Boreas Estate.
Midday, in the courtyard.
The sound of wooden swords tearing through the air resounded without pause each day.
From the increasingly similar brows and eyes of the boy and girl facing each other, the air trembled, scattering strands of their hair.
Then, in the gaze they shared, the sword rose upward.
It climbed past the black tiles of the roof.
A crisp lingering tone drifted.
Carried away by the wind.
The "old" echo had yet to fade completely.
When the "new" hum rang out again!
Accompanied by Allen's sharp command!
"Not enough! Again!"
Allen swung his leg, kicking Eris, who had hastily raised her sword vertically in a Water God Style guard stance.
With a single kick, he sent her flying.
"Tch!"
With a bang, the wooden sword was knocked aside in front of Eris's gritted teeth. The blade slipped from her hands, spinning like a windmill in a storm before them.
Her body arced through the air, still unwillingly clicking her tongue.
Before the sound had even faded—
The spinning sword was snatched midair by Eris's hand. Catching the hilt precisely, her suspended body twisted like a fiery butterfly, slamming a foot into a nearby tree!
Like a cannonball, she launched herself toward Allen.
Her figure cut through the air, even creating a sonic snap.
Her sword swung straight for Allen's face.
The blade split the winter's biting wind—but could not cut through the air before Allen's face.
The two locked eyes.
The sword tip trembled.
But it could not advance even a fraction.
Eris's thrust had struck an invisible air "barrier" before him.
And beyond that barrier were deep gray eyes.
His gaze was as calm as still water, sending only one message:
"Still not fast enough."
Eris gritted her teeth and swung the sword toward Allen's neck.
—
"Aren't they cold?"
Under a tree, Rudy exhaled a misty breath and turned to look at Ghislane.
"With battle aura wrapped around the body, they can resist the cold. They're not cold," Ghislane said matter-of-factly.
Rudy's mouth twitched. Seeing Ghislane's year-round "revealing" muscle-warrior outfit, he could only nod in resignation.
"Alright, fine."
Even as he spoke, he breathed into his hands and rubbed them together for warmth.
Before him, the fierce "clash" between the two shook the air, while at the edge of his vision, a beastwoman in the distance swept snow beneath the covered walkway linking the guest quarters and living area.
With a soft thud, a lump of snow fell from a tree above to land at his feet.
The swords kept whistling.
Unnoticed, winter had truly arrived.
Even with layers of clothing—his academy-style uniform padded with cotton—Rudy could not fend off the chill.
Though there were quite a few people at the Boreas Estate, the presence wasn't enough to drive away the cold.
Besides, the estate was built against the mountains; even in bustling Roa, it was colder than Buena Village.
In this loop, without deliberately training in swordsmanship, his body's resistance to the cold was far worse than in the previous one.
He was just debating whether to use a Fireball to warm up when Ghislane's admiring voice reached his ears.
"Allen's 'blade' is faster now."
Rudy's brow rose. "Blade?"
He turned.
In his sight, Allen's body moved leisurely under Eris's afterimage-laced assault.
No—"leisurely" wasn't right.
He hadn't moved his feet at all—only raised his hands again and again.
No blade in hand.
No sword at his waist.
It had been since October, when he last swung a blade.
Now it was mid-January.
Allen hadn't trained on the rooftop in three months.
In fact, he hadn't drawn his sword at all in that time.
And yet, somehow, Rudy felt that Allen's blade-less presence radiated a tangible sharpness that stung his eyes.
Just like that night in the snowy valley, when Allen glanced back before entering his room.
But Allen's sword had been damaged in that valley.
And he hadn't carried another since.
"Ghislane, you mean that sharp, cutting feeling coming off him?" Rudy asked.
As he spoke, he glanced at Ghislane.
She stood with arms crossed, her index finger tapping lightly on her solid bicep—producing a firm, crisp sound.
Her eyes were locked on Allen, unmoving under Eris's rapid slashes.
"Rudy, you know… there aren't just the Sword God Style, Water God Style, and North God Style. My master once told me there's an unorthodox school whose swordsmen, after reaching adulthood at fifteen, never swing their swords again. They keep their blades sheathed."
Rudy blinked in surprise.
So this world had a style like the "cultivating sword intent" types from manga?
"Sword always in the sheath? What kind of swordsman is that?"
Ghislane was silent for a moment as she watched Allen.
"Bullshit swordsman."
"…Huh?"
Her ears twitched as she turned to Rudy, her face still solemn.
"My master's words—'bullshit swordsman.'"
Rudy's mouth twitched again. His image of the Sword God he'd never met kept changing—vulgar, arrogant, and untouchable.
Ghislane continued, "This style… it's like holding back a…"
She frowned, thinking hard, before producing two words: "A force. Right, holding back a force. My master despised this style, saying 'only one strike in a lifetime—what's the damn point? I cut down these pretentious bullshit swordsmen.' But—"
"But?"
"He also said their first unsheathing strike—releasing that pent-up force—would be incredibly fast and strong."
Rudy exhaled.
Now that was more like it—the manga archetype of hiding one's blade and intent until the perfect moment.
"But Allen's different."
"Different?"
Ghislane struggled for words, finally saying, "With Allen's current control of battle aura and presence, if I'm right… he's already regained his 'desire.' But he's not releasing it—just holding it in. Sorry, can't think of the exact word…"
"I think Allen's waiting for a response."
She turned to Rudy, who grinned smugly and clasped his hands behind his head.
"Response?"
He winked. "The kind of response that will ignite that desire completely."
Suddenly, a sharp cry cut through their talk.
"Haaah!"
With a bright shout, Eris slashed at Allen's neck.
But he had already placed his palm where her strike would land.
She bit down hard.
Her blade struck his hand—and, as expected, he used the Flowing Technique to redirect the force.
In the next instant, he used the same technique to throw her backward.
But she stepped forward instead—anticipating his move—and passed him in a blur, immediately pivoting behind him!
She turned, swung.
Her hand and sword moved as one.
A bright gleam lit her eyes.
The sword's whistle vanished into the wind—light as a feathered touch.
Yet faster.
Driving straight for Allen's back!
(End of Chapter)
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