Chapter 113: Clash of Swords [2]

’Why can’t I land a single blow?’

Before Ryker could realize it, frustration was creeping in. His aggressive style, combined with the long back-and-forth of the battle, was eating away at his patience. With the limited time, the match would end in a draw if they kept fighting like this. And Ryker didn’t want a draw. He wanted to win.

And also, he knew Lucien was watching. Somewhere deep in his mind, he had placed Lucien as his mentor. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to show that he was worth the time Lucien had given him.

Their battle continued, but Ryker’s aggression kept increasing, and it was starting to mess with his sword work. His swings were getting wider, more desperate. His footwork was getting sloppy. He was leaving openings.

Mira noticed. She didn’t push the advantage, but she read him easily. She was waiting for him to make a mistake.

Ryker’s breathing was heavier now. His sword felt heavier too. He was trying too hard.

Then, in the middle of a clash, something clicked.

His mind went blank. The frustration, the desperation, the need to win, all of it faded away. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He was just feeling.

He felt his sword in his hand. Its weight. Its balance. The faint hum of Originat running through its core.

A memory surfaced. Lucien’s voice. Not loud, but clear.

"Listen to me, Ryker. Your sword is not just a weapon. It is not a tool. It is a living thing, your friend, your will, your partner in crime. The moment you see it as a piece of metal, you lose. If your blade can turn against you, then that’s the end of you as a swordsman."

The words hit him like a wave. He had heard them before, but now, in the middle of the fight, they finally made sense.

He loosened his grip. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing slowed.

He stopped fighting against Mira. He stopped fighting against his own impatience.

He just let his sword move.

Mira paused, her rapier raised, confusion flickering in her eyes. She had felt something shift. The pressure, the aggression, the desperate energy, it was gone. In its place was something else. Something calmer. Sharper.

Some of the knowledgeable students had their mouths wide open in shock. Others were on edge, their eyes fixed on the arena.

Meanwhile, Lucien, who saw this, just smirked. "Took you long enough."

Ryker didn’t answer. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting his sword rest in his hands. He felt its weight. Its balance. The faint hum of Originat running through its core.

He stopped thinking of it as a weapon.

He started thinking of it as a part of him.

When he opened his eyes, something had changed. His stance was the same. His grip was the same. But the air around him felt different, lighter, sharper, as if the world itself was waiting.

Mira sensed it too. Her eyes narrowed. Her guard went up. She couldn’t tell what had shifted, but her instincts screamed danger.

Then, for a brief moment, something strange happened.

She blinked, and for an instant, Ryker didn’t look like a man anymore. He looked like a sword. A blade given human form. His body, his posture, his very presence, all of it gave off the same cold, sharp feel of a perfectly forged edge.

The realization hit her like a shockwave.

But it was already too late.

Ryker raised his blade, not with aggression, but with calm certainty. He swung.

It wasn’t a flashy attack. There was no technique, no skill, no burst of Originat. It was just a simple, clean swing.

But it looked perfect.

The blade moved like it was alive, cutting through the air with a sound like a whisper. It traced an arc that seemed certain, as if the sword itself had decided where to go.

Mira raised her rapier to block, but Ryker’s blade slipped past her defense, stopping just a hair’s breadth from her neck.

The arena fell silent.

Ryker’s breathing was steady. His gaze was calm. He had won.

Mira stared at the blade inches from her throat. Then slowly, she lowered her rapier. A small smile crossed her lips.

"Good move," she said softly. ℯ

Ryker lowered his sword. "I have a good mentor."

"This doesn’t mean I’m backing down," Mira said as she withdrew her Armament. "Prepare for a personal challenge from me another time."

"I’ll be waiting," Ryker flashed a smile as he also withdrew his Armament.

Both figures walked out of the arena. The instant they stepped off the floor, the restriction lifted. Their cultivation returned in a rush, their Originat surging back to full capacity. Any fatigue or minor injuries they had sustained vanished, as if the battle had never happened.

It didn’t feel as if they had fought at all.

The students watched them return to the observation platform. Some nodded in respect. Others were already analyzing the fight, mentally preparing for their own matches, especially Kael and Elara.

Sylas watched as Ryker left the arena and nodded in acknowledgment. That state Ryker had entered was a prelude into the realm of Sword Intent. It wouldn’t take long before he comprehended it. There was a large chasm between Sword Qi and Sword Intent.

Sylas stepped forward, his voice echoing through the coliseum. "The winner of the match is Ryker Auric."

As he spoke, the shimmering screen in the center of the arena flickered to life. Ryker’s holographic portrait appeared, his name displayed in bold silver script beneath it. A small emblem of a crossed sword appeared beside his image, marking his victory. Below his name, his points updated in glowing text:

Ryker Auric – 3 Points

The screen then displayed the match result:

Group 1, Match 2: Ryker Auric vs Mira Sterling

Winner: Ryker Auric

The students watched the display, some nodding, others whispering among themselves. The weight of the match settled over the coliseum.

Ryker walked back toward the observation platform, his steps steady. He reached Lucien’s side and paused, his voice low. "Mentor, it seems I didn’t disappoint you."

Lucien didn’t say anything at first. He just gave a small nod, his gaze still fixed on the arena.

A few seconds passed. Then Ryker spoke again, his voice softer, more sincere. "Thanks, mentor."

Lucien finally turned to look at him. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "What did I do? I did nothing. It’s all due to your comprehension."

Ryker blinked. "But your words—"

"Words are just words," Lucien cut him off gently. "You were the one who understood them. You were the one who applied them in the middle of a fight. That’s not something I can teach. That’s something you have to discover yourself."

Ryker was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "I think I get it now."

Lucien smiled. "Good. But this is just the beginning. You have only scratched the surface."

A few students nearby had caught the conversation. Some were confused, others curious. But one thing became clear to them—it was because of Lucien that Ryker had been able to reach that state.

They didn’t feel jealous. Instead, a different feeling stirred in them. A quiet urge to fight Lucien, to test his strength for themselves.

These were proud students, each from well-known families or blessed with exceptional talent. They weren’t the type to back down from a challenge.