence. It was just a coincidence."
Yelena tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. Without even realizing that her impassive expression had momentarily fractured, she stepped onto the dueling ring.
I adjusted my fingerless gloves, ensuring they securely concealed my Stigmas, and stepped onto the stage. The sheer weight of countless students' gazes bore down on me uncomfortably.
"Is she... the opponent?"
"Who is that? I don't think I've ever seen her before..."
"She doesn't have a family name. A commoner?"
"A mere commoner? Why on earth would Lady Yelena...?"
The murmurs rising from below the ring were sharp and prickly. Some students muttered with poorly concealed jealousy, eager to curry favor with Yelena, while others scoffed openly at my lack of noble status. A few even raised their voices intentionally so I would hear them. I listened to the chatter in silence as I walked up to stand before Yelena. Talk like that didn't bother me; even if an entire wagonload of those spoiled brats came at me, I wouldn't flinch.
Hoping to ease the suffocating tension, I ventured a cautious question. "Uh... is this because of what happened the other day?"
"..."
She answered with mechanical silence. Wearing a wry smile, I drew my sword.
Naturally, everything I knew about Yelena surfaced in my mind—lore and character profile data I had reviewed countless times back in my gamer days. Yelena Frost: daughter of the Frost Grand Duchy that guarded the empire's northern frontier, a prodigy hailed as the realm's next Swordmaster, and, like me, a Stigma Bearer. She was a powerhouse on an entirely different level from an ordinary academy cadet.
"If it's because of that incident, I'm truly sorry," I said, resting my hand on my weapon and closing my eyes briefly. "Even so, I don't intend to just roll over and lose."
"Neither do I."
"Activating the protective barrier! Everyone, please step back at least two meters from the ring!"
The referee's voice boomed across the auditorium. Simultaneously, a translucent blue veil shimmered into existence, enclosing the perimeter of the stage.
The barrier applies the status effect: 'Pain Reduction' to the player.
The barrier applies the status effect: 'Fatal Wound Immunity' to the player.
The barrier confers 'Protection of the Holy Order' upon the player. Upon sustaining a fatal wound, all injuries will be restored immediately, and the barrier will dissipate.
• Reward: Unlock Status Window function
• Failure: Deletion of Status Window function
I swiped the glowing translucent windows out of my line of sight and sank into a quick-draw stance facing Yelena.
"The duel will conclude the moment the barrier collapses!"
As the referee's booming announcement faded, a suffocating silence settled over the hall.
"Begin the duel!"
The signal tore through the frozen stillness.
In that instant, the ambient temperature of the arena plummeted. Pure mana swirled like a gale around Yelena as she took her stance, her frost-pale eyes boring into mine. The moment our gazes crossed, she drew her sword without a shred of hesitation and lunged across the stone floor.
It was a direct, textbook, and undeniably arrogant strike. Though it was a simple downward cleave, the sheer density of mana suffusing the steel far exceeded anything expected of a student. It was a blow that challenged the opponent to try and block it if they dared.
Thinking that such an opening was wonderfully characteristic of Yelena, Sian channeled mana into the hand gripping her hilt. In the next breath, her blade flashed from its scabbard like a streak of lightning.
CLANG!
The violent tremor running up into Yelena's fingertips was an impact she had never anticipated. Her blade was deflected upward, sending ripples across her placid silver eyes as her center of gravity briefly wavered. Having crossed the threshold between life and death countless times as an adventurer, Sian's eyes did not miss that microscopic opening. With a light tap of her foot against the flagstones, her body shot forward like an arrow released from a bowstring.
Once an experienced adventurer found their rhythm, their sword became completely formless. Faced with an unorthodox trajectory she had never encountered in all her aristocratic instruction, countless tactical simulations flashed through Yelena's mind—and nearly all of them ended in her defeat.
"Tch."
Yet the weight of the life Yelena had lived was not so fragile that it would crumble before a single counterattack. In the span of a heartbeat, her silver eyes carved out a path of survival. Her longsword shot out like lightning, barely catching the incoming thrust and twisting the angle of impact. The streak of light aimed straight at her heart slid off course, and Sian's face stiffened as her certainty of victory vanished.
The feedback at the tip of Sian's blade felt far too shallow. She had thrust with the clear intent of finishing the bout, but the steel merely grazed Yelena's flank before slicing through empty air. Sian immediately sprang backward to reset her stance, noticing that Yelena's haughty aura had sharpened into something far more dangerous.
It was Phase 2 of Yelena's duel event—the exact combat posture Sian had watched hundreds of times across a glowing monitor.
"...!"
A memory from her past life flashed across Sian's mind. The opening move of Yelena Frost's second phase was always an imperceptible, blindingly fast thrust. The instant the pattern clicked, Sian threw herself backward with all her strength.
Without the slightest preliminary tell, Yelena's sword materialized where Sian had stood an instant before. The strike surpassed the limits of human perception, grazing Sian's cheek so closely that the trailing shockwave alone shoved her backward through the air.
"Ugh?!"
Swallowing the stinging burn along her cheek, Sian tightened her grip on her hilt. She could not afford to let her balance collapse from this. Yelena had just burned through nearly half her mana reserves with that single burst, yet the momentum of the battle had swung entirely into the noble girl's favor.
She outclasses me in raw skill and mana capacity. If I lose focus for even a second, it's over.
Maintaining a razor-sharp state of concentration, Sian parried the barrage of incoming slashes.
Clang! Cl-clang!
Crisp rings of colliding steel echoed in rapid succession, accelerating the tempo of the clash. The trajectory of Yelena's longsword left faint trails of luminescence in the air. One moment she drove forward with ferocious thrusts, and the next her blade swept the space like an encroaching tempest. Sian gritted her teeth, keeping her eyes wide and unblinking.
The only weapon she could trust right now was her memory. Thousands of hours of playtime. Hundreds of playthroughs. The thousands of grueling attempts it had taken to clear the sparring event against Yelena Frost without taking a single hit. Recalling the attack paths she had hammered into her brain through brute repetition, Sian guided her blade almost on pure instinct.
The scornful jeers of the spectators, the burden of their stares, even the sharp scrutiny of the evaluating professors—she tuned it all out. Carving every passing second into dozens of micro-instants, Sian moved solely to intercept Yelena's sword. Every lethal trajectory flying her way was met by the edge of Sian's one-handed blade. Even when she barely caught a path in time, and even when her footing slipped, it didn't matter. Yelena's attack patterns were already completely cataloged in Sian's memory.
"..."
Watching Sian effortlessly hold her ground, Yelena gritted her teeth.
She had dedicated her entire life to the madness of the blade. She had discarded hobbies, abandoned relationships, and cut into her sleep, all to swing her sword and become stronger than anyone else. That unyielding devotion had forged the masterwork blade known as Yelena Frost—the sword of the Frost family that guarded the North, meant to bend for no one.
That was why she could not accept the reality unfolding before her.
Her strikes should have been completely invisible. She had broken Sian's posture multiple times. And yet, Sian parried every single path with uncanny fluidity, as though she were reading the flow several moves ahead. No matter how fiercely Yelena pressed her advantage, her steel could not find its mark. Worse, Sian seemed to be growing increasingly accustomed to her speed with every passing exchange.
"...I cannot accept this."
Perhaps that was why Yelena's heart grew frantic. Facing an opponent against whom the sword she had staked her life upon proved useless, she felt utterly helpless. That suffocating dread, which she had fought to bury ever since childhood, began to eat away at her composure once more.
"You are the first among my peers to push me this far," Yelena spoke, her voice taut. "You have every right to be proud."
"Uh... thanks?"
"Therefore..."
A piercing blue radiance bloomed from Yelena's chest. The already chilly air inside the dueling barrier plummeted at a terrifying rate.
The Stigma.
The divine mark of the stars etched into mortal flesh manifested, bleeding an aura of glacial light.
"Ah."
A breathless gasp slipped past Sian's lips.
In mere seconds, the temperature inside the ring dropped far below freezing. The murderous winter of the extreme north unfurled directly from Yelena's fingertips.
"From this moment on, I will not hold back."
With those words, Yelena adjusted her grip and opened her eyes. Crystalline sky-blue orbs, reminiscent of the perpetual glaciers said to harbor the northern sky, locked onto Sian. At the same time, a violent blizzard began to howl across the ring.