The rematch between Uncle Philip and me began, and a crowd quickly gathered, mostly our neighbors, all watching with tense anticipation.
Uncle Philip took the initiative, charging straight towards me with the ferocity of a seasoned warrior. His movements were sharp and precise, just as I remembered from our last encounter. But this time, I was prepared. The memories of my training with Mother flooded my mind, and I silently thanked her for those grueling sessions.
"Water Shield!" I shouted, thrusting my hand forward. A towering wall of shimmering water erupted before me, taller than Uncle Philip and solid enough to block his path. But as if he anticipated the move, he deftly sidestepped and aimed for my flank, his eyes burning with determination.
I've come a long way since our last fight. Back then, I struggled to engage in close combat, especially when fighting against Mother. But now, I'm different. I let Uncle Philip get within two meters of me, calculating the exact moment to strike.
"Water Arrow!" I called out, summoning three arrows of condensed water that materialized in the air and shot toward his left side—his missing arm side. I thought it would give me the upper hand, but Uncle Philip surprised me with his next move.
"Spinning Shield!" he roared, and suddenly his remaining arm, along with his sword, began to rotate in a blur, forming a protective barrier around him. My arrows evaporated upon contact, unable to penetrate his defenses.
This wasn't like my sparring sessions with Mother, where we had strict rules and limitations. Here, anything goes. Uncle Philip's skill, "Spinning Shield," was an intermediate sword technique, and he wielded it with terrifying precision.
I halted my advance, stopping just a meter before him. Getting any closer would mean stepping into the whirlwind of his spinning shield, a move that would undoubtedly result in serious injury. But as suddenly as he started, Uncle Philip ceased his spinning defense and transitioned seamlessly into another attack.
"Sharp Nail!" he shouted, lunging at me with blinding speed.
I barely had time to react. The attack was so swift that dodging was out of the question. My only option was to block with my wooden sword. I knew "Sharp Nail" was a skill that emphasized speed over power, but the force behind his strike caught me off guard. It sent me flying backward, and I crashed to the ground, stunned.
"What's with that power?" I gasped, struggling to understand how a speed-based skill could hit so hard.
Uncle Philip sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Did you really think your Sharp Nail and mine were the same? You're too naive. My skills are honed on the battlefield, boy, while yours were just spoon-fed to you by your mother. She coddles you, and it shows."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "You lose, boy. Now taste this!" With a predatory grin, he dashed towards me.
I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. My knees buckled, and I collapsed back onto the ground. The impact of his strike must have been more severe than I realized.
"Horizontal Slash!" he yelled, his sword arcing through the air with deadly intent.
"Water Shield!" I cried out in desperation, summoning another barrier of water. But to my horror, his sword cut through it as if it were paper, and the blade connected with my left shoulder.
"AAAAHHHHHH!" I screamed as pain radiated through my body. The force of the blow nearly brought me to tears, but I bit back the sobs, forcing myself to stay composed. My shoulder throbbed, and I feared it might be broken.
"Hey, shouldn't we step in?" I heard one of the onlookers murmur.
"Yeah, we should," another agreed, concern lacing their voice.
Before they could act, a man with blonde hair and striking red eyes pushed through the crowd. He was clad in light armor, with a sword sheathed at his side, and his presence commanded attention.
"I am a knight," he declared, his voice firm. "Let me through. I must stop this man who's abusing a child."
Relief washed over me. Maybe I was saved. I couldn't fight anymore; my shoulder was likely broken, and my legs refused to support me. I hadn't accomplished anything. I hadn't protected Chris. But maybe this knight could. Maybe he could stop Uncle Philip and keep Chris and Aunt Lyshia safe.
Perhaps that would be for the best, I thought. But deep down, I didn't want it to end like this. I wanted to beat Uncle Philip myself, without relying on anyone else. If I couldn't do that, how could I face Chris again?
"Stop that, Mr. Knight," a familiar voice called out, cutting through the tension like a blade.
The knight turned, his expression darkening. "And who are you to order me to stop after witnessing this scene?" he demanded, clearly irritated. But as he looked at the woman who had spoken, his eyes widened in recognition.
"I am just an ordinary sword saint," she replied coolly, her voice carrying an air of authority that couldn't be ignored.
"T-the Sword Saint?" the knight stammered, his demeanor shifting instantly. "Why are you here?"
"This is the village where I live," my mother said, her gaze steady. "And that boy you see fighting is my son."
The knight's eyes flicked between us, uncertainty written on his face.
"Don't you dare interrupt his duel, or I will become your enemy," my mother warned, her voice as sharp as the blade she carried.
"What are you saying?" the knight protested. "Isn't your son already losing?"
"Will," my mother called out, ignoring the knight. "How long do you plan to just sit there? Stand up! Be the man who can finish what he starts. This is your battle, your selfish desire. Fight for it till the end."
Her words cut deep, stirring something within me. She said she wouldn't help me, but what did she think she was doing now if not helping? But even as those thoughts crossed my mind, I found strength returning to my legs. The pain in my shoulder remained, but it no longer paralyzed me. I stood up, gripping my wooden sword in my right hand.
"Oh! So you can still stand, huh? Is that thanks to your mother's little pep talk?" Uncle Philip mocked, though I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Do you think that nonsense can help you? If family could power me up, then I wouldn't have lost my arm! I wouldn't have lost a battle against a pack of ogres because I was thinking of my family!"
His words were laced with bitterness, a glimpse into the pain he carried. But there was no time to dwell on that. He was already charging at me again.
"Water Shield!" I shouted, erecting another barrier. This time, I was ready for his counter.
"Horizontal Slash!" he yelled, and as expected, my shield crumbled under his attack.
"No matter how many times you try, you won't beat me," he taunted, closing the distance between us. His confidence was overwhelming, and it weighed on me. My magic seemed useless against him, and in terms of swordsmanship, I was clearly outmatched. But I couldn't give up—not yet. There was still one idea in my mind, one last tactic I had to try.
As soon as I was within his sword's range, Uncle Philip readied another skill.
"Horizontal Slash!" he shouted, his blade slicing through the air with lethal intent.
I screamed in fear, my voice cracking as I stumbled backward, collapsing to the ground in a heap before his strike even reached me.
"HAHAHAHA! What's this?" Uncle Philip laughed, his voice dripping with scorn. "Are you that scared of me now?"
His guard dropped as he laughed, and that was the moment I'd been waiting for. With my left hand, I scooped up a handful of dirt from the ground.
"Dust Hurricane!" I yelled, flinging the dust into his eyes. Pain shot through my injured shoulder, but it was worth it. The dust clouded his vision, blinding him.
"What the hell? My eyes! My eyes!" he shouted, stumbling backward in confusion.
"Water Arrow!" I shouted, and three arrows materialized again, this time striking Uncle Philip square in the chest, knocking him off his feet.
I had thought of this move because I'd noticed something over the years—many warriors, including soldiers, relied so heavily on their magic that they overlooked the simpler, more practical tactics available to them on the battlefield. They forgot that sometimes, the environment itself could be a weapon. And now, that oversight had cost Uncle Philip.
As he lay disoriented on the ground, I rushed forward, my wooden sword still clutched tightly in my hand. His blindness bought me the time I needed.
"Horizontal Slash!" I shouted, driving my sword into Uncle Philip's right shoulder, aiming to incapacitate him further. His scream of pain echoed through the clearing.
"AAAAHHHH! No more, please! No more!" he begged, his voice breaking as he writhed on the ground. "I need to get back to my family; please, no more!"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The desperation in his voice was unmistakable. He wasn't just pleading for mercy; he was reliving the moment when he lost his arm, when he lost everything that mattered to him. It was like fighting a ghost, a man haunted by his own past.
"Uncle Philip, you've lost," I said, trying to make him understand.
"No, no more. I have a daughter. Please, spare me," he continued, as if he hadn't heard me.
The duel was over, but victory felt hollow. I didn't feel any satisfaction, only sadness. I hadn't won, not really. I hadn't achieved my goal—to bring back the Uncle Philip we all loved and knew.