An eerie silence fell over the Royal Election Faction's camp. The third challenger hesitantly stepped onto the dueling platform, his sword hand visibly trembling. He took a defensive stance but did not dare attack first.
"Are you going to fight or not?" Yavi asked with a frown, his voice plainly impatient.
"Get on with it! Stop dawdling!" The Royal Election Faction members below the platform began urging him on anxiously as well.
Under pressure from both sides, the challenger finally charged with a shout. But his attack had no technique whatsoever. He swung his wooden sword wildly, looking just like a beginner who had only just taken up the sword.
Yavi easily parried the utterly harmless blow, then turned his wrist and brought the tip of his wooden sword precisely to his opponent's throat. The entire sequence was so fast that the movements were almost impossible to follow.
The challenger squeezed his eyes shut in terror, his whole body rigid as he waited for the agonizing pain he imagined. Yet several seconds passed without the expected blow. He opened his eyes shakily and saw Yavi's sword tip holding steady an inch from his throat.
"You still need more practice." Yavi withdrew his wooden sword and lightly patted his opponent's shoulder, his tone as calm as a teacher instructing a newcomer.
"Three wins in a row!!" Deafening cheers erupted from the Popular Election Faction. Maxim excitedly jumped onto his seat and pumped his arms, shouting, "One against four! One against four!" The other students immediately joined in, their voices almost lifting the auditorium's domed roof.
Dean Loriess leaned against the carved railing on the second floor, amusement glinting in her silver-gray eyes. Her slender fingers gently stroked her chin as her thoughtful gaze followed Yavi.
"Interesting..." she murmured, a meaningful smile curling her lips.
In stark contrast to the Popular Election Faction's jubilation, the Royal Election Faction's camp was deathly silent. Its members looked at one another, exchanging helpless glances. Vivian's delicate face had long since twisted, and her long pink hair rose and fell violently with her rapid breathing.
The fourth match soon began. Standing on the platform, Yavi looked at the trembling challenger opposite him and could not help sighing. Before he could speak, the poor fellow suddenly dropped his wooden sword with a clatter.
"I-I surrender!" he shrieked, backing away. "I'm not fighting! I can't take this anymore!" With that, he scrambled off the dueling platform and fled in disgrace amid the Popular Election Faction's thunderous laughter.
"How could this happen..." She clutched her skirt so tightly that her fingertips turned pale blue. The situation she had so carefully planned had been completely overturned by a little brother who had appeared out of nowhere. This was simply the greatest humiliation of her life. What she found even harder to accept was the undisguised mockery in the eyes of the commoner students looking at her from below the platform.
"Oh dear~" Maxim suddenly raised his voice. "Why does Vivian look so awful? Is she feeling unwell?" He stood on tiptoe to look her way with feigned concern. "Should you go to the infirmary?"
The Popular Election Faction immediately burst into laughter. Several students played along, putting on exaggerated expressions of concern. "Yes, yes! Senior Vivian, you must take care of yourself!"
"Don't tell me seeing our Yavi win four matches in a row made you so angry your liver hurts?" another Popular Election Faction student chimed in, drawing still more laughter.
"Useless! You're all useless!" Vivian shook with rage, her carefully trimmed nails digging deep into her palms. Just as she was nearly grinding her teeth to pieces, she caught sight of Aphelios, who had remained silent all this time. The thought steadied her breathing a little-right, they still had the swordsmanship school's second-best fighter. This farce would soon...
"Miss Vivian." Aphelios suddenly spoke, a dangerous glint in the eyes beneath his short brown hair. "Allow me to put an end to this farce." He gracefully offered a swordsman's salute. "It is my bounden duty to restore the Royal Election Faction's glory."
Aphelios walked slowly onto the dueling platform, every step carrying the distinctive elegance and composure of a noble. Yavi's pupils contracted slightly-this opponent was entirely different from the others. His breathing was steady and deep, his sword hand as firm as a rock, and confidence shone in his black eyes.
"Your name is Yavi, correct? I must admit you're strong, but the one who ultimately achieves the feat of defeating five opponents will surely be me! I look forward to learning from you." Aphelios inclined his head slightly, then straightened his stance. He elegantly placed his left hand behind his back and held his sword upright in his right, its tip pointing straight at the dome-the standard opening stance of noble swordsmanship.
The audience immediately fell utterly silent. Even the ever-noisy Maxim involuntarily held his breath. Mel clasped her hands tightly before her chest, her nails nearly digging into her palms. She could clearly hear her own racing heartbeat-Aphelios was an expert who could fight Hill to a standstill in the academy's swordsmanship tournament.
Yavi drew a deep breath, his gaze firm and focused. He lowered his center of gravity slightly, his wooden sword pointing diagonally toward the ground at a distinctive angle-the witcher school's "Wolf Stance" opening, offering advantages in both attack and defense.
The two stood facing each other in silence, neither making a rash move. It was as though a silencing spell had been cast over the entire auditorium; even a falling pin could have been heard. Everyone could sense the deadly atmosphere spreading across the platform-this had already gone far beyond an ordinary academy match.
Clang-
With a clear ring of steel, Aphelios suddenly moved. His sword was as fast as lightning, tracing a silver arc through the air straight toward Yavi's throat. Yavi dodged sideways and brought his wooden sword around to parry. The two training swords collided with a dull thud.
Their very first exchange made everyone gasp-this was a true duel between experts!
Aphelios's sword attacks came like a raging storm, each strike carrying the distinctive elegance and ferocity of noble swordsmanship. His wooden sword traced perfect arcs through the air, sometimes thrusting at vital points like a snake flicking its tongue, sometimes sweeping at the legs like a roaming dragon swinging its tail. Wherever the sword tip passed, a faint whistle cut through the air.
Yavi responded with the witchers' distinctive practical fighting style. His movements looked simple and direct, yet concealed deadly intent. Every parry was perfectly placed, every dodge precise to the slightest fraction. His wooden sword moved at times like a venomous scorpion lashing its tail, at others like a hungry wolf pouncing on its prey, every move aimed directly at the tiny openings between Aphelios's techniques.
Thud!
The two wooden swords collided violently again. Aphelios suddenly changed his move, turning his blade into an exquisite Return Slash. The sword tip curved uncannily around Yavi's guard, heading straight for his heart. Yavi remained composed in the face of danger, leaning backward at an incredible angle while sweeping his wooden sword diagonally upward from below, barely blocking the deadly blow.
The spectators below watched, dumbstruck. The two moved so quickly that they almost left afterimages, the collisions of their wooden swords coming as thick and fast as raindrops. Aphelios's swordsmanship was dazzling and precise, each move like a meticulously calculated work of art; Yavi's techniques were plain and unadorned, yet always defused the danger by the simplest route.
"This is incredible!" Maxim could not help exclaiming under his breath, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the platform.