My match was about to start, and the crowd was larger than I’d expected. Much larger. Were they here to see me? To watch me fail and flail around? To get a kick out of my embarrassment?
But it didn’t matter. The size of the crowd wasn’t my concern. Even if I showed them I wasn’t a pushover, I wouldn’t reveal my true abilities. There was a clear difference between being skillless and being a master swordsman.
I glanced at the weapon rack. The array of swords before me looked unimpressive—cheap, poorly crafted, and barely sharpened. They seemed like they were meant to be mere props in a poorly made play. But appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, even the most unremarkable tools can be wielded with surprising effectiveness. A skilled hand can turn a worthless blade into a valuable weapon. So, I picked the cheapest sword on the rack, made from the lowest-quality metal. It looked unimpressive and barely sharp, but it was good enough.
Trill, on the other hand, had opted for no weapon at all. She was stepping into the arena with just her fists—or rather, her claws. She wasn’t planning to use a sword, a bow, or anything else.
When she saw who she was up against, she barely seemed to register my presence. Her disinterest was palpable, as though she couldn’t be more bored by the prospect of fighting me. That was exactly why I needed to grab her attention. I was determined to make her remember my name—Leon, not Leo.
I might seem petty for focusing on this, but I knew it was the only way to capture her attention. If I didn’t make an impression now, it might be too late to assert my dominance over her.
The referee stepped forward, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “Are you two ready?”
I nodded slowly. Trill did the same, then unsheathed her claws with a flick of her wrist. She was set, but her expression suggested she wasn’t taking this seriously at all.
“According to the rules,” the referee announced, “no skills are allowed. Anyone caught using them will be disqualified. Now, fight!”
With a swift motion, the referee’s hand came down, signaling the start of the duel.
“I guess it’s time for me to get serious,” I muttered to myself.
***
Trill’s POV
“Go for him! Beat him to a fucking pulp and make him regret ever stepping into this ring! He doesn’t belong here at all—he’s just a skillless piece of shit!”
“Crush him completely! Make sure he knows his connection with the Princess of Bethlan was a mistake! Humiliate him in every way possible! Tie him up naked and parade him around!”
“Leave him crippled and broken!”
“Who the fuck bet on this fight?”
“No one. I mean, who would even bet that he’d win?”
“It’s fucking pointless, given he’s up against Trill Felian. There’s no chance you’d gamble on this match when the outcome is so damn obvious.”
The murmurs around me reverberated. My ears, finely attuned to the faintest sounds, picked up every whisper and shift with crystal clarity.
My opponent stood in front of me, sword in hand. Despite his readiness, there was no trace of bloodlust in his stance. He simply regarded me with an unsettling calmness. It was almost comical. Leo—or whatever your name is—seemed to be under the impression that he had a shot at winning.
But, sorry Leo, this is dull. There’s no thrill here. I instantly surged behind him with my beastly speed and swung my claws at him, striking with ruthless precision. I wasted no time at all.
As soon as my claw connected, I realized I was only slicing through air.
“…What?”
A sudden chill ran along the side of my neck.
“…Huh?”
I glanced behind me and saw the edge of his blade pressing against my throat. In an instant, he vanished and reappeared on the other side of the stage.
“…Wha…?”
“Again.” He spoke calmly, returning to the same basic stance.
Everything fell into a heavy silence. The murmurs that had buzzed around me were suddenly swallowed by an eerie stillness, as if the arena itself had taken a breath and held it.
“H-Hey, what the fuck just happened?” One onlooker’s voice cut through the quiet, a mix of shock and confusion clear in his tone.
But there was no response. No one had any idea what had just transpired.
I braced myself and took a step forward, only to halt in bewilderment.
“…What?”
A bewildered murmur slipped from my lips. For some reason, he seemed much farther away than before. Was this an illusion? No, there was no magic—he wasn’t using any. Had I misjudged the distance between us then? No, I was certain I hadn’t. Yet it felt as though the space between us had somehow stretched.
No… I couldn’t think about it any longer. I had to focus. There was something about this man that felt both strange and dangerous. I forced my emotions into a controlled state, readied myself, and decided to execute a simple feint. My plan was to trick him and then slip behind him to strike from the rear.
I executed the feint perfectly and moved behind him once again, aiming to slash with my claws. I thought I’d nailed him, but instead, I met only empty air.
In the next instant, a cold blade pressed against the side of my neck.
“…Huh?”
“You really like coming from behind, don’t you?” he said.
I tried to pivot and slash at him, but before I could even get close, he vanished again. What the hell was going on?
“Again.” His voice rang out, and suddenly he was on the opposite side of the stage, assuming that same simple stance.
It dawned on me.
It was the most basic stance I’d ever seen, but as I focused, I realized it was flawless. There was no discernible opening, no weak spot at all.
“…Why?”
In that moment, it felt like I was confronting an impenetrable wall, so tall and unyielding it seemed completely insurmountable.
