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Chapter 27
The blade was slightly shorter than most commonly used swords. Normally, that would make it disproportionately heavy, but the deep blood grooves carved into it reduced the weight. When Aris had used it before, he had managed to handle it, but it had felt unfamiliar in his hands.
“Want to fight using only swordsmanship? No sword aura, and definitely no magic. You know I can’t use magic without an auxiliary device inscribed with spell formulas. If you just crush me with that ridiculous mana of yours, there’s no point. So let’s do this with pure swordsmanship!”
Aris slid his new sword partway out of its scabbard before pushing it back in again as he replied.
“Fine.”
After watching the training yard with Mireia, he shrugged off his cumbersome outer garment and rolled up his sleeves so he could move freely. Mireia was likewise dressed in light training clothes.
When the two of them stood in the center of the yard, idle members of the combat division gathered in small groups to watch. As Aris glanced around, Shio warned him quietly.
“Don’t let anyone else find out who you really are. No wings, no magic.”
“It’s against the rules anyway.”
Once Aris had finished stretching, Mireia lowered her swords into a slanted stance. Aris narrowed his eyes. The stance—modified for dual blades—was unmistakably the basic form of the Luard Empire’s Imperial Knight swordsmanship. Aris, himself born of Luard’s imperial line, had trained in the same style. He mirrored her, lowering his own sword in the same familiar diagonal posture.
Mireia grinned.
“I’ll strike first.”
“Come.”
Her foot tapped the ground lightly, and in the next instant, she was right before Aris’s nose. Even though he had noticed her speed the last time, this was faster than ever. His response was slightly late, but since the sword technique itself was familiar, he managed to block.
Because they used the same style, the outcome depended on technical mastery and physical ability. After several exchanges, Aris began analyzing her movements. Mireia had the edge in speed, but Aris held a far greater advantage in technique and strength. He already knew how to exploit that difference.
For a split second, an opening appeared, and Aris immediately lunged. But then Mireia’s movement shifted. In the midst of high speed, she bent her trajectory almost at a right angle, a near-supernatural twist, and parried his sword. Aris’s expression cracked for a moment before he recovered.
He quickly pulled back. Her stance, her movements, her swordplay—it was all different now. Aris couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. What she had just shown was the sword style of the Mai-Ren mountain troops.
The roots of Aris’s own swordsmanship lay in those two traditions: the Imperial Knight swordsmanship he had learned as a child in Luard, and the Mai-Ren style taught by his maternal grandfather and mother.
Mireia gave a meaningful smirk, her sword tip flicking lightly.
“Come on, then.”
It was a matter of pride now, not “how.” She was deliberately provoking him by copying his style, and there was no refusing that. Aris obliged, attacking with the Mai-Ren technique. Mireia defended with its unique motions. Even accounting for dual blades, she had mastered both styles to a level worthy of being called a master. Still, Aris had the edge in technique.
He began to seize the flow, but then Mireia’s movements shifted again—something entirely different from the previous two styles. Aris didn’t recognize this swordsmanship at all. In fact, she wielded it more naturally than the ones she had imitated. When he managed to respond well, she grinned and changed yet again. Where her attacks had been sharp before, her movements now flowed like water.
Swordsmanship, at its origin, always carried intent: blades for slaughter, blades to protect, blades as tools of spiritual training, blades to uphold justice. Countless other purposes shaped countless styles. By watching, one could often glimpse what the style sought and predict its attacks.
But Mireia’s sword revealed nothing. Her methods shifted constantly. Her movements seemed patterned, yet not. Aris could do nothing but react in the moment.
After several defenses, he revised his thoughts. This wasn’t one style—it was countless, mixed together. He couldn’t even begin to count how many sword arts she knew. He wanted to laugh bitterly, but Mireia gave him no chance.
Eventually, retreating under pressure, Aris suddenly felt her blade touch his neck from behind, though she had been in front just an instant ago.
“Well? Feeling humbled yet?”
Her bright voice came from behind him as he slowly raised both hands.
“I can’t even pretend I didn’t lose. Somehow, this feels like I was swindled.”
At that, the blade at his neck withdrew. Mireia slid her swords into their scabbards with a grin. Aris sheathed his as well, his voice dripping with frustration.
“What was that swordsmanship? Were you toying with me?”
Shio tapped Aris’s shoulder lazily, then leaned an elbow on it as he drawled.
“Well, there are always higher mountains, you know. Don’t let it get you down. Lasting that long against Mireia is already impressive. Hardly anyone ever beats her with the sword. Maybe only Paul can go toe-to-toe sometimes.”
Mireia wiped her sweat with a towel and said,
“Still, I can tell you’re really from Luard. You’ll have to teach me the Imperial Knight swordsmanship sometime. Watching and copying it just leaves my movements sloppy.”
“You copied it?”
“Yep.”
“How?”
“I saw it once before, used that as reference.”
“You can learn just from one look?”
“That’s why it’s sloppy. You can’t learn everything just by watching.”
“Wait… did you learn other styles the same way?”
“Hmm…”
Mireia tossed Aris a fresh towel, gulped down water, and answered.
“Of course not. I learned most of the others directly. The Mai-Ren swordsmanship? I just crammed for a few days recently when I visited because of you. That’s why you’re better at those two. I almost got caught trying to show off.”
Had Aris not pressed her so hard, Mireia would have kept imitating him. But the gap in mastery was clear. Though his pride was wounded, her explanation gave him some comfort.
“I told you before, my father was the head of the combat division, right? He gave me a practice sword before I could even walk—oh, not a real blade, of course. When he saw I had talent, he taught me until I surpassed him. Then he dumped me on someone else, saying he had nothing left to teach. I don’t remember who—it was too long ago. But that person wasn’t from Serokin, so their swordsmanship was completely different. When I’d learned enough, they also passed me on. It happened over and over. Since this is a mercenary group made up of people from all over, I naturally picked up all kinds of sword styles. I’ve had lots of masters.”
She spoke as if it were nothing unusual, but it wasn’t normal at all. Mastering even a single sword style could take a lifetime. Mireia was only twenty-two. Aris had been hailed a prodigy for mastering two by his teens, but this was on another level.
Not just a prodigy—she was an unprecedented genius. A freak born of talent, the right environment, and above all, her own joy in the sword and hunger to learn.
Aris didn’t know it, but Mireia’s bad habit was that whenever she saw a new sword technique, her eyes lit up and she would pester the wielder for a spar, beat them down, and then demand lessons as the victor. The more she defeated, the more she learned.
“So you’ll teach me too, right? The Imperial Knight swordsmanship was beautiful.”
She smiled slyly, pressing Aris.
“Midor! Who the hell is this guy to last that long against a Jainster?”
The spectators, now chattering after the fight ended, turned to Shio.
“The chairman’s guest!”
“Incredible!”
In truth, they had only gathered to see who Mireia Jainster would crush this time. Now, seeing Aris share their fate, they regarded him with camaraderie, even pity. Mireia, however, ignored their gazes and tried to pin Aris down for a training schedule.
“Mireia Jainster!”
Then a familiar roar erupted across the training yard. Mireia instinctively sensed danger and dove behind Shio—the largest person around—screaming shrilly.
“Ugh, why again?! What now?!”
Charging toward her was a small figure brandishing a green dragon lord’s spear, eyes blazing with fury. Recognizing Raked, the onlookers scattered, unsure what had set him off this time but eager to avoid the fallout.
