The morning run ended.
The somewhat round-faced Gryffindor boy led the students carrying swords on their backs to a clearing beside the lake.
Clang!
A crisp, perfectly synchronized clash of metal pierced the thick morning mist and carried clearly to the ship.
Dozens of longswords were drawn at once.
Their blades reflected an icy gleam in the faint morning light.
Neville stood at the front of the group.
He began demonstrating the basic sword moves.
Chop, thrust, rising cut, sweep.
Every movement was precise and powerful, filled with a sense of pure strength.
Sweat slid down his resolute face and dripped onto the damp grass.
His gaze was focused and sharp, as though he faced not empty air, but a deadly enemy.
That coordination and power made the Durmstrang students aboard the ship narrow their eyes in unison.
A tall boy named Polyakov folded his arms and sneered openly.
"I wondered what advanced training the Hogwarts students were doing. Turns out they're playing Muggle games with iron sticks."
"Hey, wouldn't a single Disarming Charm send these little chicks' weapons flying into the lake to feed the squid?"
Krum gave him a cold glance.
He spoke in Bulgarian, his voice low.
"Shut up, Polyakov."
"Can't you see their core strength and concentration?"
"Those are what decide life and death in a duel of spells."
No magic was being used in the clearing beside the lake.
Yet the pressure formed purely from strength, skill, and discipline crossed the lake like an invisible wave.
It made the Durmstrang students aboard the ship feel intensely challenged.
Krum's gaze remained fixed on Neville.
He had not expected this ordinary-looking boy to exude such a powerful presence.
Several Durmstrang students aboard the ship could no longer contain themselves.
They disembarked and strode toward the training ground.