Pick Up the Sword First

The two on the field were masters of swordsmanship; the moment their blades crossed, they engaged in a relentless struggle, trading blows without a clear victor.

The speed of their attacks was blinding, exchanging over a dozen strikes per second, their swords weaving fans of light that dazzled the eye.

Haran Ogilvy swung his blade with rapid intensity, weaving a web of light that sought to envelop Xilan.

Amidst the frigid glare of the blades, Xilan remained composed, his every counter-strike finding the perfect angle to pierce through the web Haran had spun.

He not only defended against every attack but managed to launch his own counter-assaults.

With exquisite technique, Xilan gradually seized the rhythm, using broad, upright swordplay to slowly dismantle Haran's fierce offensive.

"Old man, have you no new tricks? Still the same old routine?"

Suddenly, Haran's sword stance shifted, breaking free from the mire of Xilan's sword techniques.

"Throat!" the Champion Swordsman growled, his longsword thrusting forward with sudden violence, aiming straight for Xilan's neck.

Xilan's expression turned grave; daring not to slacken, he raised his longsword to parry the blade striking at his throat.

At that moment, Haran's sword moved like a viper, its momentum never ceasing as the blade shifted positions, striking toward Xilan's throat again with serpentine fluidity.

Haran was a man of his word; he said he would strike the throat, and he aimed for nothing else.

Xilan lunged backward, rapidly exiting the attack range, but he had not expected Haran's blade to cling to him like a maggot on a bone, impossible to shake off.

"Left collarbone!"

Another warning echoed in Xilan's ear. The situation allowed for no hesitation.

If he guarded his left flank, Haran would feint; if he did not, the blade would surely find its mark.

As a seasoned Great Swordsman, Xilan ignored the trash talk, noting the split second of vulnerability as the thrusting sword retracted, and he flicked his blade to intercept!

"Clang! Clang! Clang!"

The swords of the two masters rang out with crisp, sharp cries, clashing dozens of times in a mere heartbeat.

Under the immense force of their collision, the edges of the refined iron longswords chipped and cracked, becoming as jagged as sawteeth.

A magnificent duel! Even with Doom's keen eyesight and analytical prowess, he could not help but clench his fists, cheering for their contest.

The spectators in the training arena were flushed with excitement, yet they dared not cheer or scream, fearing they might disturb the two combatants.

As the duel progressed, the arena fell into a deathly silence, waiting for that one fatal strike—the strike that would decide the victor.

"Heart!" Haran's warning sounded once more, and both sides knew it was time to settle the score.

The longsword struck like a viper flicking its tongue, venomous and swift, baring its fangs at Xilan.

A cold smirk hung on Xilan's lips as he pulled his sword back to defend, catching Haran's blade in the angle between his guard and edge, then twisting with all his might.

"Bang!"

The jagged, overstressed blade could take no more, splitting down the middle; the longsword in Haran's hand snapped a third of the way from the tip!

In that instant, all the warrior apprentices stood up, ready to celebrate Xilan's victory.

In a duel between masters, the advantage gained from even a sliver of reach was staggering.

An inch longer, an inch stronger; now that Xilan only needed to retreat to widen the gap, Haran had no chance of winning.

That was what the audience thought. Xilan thought the same, quickly retreating to widen the distance and fully utilizing his advantage in reach.

Haran let out an evil laugh; instead of closing the distance, he threw a punch, slamming it into the broken blade fragment.

"You lose!"

Both men spoke at once, declaring the other's defeat.

The spectators froze, unsure of who had claimed the final victory or for whom they should cheer.

Xilan's sword rested against Haran's shoulder; a single swing would have taken his head.

Yet, wedged between Haran's knuckles was the broken blade fragment, pointing straight at the center of Xilan's brow:

"If this were a battlefield, this shard would have pierced your skull. You would have had no chance to kill me."

"It is a pity that this is not a battlefield. Victory and defeat here are not matters of life and death, but are determined by the rules."

Xilan withdrew his longsword with a solemn tone: "The battlefield has the laws of the battlefield; a duel has the rules of a duel."

"If everything were to be lumped together, what would be the necessity of having rules at all?"

"Spare me your grand sermons!" Haran waved his hand dismissively, looking entirely indifferent: "I only care about victory on the battlefield; I care nothing for your rules."

"Haran Ogilvy!" Xilan's heavy voice dropped low: "You have many ways to defeat an old man like me, and you even saw through my tactics, yet you still rely on your 'instincts' to attack, lacking even a shred of strategic thought."

"It is this narrow focus on the immediate that keeps your master-level swordsmanship from ever reaching the true heights of the art."

"Enough, stop talking!" Haran waved his hands hurriedly, wearing a pleading expression: "I concede! I concede!"

"I am not the protagonist today. We have already wasted enough of Doom's time; stop your incessant nagging."

In the end, Xilan opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but swallowed it back.

"Continue training!" With an angry roar, he dispersed the gawking warrior apprentices; the rest of this was not something they were meant to be involved in.

Xilan smiled gently, pulling Doom in front of him and saying, "Go to the training grounds. Haran Ogilvy will teach you the basics. Your mother and I have things to discuss."

"Okay!"

Doom nodded and left; when adults discussed certain matters, he knew he needed to give them space.

"Me?" Haran pointed at himself, looking at Xilan with a confused expression and utter bewilderment in his eyes.

Seeing Xilan's solemn expression, he stopped asking questions and followed Doom away in silence.

"Queen Daisy." As Haran and Doom walked away, Xilan looked at the Queen, hoping for an answer: "The royal curriculum has remained unchanged for thousands of years. Do you not intend to give this old man an answer?"

There are no small matters in the royal family. Every move made by King Norwick and his kin involves many complexities and cannot be changed on a whim.

The order in which knowledge is learned has a profound subjective influence on a person, leading to different decisions regarding the same event.

A prince should first enter the Command Branch to establish a comprehensive perspective, understanding that the decisions he makes will have consequences and affect the fates of many.

For a prince, warrior training is necessary, but it is not as important as the former.

If a warrior charging into battle makes a wrong decision, it leads to his own death, with the worst outcome being the loss of a small squad.

If a commander makes a mistake, it means the entire game is lost.

A commander needs to be rational, shielding himself from the thirst for victory in order to actually achieve it.

A warrior needs rage to ensure he kills the opponent before him.

The two are worlds apart; the education one receives first dictates the mindset with which one thinks.

Xilan did not understand why Queen Daisy had sent Doom here to undergo warrior training first.

King Norwick had explicitly stated that he treated Doom as his own son and hoped he would inherit the throne, and Xilan was one of the witnesses.

Could this be some sort of court politics?

Xilan could not help but be suspicious. He was not a pure warrior like Haran Ogilvy; having served two generations of King Norwick, his instincts were sharp.

"It is not what you think." Under the suspicious gaze of the Court Swordsman, Queen Daisy quickly explained, "It was King Norwick who told me to do this."

"King Norwick?" Xilan's eyes turned serious in an instant: "Then do I have the right to know?"

When it involved arrangements made by King Norwick, Xilan had to maintain a serious attitude and carefully ask if he had the right to be informed.

"He instructed that, besides me, you are the only other person with the authority to know."

Daisy pulled Xilan into the shadows, and after ensuring no one was around, she lowered her voice and said cautiously: "He caught a glimpse of the future and believes that Doom must take up a weapon first and possess the power to protect himself!"

Upon hearing this, Xilan's pupils constricted sharply, his heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.

Doom needs to protect himself?

This meant that King Norwick could no longer be certain whether his own abilities or those of the Night Watchers could keep Doom safe.

Xilan felt his mouth go dry. He could not fathom what kind of enemy could make King Norwick feel such pressure.

"Then we must hurry!"

Under Haran's guidance, Doom began to learn basic swordsmanship, mimicking the movements with such proficiency that Haran marveled at his learning ability.

"Doom! From now on, you will follow my schedule."

Xilan's voice rang out abruptly, his eyes heavy with gravity: "We must hurry. Use all your potential and study the Way of the Warrior well!"

His excellent insight allowed Doom to sense the gravity in Xilan's eyes, as well as the suppressed anxiety.

With a serious little face, he nodded heavily: "I can't wait!"

Haran also sensed the heaviness in the air; his instincts told him that his future work would not be easy.

And so, Doom embarked on his path as a warrior.