The swords clashed, sending sparks flying while the sound echoed from far away. This happened because visual neural responses are faster than auditory ones.
This meant their battle was taking place in the split second between neural transmissions.
One couldn't simply react to what they saw. They had to anticipate the next move before seeing it.
The delay between perception and judgment would be the turning point in this match.
"Kagagak!!"
The sound of the first sword clash finally reached his ears. Ivan gritted his teeth and moved his body.
The clash of swordsmanship was like a battle of calculations. With each collision came recoil, the opponent's movements, and countless branching paths that could follow—a long struggle to find the correct answer among them.
Only then did Ivan realize.
So this is what they call swordsmanship.
Until now, all his sword fighting had been mere imitation, focused solely on wielding weapons.
He had mechanically learned and perfectly mimicked the refined techniques established by others. Only now, as he pushed forward with his sword based on his own judgment and choices, was he truly learning martial arts.
"Kaang!!"
The phrase "having good eyes"—what he had considered his only asset—might have been a curse all along.
Because he never needed to discover and develop things himself, he simply imitated the correct answers of those who came before.
It was like a growth limit. Just as plants and trees have limits to their growth regardless of how much nutrients they receive.
His exceptional learning ability itself had been limiting his potential. The moment he encountered someone else's correct answer, he might have considered it the only solution.
Only now could Ivan understand Edel's praise of the sword.
Building up years to reach for the sky.
Even if you can't reach it. Even if it might remain an abstract concept forever unreachable. Just yearning for it.
Not acknowledging limitations. Or, even if acknowledged, not accepting them. And so, for a lifetime.
Dedicating one's entire life to the challenge.
Freedom.
That was Edel's ideology. It was her life. Even amidst the horrors of war when countless lives were lost, her sword danced, singing of freedom.
So that day, in the forest of the dark northern front. The trajectory of her lone sword.
It was comfort for the survivors, a memorial for the dead, meditation for herself, and a longing for freedom.
Just as the Hero's sword symbolized hope, hers symbolized freedom. That was the meaning of establishing an ideology.
Could he reach it?
Could this slow learner who only now understood the true meaning of martial arts reach this ascetic practice of establishing an ideology and solidifying the true meaning of swordsmanship?
Could he stand shoulder to shoulder with the giants of previous eras?
Ivan silently swung his sword, sinking deeper into thought.
He's keeping up.
Edel smiled broadly as she extended her sword. They met. No matter how much she increased her speed, no matter how many feints she mixed with real thrusts, he matched her blow for blow.
This one is growing.
That sensation made Edel impatient with excitement.
Like watching a dragon hatching from an egg, or seeing the first sprout breaking through the soil.
Over the long years, just as with the few disciples she had taken in.
How brilliant is that first step of growing, developing things.
How beautiful is that courage, that will to reach out toward new horizons one never imagined or dared to dream of.
Ivan's swordsmanship resembled Edel's. That was natural. He had good eyes, after all. He was someone who could instantly grasp her swordsmanship through observation and use it perfectly.
So, at this moment.
"Kaaang!!!"
Each time a swordsmanship technique she "didn't know" sporadically emerged, a deeper smile spread across Edel's face.
This man who called himself a soldier rather than a knight, who considered himself merely a weapon.
This man who had simply repeated input and output like a precise magical engineering device.
Now, as he took his own step forward and forged his own path, Edel trembled with excitement.
"Do you see it? Yon, can you see this sight too?"
She knew he couldn't hear her. Their battle had already transcended the realm where perception allowed for conversation.
In this moment, the only dialogue between them was the clashing of swords and the delayed sounds of collision.
But right now, as their swords clashed.
Edel believed through their steel dialogue that he was feeling the same thing she was.
"That is the path to the end of martial arts!"
The many sensory organs sacrificed in the process of honing battle senses created a strange synesthesia.
The falling flower petals looked like snow, and the muffled cheers sounded like cutting wind.
The clear day at the arena disappeared, and suddenly the two were exchanging swords at the edge of the northern front.
"You foolish one."
Edel lowered her sword and smiled. Her voice carried a small reproach, yet immense satisfaction.
"You're quite late, aren't you? Yon, this is a point you should have reached the moment you realized it, the moment you understood."
"I apologize."
A faint smile appeared at the corners of Ivan's mouth as well.
He approached Edel, engaging with his notched sword.
"What can I do about my lack of talent?"
"Even now?"
"From now on, we'll have to see."
"That's enough."
Kagang! The steel sword, which had long since exceeded its durability limit, broke and flew away. Ivan released the sword without hesitation.
This was a battlefield. The corpses around them were surrounded by abandoned weapons.
Ivan easily picked up an axe from among them.
"What have you picked up?"
"An axe. 73cm, blade width 12cm. Weight just under 2kg."
"A nimble and powerful weapon. Come."
No response was necessary. Ivan's offensive changed. Unlike a sword, an axe is not a weapon that draws lines.
Every strike converges in curves. It focused solely on cutting and splitting with fierce power.
And all those attacks transformed into long rotations under Edel's blade. Like a storm reaching land.
"That's Einar's style."
"Yes."
"What's next?"
"Spear and shield."
Ivan threw the axe, diverting attention, then swept the ground to retrieve his next armament. An infantry spear and a circular shield with a long groove.
Once again, his offensive style changed. Dotting points, drawing with the shield, then dotting points again. A solid yet sharp strike.
"That's Gil Ber's. You've learned well. Quite tricky to deal with."
Is there more?
There is. Instead of answering, Ivan grabbed a dagger. Mimicking Enrique's attack method—fast, stealthy, and lethal.
The limit he thought couldn't be accelerated further broke with a click, like the sound of chains unlocking. Yes, people can move faster than this. A new realization.
Opening that horizon, he moved to the next weapon. And the next.
With a mace, a halberd, a longsword and dagger, sometimes mixing in shots, occasionally throwing daggers.
When he had exhausted the last weapon in his mind, Ivan stood right in front of Edel.
"So this is your homeland, Yon."
"..."
"This is the only homeland you can recall now. You've filled too much of your short human life with battlefields. The things you hold onto because you can't let go of what you've lost, you call this your homeland."
"..."
"I won't call your ideology a homeland. Yon, at least for me. Your will is never a homeland."
Edel smiled as she brushed off flower petals that had settled on Ivan's head.
"Call it memories. Not something you can't let go of, but something built up together with you. Save 'homeland' for later. That place you will reach and settle, where you can someday put down all your burdens and rest, only then will I tell you that you've reached your homeland. So..."
Time passed.
Flower petals danced, and numerous sword marks engraved on the arena floor formed an abstract painting.
Edel quietly looked at Ivan who stood still, then gazed up at the sky.
It was a clear day. The summer sun was shining down on them.
Edel closed her one remaining eye tightly and whispered quietly.
"Lord Beolgrin. I must refuse your request."
Then she threw away the sword she had been holding without hesitation. She turned around and bowed to the astonished audience.
"I, Edelplat Koenwulf of the Kalion Privy Council, acknowledge my defeat. Under the grace of the Lord, respect to the victor."
She walked lightly out of the arena. As the audience recovered from shock and rose to their feet shouting, the arena rumbled like an earthquake behind her.
[The, the winner is!! Lord Ivan Petrovich Yeremov of the Yeremov Viscounty!!]
With the announcer's shocked commentary.
Thud—a lower, smaller sound. The sound of something heavy collapsing.
Yes, rest well. It was worth it.
Edel smiled and continued her halted steps, leaving the tournament corridor.
"Are you conscious?! Vanka, do you recognize me?!"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ivan opened his eyes and looked up at Elizabeta, who had rushed forward and grabbed him by the collar.
He quickly glanced around. A hospital room. Late night.
The presence around... probably royal guards.
Only then did Ivan relax and lie back down.
"What happened with the match?"
"You don't... remember?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
He only remembered swinging his sword in an almost trance-like state. He felt like he'd heard something embarrassing, but couldn't recall exactly what it was.
His muscles were screaming. His joints too, and his tendons were stiff from being pushed to their limits.
His neural network, accelerated by magic power, was overloaded to the point of nearly breaking. The aftereffects were almost as severe as when he had fought the Seven Dragon Generals. Ivan smiled wryly.
The opponent had been that strong.
So strong that even if he had lost, he would have had no regrets.
"You won. Vanka, you won."
It took time for Ivan to understand Elizabeta's words. Uncharacteristically, he had to ask again.
"I won... against Edel?"
"Hehe, yes. Vanka. You won."
"Was the result... sufficiently overwhelming?"
Elizabeta finally realized how unreasonable her order to Ivan had been. Goodness, she had ordered someone fighting the strongest elf to "win overwhelmingly."
How was that any different from issuing a death sentence to the Annihilation Squad in the past?
Elizabeta struggled to hold back tears that welled up and spoke with a choked voice.
"Yes. Vanka. Your prowess was... sufficiently overwhelming. To all of us. To everyone. I declare, you are the pride of our royal family."
"That's all I needed to hear."
Ivan nodded and got up. Ignoring his bones and muscles that screamed for him not to push himself, he slowly arranged his clothes.
"Vanka...?"
"I apologize, but my work is not yet finished, Your Majesty. Did Dmitri or Pavel fail to report something to you?"
"Huh? What do you mean...?"
"I will take responsibility for interrogating them on that matter. Now it's time to complete the plan you prepared."
"Huh? You? You say it's a plan you prepared...?"
That was about marrying you, though?
Elizabeta murmured blankly as she looked at Ivan. He put on his coat with an expressionless face and stood up.
With an impeccable demeanor that made it hard to believe he had been lying down just moments ago.
"W-wait. Where are you going? What more do you intend to do in that condition?"
"I will follow what Your Majesty said during the Annihilation Squad inspection."
"What...?!"
The speech she gave at every Annihilation Squad inspection...?
Elizabeta was an intelligent person. She easily recalled events from 10 years ago as if they were yesterday.
If it was something she often said when inspecting the Annihilation Squad....
"You are the pride of Krasilov!"
No, not that one.
"The nation believes in you!!"
Not that either.
She had said something more adolescent...!
"Only death shall stop your holy war!"
Ah.
Damn it.
Elizabeta covered her forehead and lowered her head. Right. She had said that too. Back then it seemed really cool.
So taking those words literally, thinking about it in reverse.
The mission doesn't stop unless you die. That's what it means. That's what Ivan was saying now.
"Wh-what about the finals?! What about the finals! You need to rest your body to bring another overwhelming victory in the finals, don't you?!"
"There's no need to go to the finals, Your Majesty."
Ivan rose, maturely comforting Elizabeta.
Watching Ivan's retreating back, Elizabeta hit her chest and groaned.
"You fool... you need to win to get the prize...."
Leaving the hospital room and walking down the corridor, Ivan stopped when he saw a shadow lingering at the end of the hallway.
"Dmitri."
"Yes, senior!"
The shadow cheerfully waved his hand.
Ivan continued walking, passing by him. Dmitri followed behind.
"The contact?"
"As you predicted, yes. Two invitation cards, one tampered high-grade healing potion, and one person disguised as a priest from Tilles. That's what we had."
"Pavel?"
"That gentleman is lying in ambush at the strike point."
"It's not too late, is it?"
Ivan flicked his hand. Dmitri quickly handed him an elegantly packaged envelope. It was an invitation card with Duke Sheretif's seal.
"Would you ever be late, senior? The timing is perfect."
"Let's begin."
"Our way?"
Ivan nodded. Dmitri showed his molars in a slight smile and disappeared below the hospital wall.
"Our way."
The Annihilation Squad's way.