The Duel Continues

In the eyes of the spectators in the stands, Lorist on the arena stage was in a sorry state. The bandage wrapped around his left shoulder was largely stained red with blood, and the bandage on his right rib was not only red but also dripping blood. He was drenched in sweat, swaying precariously, his face growing paler. It seemed as if one more push would send him to the ground, defeated and surrendering.

Yet, Lorist stood firm on the arena like a mountain, his gaze resolute. His right hand hung limp due to the injury on his right rib, only exerting force occasionally when he switched to holding his sword with both hands. His left hand wielded the longsword with practiced ease, parrying, thrusting, blocking, deflecting, guiding, binding, sweeping, chopping, stabbing, entangling, poking, and hooking—all swordsmanship techniques executed with such mastery and natural flow that they were hardly inferior to when he wielded the sword with his right hand.

Facing the opponent's fierce and tempestuous attacks, Lorist was like a proud pine tree standing tall in a storm, unbowed by the harshest winds and rain. He was also like an unmoving reef by the sea, no matter how ferocious the crashing waves, they shattered against him, unable to harm him in the slightest.

His opponent was also panting. The continuous, rapid assault had left the peak Silver Swordsman somewhat fatigued. He wielded a two-handed sword, which was inherently more focused on offense than defense. Lorist's ability to fend off his attacks with his left hand for nearly ten minutes had already astonished him. Whether it was his academy colleagues or opponents encountered during his training, only a select few could last this long under his relentless assault. Moreover, his current opponent, Lorist, was merely a Black Iron-ranked swordsman.

"What are you doing? Idiot! Don't let him catch his breath! Flank him, get behind that bastard! He's bleeding! He can't hold on much longer, attack faster, don't stop! Just a bit more and we'll win! Hurry up!"

From the stands, the furious roar of Dean Weston of Saint Maso Academy could be heard. The dean could no longer sit still, standing up and shouting at the arena, completely disregarding his status and the sideways glances of others.

Today was the Academy Duel Day, and the fifteenth academy to compete was Saint Maso Academy, the sworn enemy of Dawnlight Academy. It was no wonder Dean Weston was so distraught and nervous, for the duel currently underway was the twentieth and final match. The Silver Swordsman on the stage was the sole survivor among the twenty Silver instructors fielded by Saint Maso Academy who had not yet been defeated. In Dean Weston's eyes, the hope of defeating Dawnlight Academy and saving Saint Maso Academy from defeat rested on this Silver instructor. His opponent, however, was Lorist, who was at the end of his strength.

The Silver instructor on the stage followed Dean Weston's instructions, beginning to circle Lorist in search of an opening for attack. Lorist's response was simple: using his left foot as a pivot and his right foot shifting slightly, he kept himself constantly facing his opponent, preventing him from flanking him.

"Attack! What are you dawdling for? That bastard has no strength left to fight back! Attack quickly, we're about to win!" Dean Weston in the stands was gesticulating wildly again.

"Kill!" the Silver instructor shouted fiercely, lunging forward.

"Hmph!" Lorist snorted coldly, not retreating an inch. His left hand lightly tapped his sword, pointing precisely at the weakness in the opponent's sword momentum.

The Silver instructor changed his move, switching from a thrust to a sweep. Lorist slanted his longsword, taking the blow head-on.

"Clang, clang, clang..." The clash of their swords was like blacksmithing, dense and crisp. After dozens of exchanges, the Silver Swordsman retreated, leaning on his sword to recover his breath, while Lorist's expression grew more weary, his body swaying unsteadily.

"Ha, attack, attack quickly! He's out of strength, he's finished, haha!" Dean Weston in the stands was practically ready to sing and dance, his hands and feet moving excitedly, his face flushed red.

The Silver instructor lunged forward again, his two-handed sword sweeping horizontally and slashing vertically, his movements broad and powerful.

Lorist blocked and parried, his defense watertight, but the strength in his left hand holding the longsword was weakening.

The Silver instructor's heart filled with joy. He uppercutted with force, and with a "clang," Lorist's longsword was knocked aside, leaving him exposed.

The two-handed sword slashed down. Lorist had no time to bring his sword back to block.

"Won..." the Silver instructor breathed a sigh of relief.

"Victory is ours!" Dean Weston clenched his fists.

Lorist took a step back...

This was the final duel against Saint Maso Academy, and it had been nearly fifteen minutes since it began. During these fifteen minutes, Lorist had been enduring the Silver instructor's stormy onslaught, not counterattacking, only defending, defending in place, without moving a single step, constantly on the defensive. So much so that everyone, caught up in the dazzling, fierce attacks and tight defense, had forgotten that Lorist was capable of moving. His opponent, the Silver instructor, had also forgotten.

Lorist took a step back, and the two-handed sword grazed his clothes as it slashed into the arena floor. His left-hand longsword, knocked aside, drew a beautiful arc in the air and lightly landed on the Silver instructor's neck.

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

"Clang!" The Silver instructor's two-handed sword fell to the ground. He reached up and covered his face, tears streaming down his cheeks, actually crying on the arena.

Disappointed curses and exclamations of admiration erupted from the stands, followed by applause, which gradually merged into a unified sound, finally resounding throughout the indoor training hall. This was the audience showing their respect for Lorist, their respect for his undefeated streak despite his injuries.

Dean Weston remained in the stands, fists clenched, frozen in place. From immense joy to utter despair, from heaven to hell, the speed of this transition left him unable to accept the reality before him. His eyes were red, veins bulging on his forehead, his face contorted as he muttered to himself, "How could you step back? How could you step back..."

A few instructors and assistants from Saint Maso Academy nearby wanted to comfort him but feared incurring his wrath, so they could only stand by foolishly and watch.

The Silver instructor on the arena felt that crying in public was somewhat embarrassing. He wiped away a tear and turned to walk off, not even bothering to pick up his two-handed sword lying on the ground. He had barely taken a few steps when he heard a commotion behind him. Turning around, he saw that Instructor Locke could no longer hold on and had collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Several Dawnlight Academy students were helping him, calling out to him, and frantically searching for a stretcher to carry him to the infirmary.

This sight greatly stimulated the Silver instructor. If I hadn't listened to the dean and fought a prolonged battle with him... If I hadn't attacked so quickly, eager for a quick victory, and just held on a bit longer, then the winner... For a moment, the Silver instructor felt extremely wronged and full of regret, unable to control his emotions, and knelt on the arena, sobbing uncontrollably...

The sight of Lorist being carried off the arena on a stretcher after losing consciousness further stimulated Dean Weston in the stands. It was so close, just a little longer, if he had just held on a bit longer without attacking, he would have collapsed on his own! Dean Weston felt an overwhelming sense of suffocation, this blockage in his chest refusing to dissipate. In his anger, Dean Weston suddenly grabbed a chair and smashed it against the surrounding seats with a "crackling" sound, scaring those nearby into running far away, thinking he had gone mad...

Telman ordered the enforcement team to guard the door and not let anyone else in before entering the infirmary. As expected, it was a chaotic scene inside. Lorist was pulling at his bandages and cursing Fatty Shi. It turned out Fatty Shi had stuffed two pig bladders filled with chicken blood into the bandages that morning, insisting it would make the bleeding look more realistic after strenuous exercise, making the deception more professional. Lorist had agreed without thinking.

The pig bladders had indeed burst, and the chicken blood had stained the bandages, making them look very realistic. However, more chicken blood had congealed on the bandages, making his skin itchy and uncomfortable. Lorist had endured it on the arena, almost reaching out to scratch. Others had mistaken Lorist's pale face and profuse sweat on the arena for a relapse of his injuries, unaware that it was all sweat born from enduring the itch.

Finally, after removing the bandages and scratching to his heart's content, Lorist let out a long sigh, "It was so itchy! I never thought the itchiness would be so unbearable. I even wanted to ask the opponent to strike me where it itched on the arena."

Telman picked up a thin towel from the hot water bucket, wrung it out, and walked over, vigorously rubbing the areas where the congealed chicken blood remained on Lorist's body. He said, "The bandages this morning were tied too tightly and weren't breathable. After the chicken blood flowed out, the rest congealed inside. It rubbed against your skin and turned into powder. Once it got into your pores, of course, it would itch. It's a wonder you endured it until the duel ended."

"But your performance in the final duel was truly brilliant. If I hadn't known you weren't injured, I would have truly believed you were about to give up. How did you come up with that step back? Everyone thought you were definitely going to lose, and then you managed to turn the tables with a step back."

"Heh heh," Lorist chuckled. "I dragged out the final duel for so long to create the illusion that I couldn't move, that I could only defend and block in place, as if I would fall immediately if I moved. No matter how fierce the opponent's attacks were, I could only stand my ground and take the hits, unable to move. After dragging it out for so long, people wouldn't expect me to suddenly move, and that's when the opportunity to win appeared. A sword fight isn't just about swordsmanship; the mind is also very important. The more critical the situation, the more important it is to maintain a calm and clear head."

Telman listened and pondered silently for a moment. He knew Lorist was giving him advice and said sincerely, "Thank you."

When Fatty Shi entered, everyone was crowded in the infirmary drinking Maikesi. This was sent by Dean Levens for Lorist as a reward for his outstanding performance in the morning duel against Saint Maso Academy, which had greatly boosted Dean Levens' prestige. Then, this reward was confiscated by Telman and the others. Based on the principle of sharing blessings and enduring hardships together, they brewed the Maikesi directly in the treatment room of the infirmary.

"Good news! Good news..." Fatty Shi said excitedly.

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

"After the duel, Little Locke pretended to be unconscious and was carried off the stage. This really stimulated the people from Saint Maso Academy. The Silver instructor who dueled him broke down and cried like a child on the arena. And Dean Weston went berserk in the stands, smashing chairs, and finally vomited blood and fainted. He was revived after emergency treatment. When Dean Levens was sending him into the carriage, he comforted Dean Weston on the stretcher, saying, 'Don't worry, the bill for the damaged property will be sent to Saint Maso Academy.' Upon hearing this, Dean Weston vomited blood again and fainted. I just heard that Dean Weston will need at least half a year of bed rest to recover. Isn't this good news?"

"Tch, it's good news for that old fox upstairs, but what does it have to do with us?" Telman said dismissively.

Lorist finished his cup of Maikesi and said to Fatty Shi, "I've been in the infirmary for over an hour. It's time to take me back."

So, everyone re-bandaged Lorist, placed him on a stretcher, and carried him through the academy towards the Gold instructor's residential area.

Fatty Shi said, "Dean Levens has decided to postpone the external challenge day tomorrow by one day. This will make people believe even more that you are genuinely injured. He has also sent people to discuss with the remaining twelve academies whether they can postpone the academy duels for a while. Although those academies won't agree to this request, the academy has to do it. The old man said that if we're going to put on a show, we have to do it completely, without revealing any flaws."

Lorist closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle sway of the stretcher, and cursed, "One old fox and one fat fox, they're getting more and more addicted to deceiving people."

***

The air was filled with the scent of blood, and the ground was littered with the corpses of demons. The battlefield was a scene of carnage, with the bodies of fallen warriors strewn across the land. The screams of the dying echoed through the air, a symphony of despair.

In the midst of this chaos, a lone figure stood tall. It was a warrior, clad in black armor, his face hidden behind a grim mask. He wielded a massive sword, its blade stained with the blood of his enemies. He was a force to be reckoned with, a harbinger of death.

He had been fighting for days, his body aching, his mind weary. But he would not rest, not until every last demon had been vanquished. He was a warrior of the light, and he would not falter in his duty.

He raised his sword, its tip pointed towards the heavens. A blinding light erupted from the blade, illuminating the battlefield. The demons recoiled, their eyes burning from the intense light.

With a roar, the warrior charged, his sword a blur of motion. He cut through the demons, his blade leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. The demons screamed in agony as they fell, their bodies torn asunder.

The warrior fought on, his strength renewed by the light. He was a whirlwind of destruction, a force of nature. The demons were no match for him, and they fell before him like wheat before a scythe.

Finally, the last demon fell, its head rolling across the ground. The battlefield was silent, save for the groans of the wounded. The warrior stood tall, his sword still raised. He had won.

He lowered his sword, his chest heaving. He had done his duty. He had protected the innocent. He had brought peace to this land.

He turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the darkness. He was a hero, a legend. But he sought no glory, no recognition. He was content with his duty, his purpose.

He was the warrior of the light, and he would always be there, protecting the world from the darkness.

"Hit on the back of the head and knocked unconscious. Instructor Locke wins. Next challenger, prepare to enter the ring," Fatty Shi announced loudly from the stage.

For some reason, the defeated challenger's attention was solely focused on Lorist's longsword. All his attacks were directed at the sword, as if he wouldn't rest until he'd shattered it. Lorist deliberately exposed several openings in his body to lure the challenger in, but the man ignored them, fixated on Lorist's sword. So, Lorist tossed his sword into the air. The challenger, predictably, foolishly looked up, allowing Lorist to close the distance and strike him on the back of the head with a palm strike.

That was such a frustrating way to lose. Fatty Shi stifled a laugh as he directed the enforcement officers to carry the defeated challenger away. He then whispered quickly to Lorist, who stood beside him, "The next challenger is Sandos.Yilta, the disciple of the Kingdom of Kaelia's Storm Sword Saint. Be careful. Those few opponents before were acting on his orders, using stalling tactics to wear you down. His sword is very fast…"

Over on the other side, a young noble with a sword in an ornate scabbard stepped onto the stage. He stood opposite Lorist and bowed gracefully. "Dear Instructor Locke, I didn't expect you to actually last until my turn. To be standing before you now is truly a delightful surprise. It's just a pity that you're injured and cannot fight me with your full strength, which is truly regrettable."

Lorist gestured with the sword in his hand, signaling the man to stop talking and attack.

However, the young noble remained standing there, talking incessantly. "Instructor Locke, our parting three years ago is etched in my memory. For more than three years, whenever I recall the lessons you bestowed upon me, I toss and turn, unable to sleep. To repay your kindness, I have practiced day and night, only thinking of…"

"Cough, cough, cough." Lorist finally couldn't stand it anymore, coughing a few times to interrupt the man's endless chatter. "I say, that, uh, Yi… what was it? Right, Yi'erta, are you planning to stand there and attack me with your incessant rambling until I can't take it anymore and surrender automatically?"

"Damn it, I told you that kid's name is Sandos.Yilta. I've told you several times to be careful, and you still haven't taken it to heart, even getting his name wrong," Fatty Shi cursed from below the stage.

The young noble named Sandos.Yilta's face immediately turned red. Instructor Locke didn't take him seriously at all, even getting his name wrong. Yet he thought he could put pressure on Lorist, only to stand there like a fool, overthinking things.

"Clang!" Yi'erta drew his sword. "Since that's the case, then I won't hold back."

Before he even finished speaking, his sword light swept out like a silken banner, swift as lightning.

Lorist's gaze sharpened. He swung his longsword with his left hand, and a series of "clang, clang, clang" sword impacts echoed. In a mere instant, their swords had clashed more than ten times.

Yi'erta's sword speed was indeed fast. However, he mostly used thrusts and lifts, with few chopping or slashing movements. While this increased his sword speed, it made his swordsmanship lack variation and appear rigid. Under Lorist's Dynamic Vision, even the fastest sword couldn't hide its trajectory from being perceived. Lorist easily deflected wave after wave of attacks.

Yi'erta had poured all his strength into his attacks. Sword light swirled around Lorist, like countless cold stars, enveloping his figure.

To the spectators in the stands, Lorist appeared like a small boat in a stormy sea, liable to capsize at any moment.

But in Yi'erta's eyes, Lorist was clearly at ease. His lightning-fast swordsmanship posed no threat whatsoever. Every time it seemed he was about to strike, Lorist would shift his body slightly, and his thrusting sword would miss by a hair's breadth, slicing past the shadow of his opponent.

Yi'erta grew increasingly disheartened. He had thought that after three years of hard training, dealing with Lorist would be a piece of cake. Who knew Lorist was so much more formidable than he had imagined? His eyes turned cold. It seemed he had to use that move. A sinister glint appeared in Yi'erta's eyes.

Yi'erta suddenly changed his tactics, employing mostly chopping and slashing moves. Lorist blocked them casually, waiting to see what other variations he had.

Yi'erta twisted his hand, and his longsword struck the edge of Lorist's blade with its spine. With a "ding," Yi'erta's sword snapped at the hilt.

Lorist froze. Why did his sword suddenly break? He then saw Yi'erta lunging forward with just the sword hilt.

He doesn't even have a sword, why is he still lunging? Before Lorist could figure out what was happening, he heard a "shing" sound. From Yi'erta's sword hilt shot out a blue, shimmering blade, flying straight towards him…

This move came out of nowhere, surprising everyone. No one expected Yi'erta's sword to hide another blade, and a poisoned one at that…

Lorist leaned back rapidly. In his Dynamic Vision, the poisoned blade grew larger before his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Lorist forcibly lowered his head by more than an inch. The poisoned blade grazed his cheek, and a foul, fishy odor assaulted his nostrils.

"Bang!" Lorist, enraged, leaped up and kicked Yi'erta, who was gleefully anticipating the poisoned blade's success, off the stage. Yi'erta fell unconscious, bleeding from his nose and mouth. Lorist then called for Fatty Shi to come and remove the poisoned blade stuck in the stage floor.

Fatty Shi said, "Brother, that kick of yours was too brutal. You shattered Yi'erta's chest bone. Even if he recovers, he'll be crippled and unable to cultivate Battle Qi."

Lorist's face was grim. "Where's the next challenger? Hurry them up."