Night descended upon the camp, and the stars shone in the sky like scattered diamonds.
I need to leave without making a sound.
Rayliar thought.
Slowly, he opened the flap of his tent. A chilling wind seeped into his bones.
Five guards paced back and forth, patrolling the camp.
And then, the young man became one with the darkness, slipping past them unnoticed.
____________
The sounds of the swamp echoed in the absolute silence.
The tracks seem to lead in that direction.
Though they had already come across a monster camp, Rayliar knew it was too small to be the main one.
An outpost.
It couldn't be anything else.
And finally, the stilted structures revealed themselves to him.
A hundred meters separated him from the buildings.
Calmly, the boy took his position. His rough, calloused hands gripped the handle of his axe tightly.
He took a deep breath, a cloud of condensation escaping his slightly parted lips.
Mana began gathering and flowing throughout his body, forming a reddish aura around him.
And then he moved.
A single fluid motion, executed with the power of his trained physique.
"Light Chop."
He whispered.
And the strike landed.
Boom!
That was all it took.
Before him, the uneven ground buckled under the weight of his mana.
A burst of light illuminated the night for a brief moment, and where a village once stood, only dust remained.
"Mhm... I held back well enough."
The boy muttered under his breath.
Crack.
Rayliar lowered his gaze.
It always ends like this…
He thought, watching his axe crumble into fragments.
__________
Tack.
Tack.
Tack.
The man's finger tapped a monotonous rhythm against his throne.
His thick black hair fell across his snow-white face.
Don't disappoint me.
Pierce Gallagher thought as he gazed at his daughter.
______________
Clang!
The metallic crash echoed in the air.
"And the second finalist is Morlowe!"
The commentator shouted just as Frederic's sword shattered into pieces.
The two combatants lowered their weapons.
In Frederic's hand, only the hilt remained intact.
"…Why didn't you use your spear?"
The first asked, visibly irritated. A lone vein pulsed on his forehead.
"I'd have had a massive advantage. Besides, it was a good match this way."
Frederic replied, heading for the stairs without a backward glance.
He's a monster… If he had used his spear, I wouldn't have won. No, I would have definitely lost.
As that thought formed in his mind, Morlowe didn't even notice the trembling in his hand.
"And now we've reached the final battle! I'm sorry, folks, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow!"
The commentator's voice boomed over the arena.
I want him in my ranks.
The boy declared to himself, watching his rival disappear beneath the Coliseum's archway.
__________
That night, Morlowe couldn't sleep.
The moon hung high in the capital's sky.
"I just can't fall asleep…"
He murmured, rising from his bed.
Navigating the dark room from memory, Morlowe made his way to the window and flung it open.
The sharp scent of the morning frost filled his nostrils.
"At this point, I might as well train a bit."
___________
Victory, annihilation, obliteration.
These were the teachings of House Gallagher.
With a light step, Katrina sidestepped, dodging the strike of an imaginary opponent.
Her blonde hair danced in the air.
A spin, a thrust, followed by a slashing blow.
It all happened in a single, fluid motion, ending in a perfect halt.
Her sword remained still, aimed straight ahead.
Since defeating her last opponent, she had remained in that room, training relentlessly.
Her sleeve was still stained with blood.
Tomorrow, you'll see, Morlowe...
Her icy eyes gleamed with determination.
______________
"And here we are at the final match of this tournament! Who will emerge as the champion? Who will surpass their limits? Who will seize this chance? All these questions are about to be answered!"
The commentator announced to the roaring crowd.
"And here they come! Ready to make their entrance! The two finalists, Katrina Gallagher and Morlowe Deli—"
"Woooooow!"
The crowd's deafening cheers drowned out the last of his words.
Sitting on a stool, Morlowe stared into the void.
"It's time."
A man with a neatly groomed beard spoke in a low, stern voice.
Without responding, the boy stood up and began walking toward the arena.
In his hand, the long sword gleamed as it caught the sunlight.
Tack.
Tack.
Tack.
His slow, steady steps echoed on the smooth marble floor.
"Ready to lose, Morlowe?"
Katrina asked, locking eyes with him.
"Not quite."
He replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"No more talking."
The referee interrupted, admonishing them.
"Take your positions."
The two obeyed.
"Ready… Fight!"
Shoom!
Fast as the wind, Katrina closed the gap between them.
Her sword traced a crescent in the air, aimed at the boy's throat.
Clang!
Morlowe intercepted the strike with his blade, allowing her weapon to rebound off it and throw her off balance.
The sound of clashing steel echoed again, followed by a relentless exchange of blows that filled the arena.
"They're evenly matched?"
The audience wondered, mesmerized by the spectacle.
Shoom
As if nothing had happened, the two leapt back simultaneously, creating just enough space between them.
Morlowe and Katrina.
Two young warriors destined to shape the fate of the Empire faced each other without holding back.
Around them, the hundreds of onlookers fell silent, the moment stretching into what felt like an eternity.
Swish
The two stilled, regaining their composure and naturally assuming their stances.
Perfect. Flawless stances without a single opening.
Both thought the same as their gazes locked.
Yet, a noticeable difference seemed to separate them.
Hmm... What is this strange feeling?
A sensation hard to put into words.
Katrina struggled to describe it.
It feels... blurry somehow...
The sunlight, the blowing wind, the massive marble blocks surrounding them—it all seemed as if Morlowe was merging with the environment, becoming indistinct.
It was a state that made it easy to lose track of him, even though he stood only a few paces away.
If I lose focus, I'll be defeated in an instant.
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, she felt her throat grow dry.
Katrina took a deep breath.
Her five senses sharpened, and finally, she saw it: a slow, deliberate movement, leaving behind a faint, hazy afterimage.
Even Morlowe seemed taken aback.
Surely Katrina wasn't wearing any kind of artifact.
A plain blouse, simple trousers. In her hand, an ordinary sword, the kind found in any armory in any city.
Yet, despite that, the intent in her ice-blue eyes was peculiar.
The tip of her sword exuded an intense, frightening killing intent. But aside from the blade, Morlowe couldn't feel anything from her body.
As if...
As if the sword were floating in midair.
___________
Throughout their years at the academy, Morlowe and Katrina had fought hundreds of times, trading victories and losses.
When he had first arrived, Morlowe had suffered defeat after defeat.
The first time they dueled, his sword hadn't even grazed her.
But slowly, his weapon grew faster, his movements sharper, his technique more refined. Within a month, he managed to land a single strike. Just one.
Over time, that one strike became two, then three, then four, until it eventually turned into victory. From that moment, they became rivals.
And now, 400 victories, 400 defeats, and 1 draw later…
These were memories he couldn't forget even if he tried.
____________
Morlowe tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the texture of the hilt against his palm.
This would be the beginning of my story.
More importantly, regardless of victory or defeat, I can't waste this opportunity to leave a good impression on the Emperor.
Even with those thoughts swirling, his gaze never wavered from the young woman.
His bright eyes darkened suddenly, filled with an unsettling calm.
Shoom
Without warning, Katrina lunged at him, bending her left knee slightly and thrusting with her sword.
A swift and powerful strike.
Morlowe tracked the weapon's trajectory and her wrist's subtle motion as they angled toward his stomach, drawing the blade downward.
Quickly, he stepped back with his left foot.
Tang
A metallic clang rang out as the sword struck the ground.
"Oh! You've improved…"
Katrina remarked sarcastically before launching into another attack.
Her lips curved into a faint smile.
Morlowe leapt backward, lowering his body.
The various arcs of Katrina's blade filled his vision, yet he remained unfazed.
With precise and fluid movements, he let the blade brush past him, twisting his body and waiting for the perfect moment.
And finally, it came.
Shoom
For a brief moment, it appeared as though Morlowe was falling, his body driven downward by nothing but gravity.
His figure parallel to the ground.
And just as his face hovered inches above the dirt, he pushed with all his might.
A burning sensation coursed through his thighs, like well-oiled gears propelling him forward.
A devastating burst of speed.
His wrist twisted abruptly, and the blade followed, bending like a serpent cutting through the air.
A peculiar and swift strike.
Yet Katrina was not caught off guard.
With a forceful push off the ground, she twisted her body sideways, allowing the attack to narrowly pass by her ribs.
Spat!
The sword missed its target and continued its arc.
In a flash, Katrina aimed the hilt of her weapon at Morlowe's wrist.
Or so she tried.
Seeing the hilt descending toward him, Morlowe loosened his grip, letting his sword fall.
Still midair, the blade completed a full rotation.
Tack
With a dull thud, the hilt struck the top of his foot, bouncing upward once more.
Katrina's arm swung in a wide arc, tracing a semicircle in the space before her.
One step back.
Shoom
Her blade cut a line mere millimeters from Morlowe's face.
The perfect distance.
For a fleeting moment, Morlowe glanced at his weapon, still airborne, before charging toward the girl.
Let's finish this!
Both thought simultaneously.
Katrina's sword descended toward him again, poised to cut him in half.
His weapon climbed higher and higher.
Morlowe's palm stiffened, striking her blade and altering its trajectory.
A rotation.
Following the initial strike, he clenched his other fist.
Boom
It slammed into Katrina's side, forcing her to bend sideways.
Pain twisted her expression.
And her sword swung again, beginning its descent.
Still unarmed, Morlowe stepped back, evading a desperate thrust.
His weapon plummeted, falling toward him.
With a roll, Morlowe positioned himself behind her.
And finally, the sword landed in his hand.
Katrina felt something sharp graze her neck.
"I win."
Morlowe declared, his blade pressed against her skin.
A faint smile adorned his face.