The construct staggered back, its form destabilized where my blade had severed its essence. The air around me pulsed with residual energy, crackling like a storm barely contained. The battlefield was silent for a moment, as if the world itself recognized the significance of the strike.
I adjusted my grip on the sword, my stance unwavering. I didn't celebrate small victories. The battle was not over.
The construct shuddered violently, tendrils of energy coiling around its missing portion, attempting to rebuild what had been lost. Its movements became more erratic, no longer fluid like before. It had learned. It recognized the threat I posed.
Without warning, it lunged again.
This time, it did not strike with a single attack. Its elongated arms split into three separate appendages, each one whipping toward a different target. One lashed toward the broad-shouldered man, another toward the woman with daggers, and the last, the thickest and fastest, toward Freon myself.
I reacted instantly, stepping into the attack rather than away. My blade moved with the precision of a craftsman sculpting stone. Another clean cut. Another unraveling of the construct's form. The appendage meant for me dissolved into raw energy, scattering into the air like embers in the wind.
The woman was quick on her feet, twisting out of the way of her strike, but the broad-shouldered man was not as lucky. His shield absorbed the blow, but the sheer force of the impact sent him sprawling onto his back, his weapon flying from his grasp.
"Tch." I clicked my tongue in irritation. I had no intention of playing bodyguard. If the others failed, that was their own fault. But letting the construct run wild while he handled it alone would be inefficient.
Efficiency. That was what mattered.
"The core," I said, my voice sharp, cutting through the chaos of the battle. "It's shifting its weak points to avoid a direct cut. Watch how the energy flows before striking."
The woman narrowed her eyes, nodding slightly in understanding. The boy, who had been keeping his distance since his failed lightning spell, hesitated but steeled himself. Even the broad-shouldered man, groaning as he pulled himself up, acknowledged the advice with a grunt.
The construct did not wait for them to strategize.
It adapted.
Its form began to shift rapidly, limbs elongating and retracting, its core moving erratically within its body like a flame flickering in a storm. Its arms split again, but this time, instead of attacking directly, they twisted and curled around themselves, forming spear-like protrusions that extended far beyond their natural reach.
Then, it attacked from all angles at once.
I had anticipated it.
I sidestepped just as a spear of condensed energy drove into the ground where I had stood, leaving a smoldering crater. My movements were precise, minimal—wasting no energy, no unnecessary motions. I weaved between the strikes, reading the construct's form like a book.
The others were not as composed.
The broad-shouldered man barely managed to deflect another strike with his shield, his boots skidding across the dirt. The woman danced between attacks, fast but not untouchable—she winced as a glancing blow clipped her shoulder. The boy… he was the weakest link. He raised a barrier of shimmering light, but the construct's spear shattered it instantly, sending him tumbling to the ground.
I made a decision.
I couldn't rely on them. Not completely.
I knew it from the very beginning.
I needed to end this.
With a measured breath, I shifted my stance. The Ashen Requiem Sword Art wasn't just about severing the intangible—it was about controlling the very nature of the battlefield. My sword was no longer just a weapon. It was an extension of my will.
The construct sensed the change.
For the first time, it hesitated.
I moved.
One step. Two. My form blurred, a ghost cutting through the battlefield. My blade gleamed in the dim light, trailing afterimages as I struck—not wildly, not recklessly, but with purpose. Each strike found the shifting core, unraveling the construct piece by piece.
It howled, soundless but reverberating through the air like a dying wail. Its limbs flailed, trying to reform, trying to escape, but I did not give it the chance.
A final step. A final cut.
The blade met the construct's core directly. This time, it did not flicker away. It did not shift. The sword passed through as if cutting through silk, and for a brief moment, the entire arena fell silent.
Then, the construct collapsed.
Its body dissolved into nothingness, energy scattering into the wind like ashes from a dying fire.
I exhaled slowly, lowering my sword. The battle was over.
Behind me, the others remained still, as if processing what had just happened. The woman was the first to react, straightening and rolling her injured shoulder. The broad-shouldered man let out a breath of relief, while the boy, still on the ground, looked somewhere between awe and fear.
I sheathed my blade and turned to leave.
"Wait." The woman's voice stopped me. "That technique… What was it?"
I didn't look at her. "A blade meant to end fights."
She frowned slightly at his vague answer but did not press further. The knight overseeing the exam approached, his expression unreadable.
"You were not instructed to fight alone," the knight said, his tone firm but not reprimanding. "This was a test of teamwork."
I met his gaze without hesitation. "It was the most efficient way to end the battle."
The knight studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Perhaps. But efficiency is not the only trait a knight requires."
I said nothing. I did not care for lectures.
The knight turned his attention to the others. "You all pass. Your performances will be evaluated further as to determine your individual rank."
A murmur of relief passed through the group. The boy let out a breath he had been holding, and the broad-shouldered man clapped the woman on the back in silent celebration.
"As for you," The knight turned towards me once again, "you'll receive a letter proving your rank."
I did not react. This outcome was expected.
As the others exchanged brief words of acknowledgment, I turned away, stepping off the battlefield without another word.
I had no interest in camaraderie. I had no interest in forming bonds with people I would never see again.
All that mattered was the blade in my hand and the path ahead.
And as long as I had that, I needed nothing else.