He Roared and Lunged...

His Secret Art had changed completely.

Staring at the Nail Sword in Moke's hand, Lude felt he had learned another lesson.

Lude loved learning. In all the time since he had crossed over, he hadn't even slept once.

Asynchronous Hemispheric Modification allowed him to rest each half of his brain in turn. So ever since crossing over, he had spent every available moment learning about this world through books, documents, and conversations.

And aside from books and documents, Lude also loved learning from his enemies.

Aleppo had taught him how to devise specific plans to counter all kinds of strange Secret Arts.

Bescher had made him realize that he couldn't let his guard down for even a moment until he was certain his enemy was dead.

Brandon and Polina had taught him how multiple spellcasters could coordinate with one another.

Now Moke had shown him the nature of Secret Arts and how to alter them.

Sufficiently intense emotions, sufficiently firm resolve, and a sufficiently strong desire for change could allow a Secret Art to undergo unprecedented growth or transformation.

Unfortunately, Lude's Secret Art was still developing, so he couldn't put that lesson to use just yet.

"So why are you telling me all this?"

Moke's voice interrupted Lude's brief reflection. He never took his eyes off his opponent.

Moke was a little slow and timid, but he wasn't stupid. His Secret Art had just been transforming, and his control over his body was actually quite sluggish. If Lude had attacked then, Moke probably wouldn't have been able to defend himself.

That was why he had deliberately spoken up, hoping to buy himself a little time with conversation.

He hadn't expected Lude not only to refrain from taking the opportunity to attack, but to actually talk with him—and even show considerable respect for his teacher. For a moment, Moke was at a loss.

"Because I respect your teacher."

Lude spoke calmly. "Can you accept that answer?"

It was a lie.

Lude did respect Matos, a teacher who had given his life to clear the way for his student. But he didn't respect him enough to let an enemy grow stronger just to honor his last wish. He was simply waiting for the nail's power to fade.

That didn't stop him from tossing out a few pretty words. After all, saying something nice to someone didn't cost him anything.

"...Thank you very much."

Moke's voice was low. Then he raised the Nail Sword and pointed it at Lude.

"Good." Lude gave his sword a graceful flourish, then leveled its silver-green blade at Moke. "Come, Mr. Moke. Do everything you can to fulfill old Brandon's last wish."

In the next instant, the two one-handed swords—neither suited for fencing—traced elegant arcs as they thrust toward each other's faces. Their blades clashed in midair, sending sparks flying.

The moment their weapons met, neither man hesitated. A flick of the wrist knocked the other's weapon aside.

The ends of the two weapons moved like silver serpents, crossing between them at a speed too fast for the eye to follow. Dozens of clashes rang out in an instant, the crisp metallic notes weaving a symphony of war.

As the more experienced fighter, Moke's attacks were clearly more ferocious, forcing Lude back step by step.

But just as Moke was about to score the first hit, Lude suddenly stamped down with all his strength. The wooden floor burst apart beneath him.

A few splinters skimmed Moke's face, making him falter for a moment. Lude took advantage and kicked him in the chest, sending him staggering back several steps.

After that head-on clash of strength and technique, Lude finally had a general assessment of Moke's abilities.

Moke's strength was only half of Lude's, and his limbs moved at roughly seventy percent of Lude's speed.

But Moke's technique for putting his strength behind his movements was far superior to Lude's, making up for much of the difference between their bodies.

The weapons' role in the fight further narrowed that gap.

In unarmed combat, strength could make a far greater difference than technique.

With skill alone, an adult could at most defeat an opponent twice their weight.

Against an opponent three times their weight, technique became useless.

But when weapons were involved, it was a completely different story.

Even an ordinary adult man with a dagger could pose a serious threat to a professional boxer.

And a spear was even worse. That thing was practically the overbearing ancestor of all cold weapons.

Although Lude had a longer reach, his weapon was a full half meter shorter than Moke's.

On top of that, he couldn't let Moke stab his arm, which made his movements all the more constrained.

Moke's strikes also came from extremely tricky angles, each one catching Lude at a dead spot where he couldn't put his strength behind a counter.

For a while, Lude was in grave danger. Several times, Moke nearly stabbed him in the arm or chest.

But I can win! Lude thought.

Lude was already good at learning, and this body gave him the ability to remember everything he saw.

That meant he could quickly learn Moke's fighting techniques as they exchanged blows.

After their blades clashed again, it took little more than ten exchanges for them to reach a stalemate.

Lude still hadn't fully absorbed Moke's techniques, but he had already figured out how to counter them.

He stopped trying to take the initiative and began to steadily advance through defense.

Moke's attacks relied on just three moves: thrusting, lifting, and deflecting. The Nail Sword's rounded shape created far more resistance when swung in any direction, making Moke's attacks even more limited than those of a rapier.

That meant his attack trajectory was mostly predictable from the moment he began to move.

So Lude only had to rely on his exceptional powers of observation and nerve response. The instant Moke struck, he could knock the middle of the Nail Sword with the Dragon Tooth Sword, sending the attack far off course.

After several clashes, Lude noticed Moke's wrist had started to tremble.

Moke's wrist really was trembling.

His Tendon Steel Cable and reinforced muscles could still hold up, but his original body parts were starting to fall behind.

Every joint in his body creaked. The high-frequency collisions had made his wrist send out signals of intense pain.

But worse than all that was the transplanted Lightning Falcon Nerve.

It wasn't like his artificial parts. It had been painstakingly peeled away from a supernatural creature called a Lightning Falcon.

Alchemy prosthetics fell into two categories. One was made artificially, like his reinforced muscles and Tendon Steel Cable.

The other was harvested from supernatural creatures. These parts came with supernatural abilities ordinary alchemical prosthetics lacked, but they also often contained Psionic Energy steeped in the original owner's resentment.

This Psionic Energy could directly affect—or even attack—the recipient's soul. Without constant intervention, the recipient might eventually go mad as their soul became tainted.

That was why Moke had been taking anti-rejection drugs all this time.

But now, the damned Lightning Falcon Nerve seemed to have found a chance for revenge. It was thrashing and biting like mad, making Moke feel as though his brain and spine were burning with pain!

I can't hold on much longer, Moke thought. I have to decide this quickly, or I won't be able to take it!

With that, he roared and lunged at Lude.