“What incredible pressure.
Even some Sword Saints don’t carry killing intent that strong.”
Timothy looked at Noah and Clair in surprise.
Gal offered no comment.
On the dueling floor, Clair heard Noah’s words and instantly forgot every thought of cautiously defending.
Anger ignited.
Blood rushed into his face until his expression turned ugly.
‘Put down my sword?’
For a swordsman, that meant abandoning all dignity and pride.
It meant denying more than ten years of relentless training, every day and night spent swinging a blade.
Clair had mentally prepared for the possibility of losing before he ever stepped onto the floor.
Duels had winners and losers.
Maybe Noah really was slightly better.
That possibility had always existed.
But defeat was one thing.
Humiliation was another.
‘You can beat me, but you don’t get to tell me to abandon my sword!’
If Clair actually obeyed, he might as well abandon the path of swordsmanship entirely.
He would never have the face to remain in the Holy Land of Swords afterward.
Noah’s figure filled his vision.
The more Clair looked at him, the more hateful the boy seemed.
Anger burned hotter and hotter.
“Impossible.
Even if I lose to you, I’ll make you pay for those words.”
Clair spoke through clenched teeth.
“Heh…”
Noah didn’t even answer properly.
That faint laugh was insult enough.
He gave his wooden sword a tiny beckoning motion, almost like curling a finger.
Clair, now spiritually possessed by an enraged bull, turned even redder.
He stamped forward and brought his sword down in a vertical slash with more force and aggression than he had ever used in training.
Longsword of Silence.
This was the technique that gave Clair confidence enough to challenge an Advanced swordsman.
Once someone learned the Longsword of Silence, even without winning a formal promotion duel, demonstrating it before their master was often enough to receive the Advanced title.
Today, Clair’s sword was faster than usual.
Heavier than usual.
Unfortunately—
Under Mind’s Eye, Noah saw nothing but flaws.
The attack was powerful, but straight-line techniques were the easiest movements to predict and evade.
Unless, of course, the strike moved so fast that it couldn’t be seen, or could be seen but still couldn’t be avoided.
Like Gal’s attacks.
Noah stepped lightly, pushing from the toes of his left foot.
His waist rotated.
Clair’s vertical slash passed beside him.
At the exact moment the swords crossed, Noah’s wooden blade cut diagonally into Clair’s chest.
The forward momentum of both bodies combined at impact.
Thud!
Clair felt a heavy blow slam into his chest.
Pain exploded.
His eyes rolled upward and his body fell backward, the wooden sword slipping from his hand.
Clack.
Noah withdrew his sword and stood still.
The one left standing was the winner.
“The match is decided.
Noah wins.”
The referee Sword Saint stepped onto the floor, confirmed at close range that Clair had completely lost consciousness, and announced the result.
Then he turned toward Gal for instruction.
Losing a challenge did not always prevent promotion.
If the challenger demonstrated the required level, the Sword God could still award a title afterward.
“Take him for treatment.”
Gal waved a hand.
Clair had used the Longsword of Silence, but his actual combat performance had been poor.
Gal had no intention of granting him Advanced rank today.
Let the boy go back and mature some more.
Noah initially felt a little sorry for him.
Clair’s technical level probably was good enough for promotion.
He’d simply had the bad luck to run into Noah.
Then Noah remembered why Clair challenged him in the first place.
Right.
The guy hadn’t exactly come with good intentions.
Served him right.
Noah gave his cheap master a small salute and turned to leave the dueling area.
“Disciple Alvi requests a designated challenge against Noah!”
Noah stopped mid-step.
Again?
‘Do I look that easy to bully?’
Among the Advanced disciples, a swordsman named Alvi stood and walked slowly toward the center.
He saluted Gal and formally requested the duel before turning a burning gaze toward Noah.
Since the two held the same rank, Noah had no obligation to accept an optional challenge.
“Hmm…
I permit it.” Gal looked amused.
“Noah, get ready.”
The Sword God had already realized that quite a few disciples disliked his direct student.
Some from jealousy.
Some for other reasons.
But Gal had always believed in following desire.
Even ugly emotions like jealousy were acceptable if they made a person’s sword sharper.
Noah had certainly ignited everyone’s fighting spirit.
He’d also created quite a bit of trouble for himself.
And really—wasn’t that entertaining?
Gal’s mouth curved into a wicked grin.
Noah didn’t mind.
He shrugged and returned to one side of the dueling floor.
The on-duty Sword Saint once again stepped in to officiate.
“Noah Emiya.”
“Alvi Cades.”
After their salutes, Alvi adopted a textbook ready stance, visibly cautious.
Noah, by contrast, stood loose and lazy, expression almost indifferent.
Alvi watched him with extreme focus.
This opponent was notoriously cunning and underhanded.
If Noah looked relaxed, there had to be a trick behind it.
Alvi was specifically prepared for another burst of killing intent.
He wouldn’t let Noah catch him off guard the way Clair had been.
In Alvi’s mind, an opponent who openly revealed killing intent was like a beast standing in plain sight.
Easier to read.
Easier to target.
He had studied Noah’s previous fights carefully.
Noah relied on pressure and surprise.
Jino had fallen that way.
Nina too.
Clair too.
So if Alvi stayed fully prepared, Noah couldn’t possibly defeat him easily.
Total concentration.
The next instant—
Alvi lost completely.
Reality casually shattered every confident calculation he’d made.
Noah’s attack carried no visible direction of killing intent.
There was no warning.
No preparation Alvi could perceive.
The wooden sword simply appeared against the side of his neck.
And Alvi collapsed unconscious.
One strike.
Noah had attacked while suppressing his presence completely.
No emotion.
No killing intent.
Almost no unnecessary preparatory motion initiated by conscious thought.
The body followed practiced muscle memory and released the sword on its own.
Forget sensing murderous intent.
Alvi hadn’t even sensed that Noah intended to move.
This was killing-intent-free swordsmanship.
The entire hall stared in disbelief.
From their perspective, Noah swung once.
Alvi fell.
That was it.
Clair, despite being officially Intermediate, had clearly possessed respectable strength.
Anyone willing to challenge an Advanced swordsman needed to be at least close to Advanced themselves.
The disciples who had sparred privately with Clair knew roughly how strong he was.
Alvi, meanwhile, actually held the Advanced title.
Surely he should have exchanged at least a couple of moves with Noah.
Instead—
Clair had first been frozen by killing intent, then provoked into rage by one sentence, and the moment he attacked, Noah dropped him cleanly.
Alvi hadn’t even moved before getting knocked unconscious.
Neither produced anything resembling a real exchange.
When had the monthly sparring session ever looked this ridiculous?
It was as though Noah were saying:
‘It doesn’t matter who comes up here.’
Noah ignored the stunned crowd and frowned.
‘Domain Expansion: King of Showing Off!’
‘Wait.
I opened the entire damn domain and the System gave me nothing?’
Could it be that these disciples—these wonderful walking ore veins of rewards—only dropped loot once?
No reward.
Even the joy of winning faded.
Noah was unwilling to accept that.
So, in the suddenly quiet Space of the Present, everyone clearly heard him mutter with a genuinely puzzled expression:
“Are the only people challenging me really this naive and weak?”
The seriousness on his face made it obvious he actually meant it.
The hall erupted.
Several Sword Saints frowned.