Aiken raised his training sword high, swept his gaze over the two people standing in the arena, and spoke in a clear voice.
"On the right is Geralt, the white-haired witcher from Kaer Morhen."
"And opposite him is this batch's witcher apprentice and also the challenger, Arwen."
"Now, let the duel begin!"
He swung his right arm hard, the blade tearing through the air.
The bodies of Geralt and Arwen moved at the exact same moment.
Silver light collided, tit for tat.
Vigorous force came surging from the sword body, sending a numb tingling through Arwen's arms.
On Geralt's pale face, his cat-like pupils contracted, his tone teasing yet fierce.
"Not bad strength."
Before his words even finished, he stepped forward with his right foot, trying to close in on Arwen's body.
Depending on his absolute advantage in strength, he only needed a pommel strike to subdue Arwen.
The latter reacted quickly, instantly leaping backward one step and executing a diagonal slash in mid-air, interrupting Geralt's rhythm.
Surprise flashed across Geralt's cat-like pupils, but the next moment, a flash of sword light bloomed within his amber vertical slit eyes.
The instant the tips of Arwen's feet touched the ground, he immediately lowered his body, pressed the sword hilt against his chest, and thrust the blade out abruptly. The speed was so fast it burst forth with a light hum.
Geralt turned his body sideways, finding the right opportunity to deflect the offensive with his sword.
Yet Arwen used his right foot as a pivot, spinning his body. The muscles on both arms bulged like coiling dragons, and the wind of the sword whistled in.
"Clang!"
The sound of metal clashing erupted into fierce sparks.
Geralt stepped back to steady his stance, his cat-like eyes filled with extreme astonishment.
One could say of these three strikes that each sword was faster than the last, and the strength of each sword was also greater than the last.
"Nice one, Arwen!"
"Hell, that strike was almost too fast to see."
Paul and the others cheered and rooted for Arwen, while Aiken wore a bitter smile.
He had already seen that the gap between him and Arwen was growing ever larger.
Arwen pulled the distance apart slightly, took a deep breath, and suppressed his rapidly beating heart.
His gaze swept across the panel.
[School of the Wolf Witcher Swordsmanship Lv2: 9/1000]
[Whirling Blade (Green): When executing School of the Wolf swordsmanship, the power of the first strike remains unchanged, the speed and strength of the second strike increase by 5%, and the speed and strength of the third strike increase by 10%]
This was the swordsmanship he had just broken through to a week ago, a green talent.
It felt not bad at all.
Geralt moved his wrists, the silver studs on his gloves flashing with luster.
He didn't speak, but it could be seen from his constricted cat-like pupils.
He was going to get serious.
"Whoosh!"
Geralt's body suddenly rushed out, his white hair fluttering in the wind, his pale skin akin to a demon from purgatory.
"Too fast!"
Even with [Dual Souls], Arwen was too late to catch the trajectory of Geralt's sword strike as the blade descended aggressively.
"Clang!"
After parrying with the sword body, Arwen wanted to widen the distance again.
Yet this time, Geralt gave no chance, sweeping across horizontally.
Arwen was forced to roll to the right.
This scene made the apprentices' hearts skip a beat; if it were them in his place, that sword strike would have killed them instantly.
Arwen executed a series of backward rolls, finally widening the distance.
Geralt held his sword horizontally across his chest, a sneer curling his lips, "Arwen, you're still the same as ever, only knowing how to roll around in the dirt?"
Arwen's eyes drooped slightly.
Whether in strength or speed, Geralt far surpassed him; even if his nervous system reacted in time, it was difficult for his body to make the correct response.
Faced with such a formidable enemy,
he possessed a unique fighting style.
Arwen raised his left hand and formed a Sign.
A light-blue light shield enveloped his surroundings.
"Quen?" Geralt sneered softly, slowly circling around Arwen, "This can't make up for the gap between us."
Arwen smiled. "You'll find out soon enough."
With that said, Arwen strode forward in a sprint.
"Good!"
Geralt let out a light shout, and the sword light followed like a shadow.
Yet Arwen simply executed a roll, the sword wind whistling past his body as he dodged this strike.
Geralt immediately followed up with another blow.
Yet under the speed boosts of the Drowner Mutagen and the Drowned Dead Mutagen, Arwen dodged with yet another roll.
Catching Geralt's back out of the corner of his eye, he knew the opportunity had arrived.
Supporting himself with his left hand, his legs bent, strength rising from the ground, the training sword in his hand thrust out abruptly.
Geralt slashed back with a spinning strike at an almost freakish speed.
Arwen's cat-like eyes shone with madness, completely ignoring Geralt's attack.
"Crack!"
The protective barrier cast by the Quen Sign shattered.
The recoil force caused Geralt's body to stall.
"Rip!"
The blade edge was sharp.
Arwen retreated rapidly by several steps, a look of regret appearing in his eyes.
That previous strike had still been dodged by Geralt in the end.
Geralt touched the torn leather jacket at his waist with his left hand, looking at Arwen with a somewhat dumbfounded expression.
What kind of fighting style was this?
In his cognition, a duel was a sacred matter, just like knights, attacking face-to-face.
How could anyone constantly roll and dodge, relying on a shield to sneak attack others, and run faster than a rabbit when a single strike failed?
And...
"Buzz, buzz..."
The medallion pressed against Geralt's chest vibrated, emitting a buzzing sound.
A light-blue protective shield emerged from Arwen's body once more.
Geralt gasped sharply, only a single word in his mind.
Despicable!
Arwen charged forward with his sword again.
Whenever Geralt took the initiative to attack, he would dodge, seizing the opportunity to roll behind the former.
If the protective shield accidentally shattered midway, he would immediately run far away and cast a Quen Sign to replenish it.
Paul and the others watched with bated breath, every single one of them.
Clearly being chased all over the ground by Geralt rolling in the dirt, how did he manage to look like he held the absolute advantage?
Standing on the second floor of the castle and watching this scene, Vesemir dropped his jaw in shock and couldn't help but support his forehead.
"Where on earth... where did this brat learn this?"
He could already envision the scene of someone flying into a rage and stamping their feet in the future when dueling Arwen.
However...
He also saw the superiority of this tactic, which was entirely built upon one's own speed, coordination, and formidable observational skills.
These were all the witcher's strong suits.
The importance of the Quen Sign suddenly rose quite a bit in his heart.
Geralt looked at Arwen, who was continually probing toward him, and instinctively clenched his fists.
It felt as though there was a mosquito-not doing much damage, but constantly buzzing right next to him.
Just at this moment, Arwen shamelessly closed in again.
Geralt swung out several sword strikes, but Arwen was like an eel in the mud, continually rolling to evade and circling around behind him.
"Damn it."
Feeling the sharp sensation coming from his back, Geralt felt a surge of irritable and violent energy well up in his cat-like eyes.
His left hand violently pressed into the empty air toward Arwen's position.
"Boom!"
An invisible fan-shaped shockwave blasted forth from his palm.
Shock gripped Arwen's heart; the vigorous thrust directly shattered the Quen shield, and the aftershock even sent him tumbling to the ground.
"Geralt, didn't you say you wouldn't use Signs?"
"To hell with fairness!" Geralt gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his pale face. Far from stopping, he instead strode forward aggressively, his left hand once again forming a Sign.
Geralt was burning with anger.
Scrambling to his feet in a flurry of rolls, Arwen shouted at the top of his lungs, "I concede! I con-"
"Boom!"
Yet another Aard Sign struck at point-blank range, kicking up a massive spray of earth and terrifying Arwen into turning and fleeing madly.
"Don't run! You rolling donkey! Let me kick your ass hard with my foot!"