After his brief encounter with the nameless Darkiron, Yujin sought out objective evaluations of his strength. First, he visited Daniel.
"…For your age, you are absurdly strong."
Daniel didn't mince words. Yujin was barely an adult, yet he possessed the power to defeat titled Great Knights and contend with high-ranking executives of the Armorless Union—nameless ghosts of the battlefield.
The problem was that Yujin hadn't even been fighting at full strength.
His self-imposed condition for the Major was to use only the visible techniques of the Nearl Arts and swordsmanship.
After hearing Daniel‘s assessment, Yujin sought out Raquelamalin. She was different from the three Casters he was used to. As a princess of her race and a powerful caster in her own right, she could offer an objective perspective.
When Yujin posed the question, Larin tilted her head.
"You're stronger than me, aren't you?"
"…Probably?"
He answered with a question because they had never actually fought. Though, he didn't feel like he would lose if they did.
"It‘s not a question. Looking at you now, it‘s certain. You are stronger than me. What I mean is..."
Larin admitted, somewhat hesitantly, that she had walked a paved and polished road. The name of the Banshee Princess carried weight, and she had mastered every Art available to her race.
The language written with the bone-whistle—a power akin to Words of Power—was nearly omnipotent. If she wanted to burn something, it burned. If she wanted to cut something, it was cut. Whatever she wrote came to pass.
She was confident she could handle most variables on her own, but her fight with the Confessarii had been under the worst possible conditions. Exhaustion, being hunted, and having to protect Kisharsinagh had worn her down.
The Confessarii never showed themselves unless they were certain. They had tired her out with expendable experiments before revealing their fangs when they were sure of victory.
...Of course, Yujin‘s intervention had ruined all their plans.
Even then, the power she saw from Yujin wasn't his full strength. Despite her exhaustion, her eyes hadn't deceived her. She could clearly feel the gap between them.
"Hmm... is that so?"
"Yes. If we fought right now, I would lose."
Only three people had ever pushed Yujin to his limits: his Master Netsalem, Buldrokkas'tee, and Kalaisha.
He couldn't beat Netsalem. The Master was an individual and a legion simultaneously. Even cutting him down revealed only an endless hell he couldn't overcome.
He couldn't beat Kalaisha at first, but eventually, he managed to win. She controlled sharp winds and compressed air currents, a living embodiment of the North Wind.
As for Buldrokk... Yujin wasn't sure. If they fought with the intent to kill, a victor might emerge, but they were friends. They would never fight like that.
"Then, want to try a spar? Just as a test."
"Are you sure, Larin?"
"Mmm, thanks for worrying, but I'm not that weak. I want to test something too."
Seeing her soft smile, Yujin nodded. He would be facing a Caster, a style likely different from Kalaisha or Netsalem.
They stood on the training grounds in a corner of the estate. Larin had changed into shorts and a t-shirt for ease of movement, her hair tied back. Yujin was similarly dressed in light clothes, holding his sword.
Sarkaz are beloved by sorcery. Rather than standard Arts, they often focused on the unique sorceries of their sub-races. The Vampires' Sanguinarch blood arts, the Gargoyles' stonecraft.
Yujin knew little of the Banshee's Words of Power. They were a rare and reclusive race. Larin was the first Banshee he had ever met.
Standing at a distance, Yujin and Larin faced each other.
"Shall we begin?"
"Sure."
Larin began to write in the air with her bone-whistle. Giving her the first move was Yujin‘s courtesy. Whether it was youthful arrogance or not remained to be seen.
It had been a while since he had gone all out.
The script she wrote was long. Not a short chant or a few layers, but a complex composition. Yujin raised his sword, bracing for the impact.
The spell undulated, creating lines of black and white. Just as Yujin began to wonder if he had postured too much, the wave crashed.
A burst of ash-gray energy erupted, washing over the training ground with a silent chill.
When he opened his eyes, the world was stained in monochrome and ash. As Yujin tried to take a step, he felt his body grow heavy.
In a world blurred like the color of Larin's hair, Yujin locked eyes with her.
He didn't intend to drag this out. Giving a Caster time without closing the distance was the most dangerous thing he could do.
"Hmph...!"
He pushed off the ground, but the air cracked, spitting out a beam of black light. The ray obliterated the spot where Yujin had stood a fraction of a second before.
This time, not one, but three beams fired at him. Unable to dodge, Yujin swung his platinum-wreathed sword to intercept them.
Boom!
It felt like hitting a solid iron bar. Yujin cut through the remaining two beams. Larin watched him, noting that he had chosen to cut them rather than dodge.
Their eyes met. While Larin had always looked at him with warmth before, her gaze was now cold and focused.
Internally, however...
'Mmm, he looks cool swinging a sword too.'
She was hopeless.
Returning to the fight, Yujin watched the barrage intensify. From one to three, from three to seven. The number and size of the beams were increasing.
He twisted his body through the automatic bombardment. If his movements before had been rough and wild, now they were technical.
He was using technique.
Seeing this, Larin reflexively waved her hand to write a word. The script transformed into physical force and slammed into Yujin's midsection as he rushed forward, dodging and parrying the beams.
Larin sighed. Yujin could have dodged that, but he hadn't. He had likely taken the hit to gauge the impact.
Having parried the entire barrage, Yujin paused. Rushing in blindly was pointless; while he dodged and parried, Larin wasn't standing still. Every time he took a step forward, she took a step back, maintaining the distance.
Platinum light gathered. In the monochrome world, Yujin raised his sword high and brought it down.
Single Flash.
A strike that seemed to split his vision in two carved a deep trench into the earth. Larin reflexively twisted her body away from the beam-like slash.
She looked at Yujin with bewilderment as he sliced through the spot where she had just been standing. What if that had hit me?
But seeing Yujin‘s serious eyes, she swallowed her complaint. They could talk later.
Yujin felt the heaviness of Larin‘s domain, but he was adapting. He had fought in worse conditions. He cracked his neck, loosening his muscles.
The foundation of Yujin‘s swordsmanship was the Kazdel Military Forms. It was basic—a foundation, not a fancy technique. Eight movements, attacking from eight directions.
It was a style Yujin had created with Theresis while searching for the roots of his own sword.
Yujin had no roots. He hadn't been in a position to learn systematically, only stealing glimpses of others' techniques. He had to patch together a style like a ragged quilt, removing the flaws and bad habits himself.
When he erased the bad habits and started from the absolute basics, this style was born.
Kalaisha had complained that "Kazdel Military Forms" was a boring name, but it was literally a "standard form." Yujin was willing to teach it to anyone with potential who wanted to learn.
To break through Larin‘s domain, he needed a burst of power. Yujin felt every part of his body engage.
His eyes burned with platinum fire, and the world turned completely colorless. A prescient instinct flared to life, revealing the trajectory of the beams and the words Larin was writing.
Fire, shatter. Yujin applied explosive force to his legs, shattering the ground beneath him as he leaped, closing the distance to Larin in an instant.
Panic flashed across Larin‘s face. She instinctively wrote a word to bind his legs, while simultaneously firing a blast of ash-gray flame and a mimicry of Yujin‘s own sword slash.
Trapped in a barrage he couldn't dodge, Yujin swung his sword.
In a fraction of a second—just like when he had cut down the Confessarii in front of her—he moved.
It wasn't a technique. It was a simple method.
In the instant Larin‘s attack fired, Yujin simply moved his body more.
Eight powerful strikes from eight directions. Horizontal, vertical, diagonal. Within the myriad lattice of cuts created by Yujin‘s blade...
Larin had no escape.