At the signal, Lythian took two quick steps and lunged forward.
Crackle, crackle!
Blue fire sparked around his feet right at the start.
Lythian then channeled the zi into his arms before he swung the wooden sword, doubling the power behind the strike and forcing Randolf into a defensive stance.
Thunk!
The loud collision echoed across the square.
Randolf slid backward from the impact, his boots carving a long line through the snow. In the same instant, Lythian redirected the zi back into his legs and leapt forward again, closing the distance.
Thwap, thwap!
A relentless barrage followed.
Lythian pressed the attack without a pause, each strike carrying enough force to keep Randolf pinned in place and unable to counter.
Then as the barrage seemed to end, Lythian pivoted on his heel and leaped behind Randolf in no time while aiming for his exposed back.
"Ukrrh—!!"
Randolf groaned as the strike landed. A mouthful of frothy red blood escaped his lips and stained the snow.
But this was a part of his plan. The impact also disrupted Lythian's balance for a split second, and that was exactly the opening he needed.
His veins bulged as he tightened his grip. The wooden sword roared through the air like a howling beast.
"...Fuck."
Lythian knew he could not dodge this charge.
Crossing his forearms, he barely managed to block the strike to prevent it from shattering his ribs. Even so, the impact hurled him backward like a ball struck by a bat.
Lythian spat into the snow and tried to push himself up.
Randolf charged toward him with a roar, dragging his sword through the snow as he prepared to deliver the finishing blow.
But…
Thud.
Randolf suddenly dropped on his knees.
The color drained from his eyes as his pupils rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious.
The senior knight, Thierry, rushed forward and knelt beside him. Seeing no visible wounds, he placed a hand on the cadet's chest and examined his breathing.
Thierry's expression darkened. The flow of air through the cadet's lungs felt disrupted, and faint traces of blood were beginning to fill the airways.
"His lungs are bruised."
Thierry turned to the figure sitting atop the crates.
"Young lord…"
"I don't mind. If you think that will save him, then do what you must."
Even before the knight finished speaking, Seven had already understood the intention.
"I appreciate your understanding, young lord. I apologize for overlooking the possibility of such an injury."
Seven glanced down toward the knight standing below him and beside the crates.
"Heinrich."
"As your command, young lord."
Despite his massive frame, Heinrich lifted the cadet effortlessly and dashed away, disappearing almost instantly. As a paragon knight, he was the strongest in the camp, and second only to the commander.
Meanwhile, Lythian clutched his abdomen and dropped to one knee before the senior knight.
"I apologize for—"
"Don't."
Seven spoke before the senior knight could respond, jumping down from the stacked crates and cutting Lythian off. If Lythian had failed that attack, Randolf's charge would have trampled him.
"The strong prey upon the weak. There is no need to apologize for something so simple."
For a brief moment, he almost laughed at his own words. He could have said that same first phrase to himself.
"…Yes."
Lythian bowed his head slightly.
Still…
"But I must still speak honestly. By your own words, young lord… I cannot pledge myself to someone who is clearly weaker than I am."
Silence fell over the training ground. Several knights stiffened, their gazes turning toward them.
"You—"
The senior knight stepped forward, but Seven raised a hand, stopping him.
Seven met Lythian's gaze.
"Make sure you reach the finals. I would not have you lose before our bout."
Lythian bowed properly this time.
"I will be looking forward to our bout, young lord."
- – – 777 – – -
An hour passed.
Heinrich returned to the camp, carrying the unconscious cadet carefully in his arms.
A few steps behind walked Iria, a basket filled with steamed beets and parsnips in her hands.
Step, step.
The camp quieted as they approached.
The senior knight took the cadet from Heinrich's arms and carried him into one of the cabins to rest.
Outside that cabin the cadet was taken into, Heinrich briefly explained the cadet's condition to the senior knight— roughly three to five days for the cadet's recovery, but a week or two if unlucky.
Back in the training ground, the knights continued their sessions.
Seven trained on his own after Heinrich left to deliver the cadet; he was now taking a break, masticating the steamed root vegetables Iria had brought.
Minutes of silence passed, until Iria brought up the topic of the cadet's injury.
"Forgive my audacity, my lord, but I hope you will not push yourself too far."
Iria said softly, her expression remaining perfectly composed despite her words.
"...That again?"
"I apologize, my lord. I don't intend to come off as rude. I only mean that if such an injury could befall a man of his stature, my lord may require… more careful handling."
Seven rubbed the back of his neck.
'...Careful handling.'
Of all the things she could have brought up, it had to be his body's fragility. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially after accepting a challenge from Lythian.
To win, he needed to push himself even more than before.
He sighed, then reached into the basket, picking up the last piece of parsnip and looking at it with a weary gaze.
"Heh. You're worrying too much. Besides, I won't even be taking part in the bouts until the finals."
"Is that so?"
Iria tilted her head, a stray lock of hair falling over her shoulder.
"In that case, I believe the final stage will be even more demanding, my lord."
Iria wasn't wrong.
But then again, if he were to fail the finals against a cadet of the platoon assigned to serve him, then he would have no chance to survive his fated death.
"...I'll manage."
Iria puffed her cheeks, and then poked her index finger on it while maintaining a steady stare.
"I am not convinced, my lord. If you would permit it, my lord, may I observe your training?"
"No—"
"Why not? A change of environment might do you some good, young lord."
Heinrich cut in, making a decision for the young lord.
Seven, of course, tried to resist such unfair treatment. The mere thought of Iria watching him do his thing did nothing but made him uncomfortable.
But before he could protest, Iria had already taken a seat on the nearby bench.
"I appreciate your understanding, sir Heinrich."
"Anything for the benefit of the young lord."
Step, step.
Standing before the young lord, Heinrich placed both his hands behind his back one more time, a defenseless stance clearly inviting to be attacked.
Seven gripped the wooden sword tightly as he gave Iria a brief glance, then muttered…
"...Fudge. This is the worst."