Peak Showdown

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Harlan stripped off his armor on the field, standing bare-chested with a stone longsword in hand, facing Xilan.

Xilan also removed his mentor's robe, tying it around his waist, and likewise held a stone sword as he stood opposite Harlan.

The two stood in solemn opposition, their bodies wreathed in sharp auras as their intangible momentum collided fiercely in the air.

"A stone sword? Want to start with something traditional? Do those old bones of yours need a warm-up?" Harlan asked with exaggerated tone, dancing his blade into a dazzling flourish.

"Are you an idiot?" Xilan scoffed, tracing a semicircle with his stone sword before settling into a combat stance. "We might as well demonstrate this for the apprentices; I believe it will be more impactful than a verbal lecture."

Even in the heat of a duel, Xilan never forgot to fulfill his duties as a mentor.

A duel between two sword masters is a rare opportunity; how much the apprentices learn depends entirely on their own talent.

With wars breaking out frequently, most experts are currently fighting on the front lines, making it impossible to find a sword master to provide instruction.

Since an opponent had arrived on his own initiative today, Xilan naturally intended to make good use of him.

So-called traditional swordsmanship is a form of "contradictory" swordsmanship developed by the Night Watchers to hone one's self.

It is not inherently sharp, and its offensive capabilities are average, but for those who can master it, the swordsmanship is nothing short of uncanny.

It relies on the Nul White Stone for its existence, and the swordsmanship is named: "Self-Restraint."

When the white stone is polished to a thickness of one millimeter, it develops a unique property: it is incredibly tough longitudinally, but if even the slightest force is applied laterally to the edge, it will snap.

A Self-Restraint trial is simple: both parties use any attack they wish, aiming to break the opponent's sword while ensuring their own does not shatter.

It sounds difficult, but the actual execution is even harder.

It is an absolute test of both parties' control and their mastery of technique.

Since they were starting with the traditional style, the tension between them dissipated, and they approached each other with a relaxed air.

Harlan skipped along the way, his entire body loose, adjusting every muscle to its optimal state.

Xilan was much the same, swinging his limbs and relaxing his taut nerves.

"Clang—" The two stone swords struck, a clear, resonant vibration echoing through the training ground. This crisp sound was both a ritual greeting and a declaration of battle.

Harlan launched the first attack; the moment the blades touched, he exerted a sudden burst of force from his arm muscles, sliding his stone sword down the length of the blade to hack directly at Xilan's face!

"Your intent is too obvious!" Xilan's voice, aged and resonant, sounded just like a teacher offering guidance.

He tilted his blade slightly, edge against edge, forcing Harlan to halt his strike.

Indeed! When stone sword clashes against stone sword, the one exerting more force is at a disadvantage, as the blade is more likely to snap at the point of impact.

"Hmph!" Harlan grunted, his arm muscles jolting as he forced the descending blade to a dead stop in an instant!

This is the essence of "Self-Restraint": the sudden stop of the blade!

It requires immense physical control, manipulating one's muscles to bring a stone sword moving at high speed to a complete halt in an instant!

The moment he stopped, Harlan's blade moved in a way that defied inertia, instantly shifting into a horizontal slash at a perfect 90-degree angle.

"Ugh!"

At the edge of the training ground, the tactical apprentices gasped in awe.

In a battle like this, there was no screeching of clashing steel, no dazzling sword techniques—only a grueling test of fundamentals.

Doom watched with clenched fists. Imagine being on the battlefield, facing an opponent who wields their sword at will, controlling the trajectory of the blade with such ease—what a terrifying sight that would be.

Xilan's expression was grave; it was time for his blade to teach the young ones a lesson.

The two disengaged after one strike, and Xilan swept his stone sword upward, launching an attack from below.

Harlan's sword style was inherently aggressive, meaning he would never tilt his blade to parry; instead, he hacked downward, aiming to strike the incoming blade head-on.

"Whoever stops is a coward!"

His eyes conveyed this message. Their gazes met, burning with intensity, each trying to bore a hole through the other.

Neither would yield; they were determined to decide a victor.

"Hah!"

A grunt echoed out. The moment the blades touched, almost simultaneously, both men panted heavily and brought their blades to a halt.

Instant stop, instant slash. Two simple movements left both grandmasters drenched in sweat after only two exchanges.

Their legs were like the roots of ancient trees, their arm muscles knotted and bulging, veins throbbing with the need for instantaneous relaxation.

Even for a battle-hardened warrior, such a burden is difficult to endure.

The swords touched "lightly," and they stood in a mirror-like standoff, blades pressed together, maintaining precise contact through every advance and retreat.

The level of technical mastery and power control displayed by both was beyond the reach of ordinary people or even the Night Watchers.

The two grandmasters kept their blades pressed together for only a few seconds, yet sweat poured down their faces, their muscles reddening from the repeated cycles of sudden tension and release.

"Warm-up about done?"

Harlan noticed Xilan's stamina was waning and offered him a way out.

"About done!" Xilan understood as well; for two grandmasters, traditional swordsmanship was too simple to easily determine a winner.

In a Self-Restraint duel, one master cutting another master's sword in half?

By all logic, such a contest would be hard to call even if it lasted until exhaustion.

It would be better to save some stamina for the second stage and decide the outcome using true swordsmanship.

Traditional swordsmanship is basic swordsmanship, which every member of the Night Watchers uses. What truly decides the outcome is Advanced Swordsmanship.

It is a very general term; any swordsmanship that transcends basic swordsmanship is called Advanced Swordsmanship.

Harlan's Instinctive Sword Technique is Advanced Swordsmanship, and Xilan's sword moves and techniques are also Advanced Swordsmanship. There is almost no definitive conclusion; as long as one develops their own style of swordsmanship, it is Advanced Swordsmanship.

Switching to refined iron longswords, both sides rested for a few breaths, preparing for the second stage of the duel.

Hearing that both sides were getting serious, Queen Daisy's expression changed drastically, as if she had recalled an important lesson.

"You may study and reference Harlan's swordsmanship later, but you must not learn anything else!"

"Promise me!" Changing from her usual gentleness, Daisy said to Doom with a stern face: "Not a single thing!"

Looking at the serious expression on his mother's face, Doom also said earnestly: "I promise you! I will learn nothing but the swordsmanship!"

The next moment, Harlan spoke up on the field.

Doom finally understood the reason for his mother's prohibition—aside from the sword techniques that could be referenced, nothing else about Harlan should be learned.

"Old man! When my wife gave birth to your great-grandson, you didn't even come to visit?"

Harlan's mouth was faster than the sword in his hand; the moment he spoke, Xilan's momentum faltered, and Doom clearly saw the veins bulging on Xilan's forehead.

In that moment of hesitation, Harlan seized the opportunity to close in, his sword swinging in a flurry that left no gaps, forcing Xilan to retreat again and again.

As people know, Harlan's sword style is famous for its aggression; every strike he makes is aimed at the throat, a vital point.

"Look at you, the hand holding the sword is shaking; why not retire and go home?" Compared to his sword, his mouth was no less aggressive.

Doom had heard of the title of Champion Swordsman, but he had not known much about the man himself.

The chatterbox on the field now made Doom restless; he had not expected his own guard to have such high verbal aggression.

"Although it is a very effective strategy, you must never learn it!"

Queen Daisy solemnly exhorted him again, her expression more serious than Doom had ever seen: "You are a prince of the Norwick Family; you may be defeated with dignity, but you cannot win like him."

Doom nodded, understanding the meaning behind his mother's words.

His status was different from Harlan's; a Champion Swordsman could act without scruples, using every means to secure victory—that was his duty.

But royalty must maintain their dignity!