The Challenge Continues

The Challenge Continues

The Silver-rank mercenary charged in, sword and body moving as one. A dozen ways to drop him instantly flashed through Lorist's mind. But he couldn't. El and Fatty Shi's pleas from the night before still rang in his ears: "Please, Locke, I'm begging you! Give the others a chance to show what they can do! Don't flatten every challenger the moment you meet! At least trade a few moves. Make it look close—like they almost won and you scraped through on luck. Then more people will bet, instead of almost nobody betting against you. It's hard enough for us to run this betting pool. Have a little consideration!"

Fine. I'll treat it like acting. But I can't act to save my life. The mercenary's assault was fierce, but it left plenty of openings. Lorist had to suppress his urge to drop his opponent and, worse, pretend the man had driven him into a desperate scramble. This is too damn hard...

Seven years as a soldier in his previous life had left a deep mark on Lorist. He hadn't served behind a desk or in logistics. He had seen blood and taken lives. Those seven years had looked peaceful on the surface, but border clashes, operations against violent extremists, and firefights with drug traffickers had been far from rare. Blood and fire had taught him to finish an enemy in one blow. On a battlefield, killing quickly and efficiently was the best way to protect himself and his comrades. Even a fallen enemy warranted another shot to make sure he wasn't playing dead. Lorist still believed the same thing now: in a duel, the best choice was to put his opponent down as fast as possible.

To the spectators, the Silver-rank mercenary had pinned Lorist down with a thunderous flurry. Wasn't Lorist dodging in a panic? That was rare. Usually, he ended a fight in one blow. Perhaps Instructor Locke really struggled against an all-out attack from the start. Several sharp-eyed spectators made a note of it. If the next few bouts confirmed their suspicion, they might have found his weakness.

When the mercenary exposed his chin yet again, Lorist couldn't stand it anymore. He planted his right foot, brought his left after it, and slipped forward with a dip of his shoulder, closing the distance like a fish through water. The mercenary's longsword skimmed past his shoulder. Lorist turned his wrist and brushed the sword's hilt across the man's chin. The mercenary staggered several steps as if struck by lightning, swayed, then fell with a thud.

Fatty Shi hurried onto the platform, bent to check the man as though this were routine, and announced, "A blow to the chin. He's unconscious. Next challenger, get ready."

As he waved for the medics to carry the man off, Fatty Shi murmured to Lorist, "Good work. Keep that up. Let the others think they have a chance. But stop hitting everyone on the chin, or the audience will realize how easy this is for you..."

Fine. Twenty challengers a day, five minutes each—that's a hundred minutes. Stretch things another twenty, and the crowd will have had two hours for their little silver coin. At this rate, the duels are going to turn into performances. Lorist sighed.

After the first duel with Violet Academy, Fatty Shi had told Lorist that only twenty opponents had been scheduled for each challenge day. Lorist had asked for fifty instead. The sooner he got through them, the sooner he'd have some peace. The academy had refused. The reason was simple: challenge days opened the academy to the public, and a full gallery alone brought in more than a dozen gold coins. Add lottery tickets, snacks, and drinks, and the academy could easily make forty or fifty Gold Fudes in a day. The finance department would have loved for challenge days to go on forever. They worried about running out of challengers; they certainly weren't going to let Lorist increase the number per day and shorten the schedule.

Sure enough, the next few challengers all opened with a fierce assault. To everyone else, their sword strikes came like wind and rain, too fast for the eye to follow. Through Lorist's Dynamic Vision, every movement was clear. In a fight to the death, he could have slipped through their attacks and run each of them through the heart. For now, he could only parry.

More than one opponent tried to exploit the difference between Silver-rank and Black Iron-rank Battle Qi. Several mercenaries sent sword auras along their blades, hoping to cut Lorist's sword in two. Without it, he'd be a toothless tiger and would have to concede. However sturdy his sword was, Black Iron-rank Battle Qi couldn't produce a sword aura to resist theirs. If one blow didn't break it, a few more would.

Lorist had no intention of letting them succeed. Whenever their swords met, he guided his blade against the flat of theirs, turning aside each cut and avoiding its aura. His opponents grew furious, but there was nothing they could do.

Sighs rose from the gallery. Instructor Locke had won several bouts by what looked like the narrowest margin, while his opponents had fallen short every time. In several cases, their own mistakes had handed him the opening he needed. If those Silver-rank mercenaries had been more careful—and a little luckier—who knew who might have won? It seemed Instructor Locke really did struggle with an aggressive opening.

Then a Silver One-star mercenary opened with a charge, and Lorist nearly laughed. Come on, man. You use Earth Attribute Battle Qi. You're carrying a greatsword and shield. You should be guarding behind that shield, not trying a rush attack. Can you even see where I'm standing?

Lorist stepped forward, shifted sideways, and hooked out a leg. The mercenary sprawled flat on his face, greatsword and shield in hand. Lorist planted a foot on his back, leisurely drew his sword, and tapped it twice against his shoulder. Amid the laughter and jeers from the stands, the red-faced mercenary scrambled up, grabbed his weapons, and fled the platform.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Sword blows rang across the platform like driving rain.

The day's final challenger was a mercenary in his forties with Silver Three-Star Battle Qi. Unlike the others, he made no attempt to rush Lorist. He set his defense and waited.

He was the best challenger of the day. Lorist had attacked three times without breaking through. Intrigued, he circled the middle-aged mercenary and studied him.

The mercenary's face was calm, his breathing steady and deep. He stood with one foot slightly ahead of the other, poised and unhurried. Whenever Lorist neared his flank, he slid his feet and faced him again.

This man is the real thing. He can't be far from the Gold rank. He had surely survived his share of deadly encounters; he stayed calm under pressure, and his swordsmanship rested on a firm foundation. Several of Lorist's strikes during those three attacks had been lethal threats, yet the mercenary had blocked them by instinct. As Lorist had once said, only someone who had practiced the eight basic sword movements until they became second nature could have stopped those blows.

Lorist halted and addressed him solemnly. "Hello. I'm Norton Lorist. It's an honor to cross swords with you."

It was the first time Lorist had given his name to an opponent on the platform. The reason was simple: this mercenary deserved respect. Anyone who had mastered the fundamentals of swordsmanship to this degree did.

The mercenary paused, warmth flickering in his eyes. He nodded. "Hello. I'm Gurei Bordefinger. The honor is mine."

Lorist lifted his sword. "Careful. I'm coming at you again."

This time, Lorist didn't launch another fierce assault. He advanced step by step, fighting steadily and forcing the mercenary to meet him blow for blow. Through Dynamic Vision, he saw an opening in every parry and counterattack. A change of move midway through a strike would catch the man too late to respond and give Lorist his chance to win.

But Gurei Bordefinger was deeply experienced. He retreated one step at a time, deflecting and countering Lorist's relentless advance without leaving an opening. Lorist changed his approach. After a flurry of attacks, he lunged in close.

The mercenary's expression changed. With a low shout, he sent a blazing sword aura down in a diagonal slash. Lorist kept coming, turning his longsword to knock the blow aside. The mercenary let out a breath and hurried back to regain space, but a blade hissed from its sheath. Cold steel flashed before his eyes, and a shortsword came to rest a hair's breadth from his neck. Lorist had drawn the blade at his waist with his left hand, catching him completely by surprise.

The mercenary froze and lowered his sword. "I lost. I forgot about the sword at your waist..."

Lorist withdrew his blades. "You're formidable. You're the only one who's made me draw a second sword."

"A loss is a loss. I won't make excuses." The mercenary smiled bitterly. "Thank you for holding back. I learned a great deal from this bout. I'll take my leave."

The mercenary walked off the platform without looking back. Disappointed sighs rose from the gallery. Torn lottery tickets fluttered through the air as spectators cursed and headed for the exits. Over the past month, it had become a familiar sight.

In truth, Lorist could have used an explosive burst of force to break through the mercenary's defense in two or three moves. But that would have been hard to control and might have seriously injured him. Injuries were inevitable in a duel, yet Lorist had reached the realm of Dark Force. Against a Silver-rank Battle Qi fighter, his advantage was overwhelming, far beyond a mere difference in rank. Whenever he could, he avoided seriously hurting his opponents and simply knocked them unconscious. That was why he favored blows to the chin.

Fatty Shi climbed onto the platform and found Lorist lost in thought. "What's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

"That mercenary was a real expert," Lorist said. "You or El would have had a hard time against him. He's better than most of our academy's Silver-rank instructors."

"You don't have to tell me. I was terrified watching from below. I thought one slip might cost you the match. That was a fine duel. I've never seen anyone last so many moves against you."

"I wasn't going to lose. You should have more faith in me. I only dragged it out to make my win look lucky and close. Twenty bouts like that have left me exhausted. I never should have listened to you about putting on an act," Lorist complained.

"All right, it's for the money. Bear with it so we can all get rich. Oh, today's payday at the academy. You haven't picked up your wages from the finance department yet, have you? Everyone wants to meet at the Red Raven Tavern tonight."

Lorist remembered who had paid the last bill. "Don't expect me to cover it again. Last time, a certain fat man ate his fill and took food away with him. Absolutely shameless..."