The Duel Continues

To the spectators in the stands, Lorist on the arena floor looked utterly wretched. The bandage around his left shoulder was stained red with blood, and the bandage around his right ribs was not only red but had even begun dripping blood. His whole body was drenched in sweat, swaying unsteadily, his face growing paler by the moment. It seemed that with just a little more force, he could be knocked to the ground and made to throw down his sword and admit defeat.

Yet Lorist still stood on the arena floor like an unshakable mountain, his gaze resolute. His right hand hung limp because of his injured ribs, only applying a little strength whenever he occasionally used both hands on his sword. His left hand wielded the longsword with effortless ease. Parrying, lifting, bracing, blocking, drawing, coiling, sweeping, cleaving, thrusting, entangling, tapping, hanging—every sword technique came naturally and smoothly. He was hardly any worse with his left hand than he had been with his right.

Facing his opponent's fierce and violent attacks, Lorist was like a green pine standing proudly upright amid a raging storm. No matter how fierce the wind and rain became, they could not make him bow his head. He was also like a reef standing motionless by the sea. No matter how violently the enormous waves crashed against it, they still shattered to pieces without harming him in the slightest.

His opponent was panting as well. The continuous, ferocious attacks had left even this peak Silver Swordsman somewhat exhausted. He wielded a greatsword and had always focused on offense rather than defense. The fact that Lorist had been able to use his left hand to withstand his attacks for more than ten minutes had already shocked him. Whether among his fellow academy instructors or the opponents he had encountered while training abroad, only a handful had managed to last this long under his onslaught. What was more, the Lorist he now faced was merely a Black Iron rank swordsman.

"What are you doing, idiot?! Don't let him catch his breath! Harass him, circle around to that bastard's back! He's bleeding! He won't last much longer! Attack, don't stop! Put in a little more effort and we'll win! Get up there!"

The furious roar of Weston, the dean of Saint Maso Academy, came from the stands. The dean had long since been unable to sit still. He had stood up and was shouting at the arena with complete disregard for his status or the attention of those around him.

Today was the academy's dueling day, and the fifteenth academy to take its turn was Saint Maso Academy, Dawnlight Academy's mortal enemy. It was no wonder Dean Weston was so agitated and tense. The battle currently taking place was the twentieth and final duel. The Silver Swordsman on the arena floor was the sole survivor among the twenty Silver instructors sent out by Saint Maso Academy, the only one who had yet to be defeated. In Dean Weston's eyes, Saint Maso Academy's hope of defeating Dawnlight Academy and escaping its fate of failure rested on this Silver instructor. His opponent, meanwhile, was Lorist, already at the end of his strength.

The Silver instructor followed Dean Weston's instructions and began circling Lorist, searching for a chance to attack. Lorist's response was simple. He used his left foot as his pivot and moved his right foot lightly, always keeping himself face-to-face with his opponent and preventing him from circling around to his side.

"Attack! What are you dawdling for? That bastard can't fight back anymore! Hurry up! We're about to win!" Dean Weston shouted from the stands, gesturing wildly again.

"Die!" the Silver instructor roared and charged forward with his body lowered.

"Hmph!" Lorist snorted coldly. He did not retreat in the slightest. His left-hand longsword made a light thrust, aimed directly at the opening in his opponent's sword momentum.

The Silver instructor changed his technique, turning the thrust into a sweep. Lorist angled his longsword downward and forcefully received the attack.

"Clang, clang, clang..." The two swords clashed like iron being forged, the sounds dense and crisp. After several dozen exchanges, the Silver Swordsman retreated and leaned on his sword to recover his breath, while Lorist looked even more exhausted and swayed unsteadily.

"Ha! Attack, attack! He's out of strength! He's finished! Hahaha!" Dean Weston in the stands was practically dancing with joy, waving his arms about with a face flushed bright red.

The Silver instructor charged forward again, his greatsword sweeping and cleaving in broad, powerful arcs.

Lorist blocked and parried, keeping his defense airtight. Only, the strength in his left-hand longsword grew weaker and weaker.

The Silver instructor was delighted. He swung upward with all his strength. With a clang, Lorist's longsword was knocked aside, leaving his defenses wide open.

The greatsword cleaved straight down, and Lorist no longer had time to bring his sword back to block.

"I won..." The Silver instructor let out a relieved breath.

"We've definitely won!" Dean Weston clenched both fists.

Lorist took a step back...

This was the final duel against Saint Maso Academy, and nearly fifteen minutes had passed since it began. Throughout those fifteen minutes, Lorist had endured the Silver instructor's stormlike attacks without counterattacking. He had only defended, defending in place without moving even one step, constantly remaining on the passive side. As a result, amid the dazzlingly fierce attacks and impenetrable defense, everyone had forgotten that Lorist could move. His opponent, that Silver instructor, had forgotten as well.

Lorist took a step back, and the greatsword skimmed past his clothes before cleaving into the arena floor. His knocked-aside longsword traced a beautiful arc through the air and lightly came to rest against the Silver instructor's neck.

"Instructor Locke wins!" Fatty Shi announced loudly from the arena.

"Clang!" The Silver instructor's greatsword fell to the ground. He covered his face with one hand as tears streamed down, and unexpectedly began crying on the arena floor.

Disappointed curses rang out from the stands, followed by cries of admiration. Then applause broke out, gradually joining together until it thundered throughout the indoor training hall. The spectators were expressing their respect for Lorist—their respect for how he had remained undefeated despite his injuries.

Dean Weston still stood rigidly in the stands with both fists clenched. He had gone from great joy to great sorrow, from heaven to hell. The transformation had happened so quickly that he could not accept what had happened before his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, the veins on his forehead bulging, his face twisted as he muttered to himself, "How could you retreat? How could you retreat..."

Several Saint Maso Academy instructors and assistants beside him wanted to go over and console him, but feared being blamed themselves. They could only stand to one side and stare foolishly.

The Silver instructor on the arena also felt that crying in public was rather embarrassing. He wiped away his tears and turned to leave, not even picking up the greatsword lying on the ground. However, after only a few steps, he heard a commotion behind him. When he turned around, he saw that Instructor Locke had collapsed from exhaustion and lost consciousness. Several Dawnlight Academy students were supporting him, shouting, and frantically searching for a stretcher to carry him to the infirmary.

This greatly affected the Silver instructor. If I hadn't listened to the dean and fought a war of attrition with him... If I hadn't attacked so quickly and been so eager to win, if I had only held on a little longer, then the victor... For a moment, the Silver instructor felt deeply wronged and overwhelmingly regretful. Unable to control his emotions, he knelt on the arena and burst into loud sobs.

The sight of Lorist losing consciousness and being carried off the arena on a stretcher affected Dean Weston in the stands even more. He had been so close—if only he had held on a little longer, without even attacking, Lorist would have collapsed on his own! Dean Weston felt unbearably aggrieved. The frustration lodged in his chest would not ease no matter what he did. In his fury, he suddenly grabbed a chair and began smashing the surrounding seats with loud crashes. The people nearby ran far away in fright, thinking he had gone mad...

After Telman instructed the enforcement team to guard the door and prevent outsiders from entering, he went into the infirmary. As expected, it was a complete mess. Lorist was tugging at the bandages on his body while cursing Fatty Shi. That morning, Fatty Shi had filled two pig bladders with chicken blood and insisted on tying them inside the bandages, saying that the wounds would look more realistic after strenuous exercise and that the deception would seem more professional. Lorist had not minded and had agreed.

Who could have expected the pig bladders to burst? The chicken blood flowed out and stained the bandages, making the wounds look very realistic, but even more of the blood congealed on the bandages, leaving Lorist itchy and uncomfortable all over. On the arena, he had endured it until he could barely stand it and had nearly reached out to scratch himself. Everyone who saw Lorist's pale face and sweat pouring from him had assumed his injuries were acting up. How could they have known that all that sweat had been forced out by his struggle to endure the itching?

After finally undoing the bandages and scratching himself thoroughly, Lorist let out a long sigh of relief. "It was unbearably itchy. I never imagined itching could be so difficult to endure. On the arena just now, I even wanted my opponent to stab me wherever it was itching."

Telman picked up a thin hemp towel from the bucket of hot water, wrung it out, and walked over. As he vigorously wiped the areas of Lorist's body where the congealed chicken blood remained, he said, "The bandages this morning were tied too tightly and didn't breathe. After the chicken blood flowed out, aside from staining the bandages, the rest congealed inside. Rubbing against your skin, it turned into powder, and once it got into your pores, of course it would itch. It's a wonder you managed to endure it until the duel ended."

"But your performance in the final duel was truly magnificent. If I hadn't known you weren't injured, I really would have thought you were about to collapse. How did you come up with that step backward? Everyone thought you were certain to lose, but who would have expected you to retreat one step and turn defeat into victory?"

"Hehe." Lorist laughed. "I dragged out that final duel for so long precisely to give everyone the impression that I couldn't move and could only stand in place to block and parry, as though leaving my position would immediately make me lose and collapse. No matter how fierce my opponent's attacks were, I could only stand there and receive them without moving. After dragging things out for so long, no one would expect me to move suddenly, and that was when my chance to win appeared. A sword duel isn't just a contest of swordsmanship. Your mind is important too. The more critical the situation, the more you have to remain calm and keep a clear head."

Telman silently pondered this for a while. He knew Lorist was giving him guidance, so he sincerely said, "Thank you."

When Fatty Shi entered, everyone was crowded into the infirmary drinking Maikesi. Dean Levens had just sent it over for Lorist as a reward for his outstanding performance in the morning's duel against Saint Maso Academy, which had allowed Dean Levens to vent his frustrations. Then Telman and the others confiscated the reward. Following the principle of sharing blessings and letting someone else bear the troubles, they directly began brewing the Maikesi in the infirmary's treatment room.

"Good news, good news..." Fatty Shi was beaming with delight.

"What good news? Let's hear it," Telman said.

"After Little Locke's duel ended, he pretended to faint and was carried off the arena, didn't he? That really affected the people from Saint Maso Academy. The Silver instructor who fought him broke down and cried like a child on the arena. Dean Weston went berserk in the stands, carried chairs around, and smashed them everywhere. In the end, he vomited blood and collapsed. He only regained consciousness after emergency treatment. When Dean Levens sent him to his carriage, he comforted the dean on the stretcher and said, 'Don't worry. The bill for the things you damaged will be sent to Saint Maso Academy.' As soon as Dean Weston heard that, he vomited blood and fainted again. I just heard that Dean Weston will need to remain bedridden for at least half a year to recover. If that isn't good news, what is?"

"Tsk. That's good news for that old fox up there, but what does it have to do with us?" Telman said disdainfully.

After finishing the Maikesi in his cup, Lorist said to Fatty Shi, "I've already been in the infirmary for more than an hour. It's time to take me back."

So everyone rewrapped Lorist's bandages, placed him on a stretcher, and carried him through the academy toward the Golden Instructor Residential District.

Fatty Shi said, "Dean Levens has decided to suspend tomorrow's external challenge day for one day. That way, people will be even more convinced that you're genuinely injured. He also sent people to discuss with the remaining twelve academies whether the academy duels could be postponed for a while. Those academies definitely won't agree, but the academy has to make the request anyway. The old bastard says that if we're putting on an act, we have to carry it through completely and not reveal the slightest flaw."

Lorist closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentle swaying of the stretcher as he cursed, "Two old and fat foxes. You're getting more and more addicted to deceiving people."

--------------------------Scene Break----------------------------------

"Knocked unconscious by a strike to the back of the head. Instructor Locke wins. The next challenger, prepare to enter!" Fatty Shi announced loudly from the arena.

For some unknown reason, this defeated challenger had focused all his attention on Lorist's longsword. Every move he made was directed at the sword, as though he would not stop until he had cut it in half. Lorist deliberately exposed several openings in his body to lure him in, but the challenger ignored them, single-mindedly competing with Lorist's longsword. So Lorist threw his longsword into the air. The fool naturally looked up, allowing Lorist to close in and strike him in the back of the head.

What a frustrating way to lose. Suppressing his laughter, Fatty Shi directed the enforcement team to carry the defeated challenger away. Then he quickly whispered to Lorist, who was standing nearby, "The next challenger is Sandos Yi'erta, the disciple of the Storm Sword Saint of the Kingdom of Kaelia. Yi'erta, be careful. The opponents before him adopted those clingy, exhausting tactics at his instruction, all to drain your stamina. His sword is very fast..."

A young nobleman on the other side entered the arena with a longsword in an ornate scabbard. He stood opposite Lorist and bowed with great elegance. "Dear Instructor Locke, I never imagined you would truly be able to hold out until your student entered the arena and stand before your student. This is truly a pleasant surprise. It is just a pity that you are injured and cannot fight me with all your strength. That is genuinely regrettable."

Lorist raised the sword in his hand, indicating that the other man should stop talking nonsense and attack.

However, the young nobleman continued standing there and speaking without end. "Instructor Locke, our parting three years ago left an indelible impression on this student. Over these past three years, whenever I thought of the lesson you bestowed upon me, I tossed and turned at night, unable to sleep. In order to repay your kindness, I have trained day and night, thinking only of..."

"Cough, cough, cough." Lorist finally could not bear it any longer and interrupted the other man's rambling with several coughs. "I say, um, what was it, Yi-something? Right, Ikita, are you planning to stand there and attack me with your endless chatter until I can't stand it and surrender on my own?"

"Damn it, I told you that kid's name was Sandos Yi'erta! I've told you several times to be careful, and you still didn't take it seriously. You can't even remember his name!" Fatty Shi cursed from below the arena.

The young nobleman called Sandos Yi'erta immediately flushed bright red. It turned out Instructor Locke had not taken him seriously at all—he had even gotten his name wrong. Yet he had thought he could pressure Lorist, and had ended up standing there like a fool, making a grand show of himself.

"Shing!" Yi'erta drew his sword. "Since that is the case, then this student will not hold back."

Before his voice had even faded, a flash of sword light swept over like a strip of silk, swift as lightning.

Lorist's gaze sharpened. His left-hand longsword flashed out, and the unceasing clangs of sword strikes rang through the air. In the briefest instant, the longswords in their hands had already clashed more than ten times.

Yi'erta's sword was indeed very fast, but most of his techniques consisted of thrusts and lifts, with very few slashes or cleaves. Although this increased his sword's speed, it also made his swordsmanship rigid and lacking in variation. Under Lorist's Dynamic Vision, no matter how fast a sword was, its trajectory could not escape detection. Lorist effortlessly received wave after wave of attacks.

Yi'erta had already given his all. Sword light revolved around Lorist, glittering like cold stars and enveloping his figure.

In the eyes of the spectators in the stands, Lorist was like a small boat in turbulent waves. The slightest carelessness would mean the boat capsizing and its occupant dying.

Yet in Yi'erta's eyes, Lorist was clearly handling the fight with ease. His lightning-fast swordsmanship posed no threat whatsoever. Every time it seemed he was about to strike Lorist, Lorist would sway and slide aside, causing his thrust to miss by the narrowest margin as it skimmed past the afterimage.

The more Yi'erta fought, the colder his heart grew. He had thought that after three years of bitter training, dealing with Lorist would be easy. Who could have imagined that Lorist would be far more formidable than he had expected? His gaze turned cold. It seems I'll have to use that move. A sinister expression appeared in Yi'erta's eyes.

Yi'erta suddenly changed his techniques, using nothing but slashes and cleaves. Lorist casually blocked, waiting to see what other changes he had in store.

Yi'erta twisted his hand and struck the blade of Lorist's longsword with the spine of his own. With a sharp ding, Yi'erta's longsword broke off flush with the hilt.

Lorist froze. How had his sword suddenly broken? Then he saw Yi'erta still holding the hilt and charging straight at him.

Why was he charging when he no longer had a sword? Before Lorist could figure out what was happening, he suddenly heard a hiss. A blue, glistening blade shot out from within Yi'erta's hilt, flying straight toward him...

The move came without warning and exceeded everyone's expectations. No one had imagined that Yi'erta's sword concealed another sword—and one coated in poison at that...

Lorist leaned back at extreme speed. In his Dynamic Vision, the poisoned blade slowly grew larger before his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, Lorist forcibly lowered his head more than an inch. The poisoned blade skimmed almost directly against his face, and a foul stench rushed into his nose.

"Bang!" Enraged, Lorist sprang up like a fish and kicked Yi'erta, who had been overjoyed at the apparent success of his poisoned blade, off the arena. Yi'erta fell unconscious with blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Lorist then called Fatty Shi up to remove the poisoned blade embedded in the arena floor.

Fatty Shi said, "Brother, that kick was too vicious. You shattered Yi'erta's sternum. Even if he's treated, he'll be crippled and unable to cultivate Battle Qi."

Lorist's face turned cold. "Where's the next challenger? Hurry up and send him in."