Cold water ran down Aron's throat.
He set down the empty bottle and slowly rolled his aching right wrist. A faint trace of the recoil from striking the shield still lingered.
He was given little time even to check the fatigue in his muscles.
"Next! Aron, ranked 276th. Edwin Roas, ranked 173rd. Up on the stage."
The booming voice rang across the parade ground once again.
Aron rose from where he had been leaning against the wall. He adjusted his grip on his practice sword and stepped onto the stage. A young man approached from the opposite side with measured steps.
Edwin Roas.
He carried neither an excessively heavy shield like Garon nor flashy twin swords like Nail.
A plain leather breastplate and a one-handed sword of standard length. His strides were even, and his shoulders were perfectly level.
'His fundamentals are good.'
Aron studied Edwin with calm eyes. Edwin's gaze was composed, neither putting on an aggressive display nor looking down on his opponent.
He was an orthodox fighter who had held his place in the 170s on solid fundamentals alone.
Edwin raised his sword slightly in greeting. Aron tilted his own sword in reply.
"Ready!"
At the instructor's signal, Aron lowered his stance a fraction and focused his vision.
His opponent's body, the hand holding the sword, the position of his feet, the condition of his equipment.
As he took it all in, hazy text rippled into view in midair.
But this time was different.
[Left-hand grip strength 8% lower than right]
[Breath recovery below average during prolonged combat]
[Excellent lower-body balance; no fatal flaws]
Aron's eyes narrowed.
There was no obvious defect in Edwin's equipment or glaring bad habit in his swordsmanship.
Naturally, a right-handed person's left hand might have a slightly weaker grip, and anyone would run short of breath in a prolonged fight.
There was no fatal opening he could exploit right away.
"Begin!"
The signal had barely sounded when Edwin glided forward.
His footwork was clean and economical, making almost no sound. He closed the distance in an instant and thrust his sword straight ahead.
The most basic thrust.
Aron could clearly see Edwin's shoulder muscles contract and his elbow straighten. He knew where the sword was headed.
'Right shoulder.'
Aron instinctively tried to raise his sword and twist his body.
But knowing something in his head and getting his body to respond were entirely different matters.
Just as he read the trajectory and moved to defend, Edwin's swordpoint arrived a beat ahead of his guard.
THUD—!
A dull blow jolted the guard on Aron's right shoulder.
"1-0!"
The instructor's dry call rang out.
Aron retreated two steps and rolled his stinging shoulder once.
He had tracked the trajectory with his eyes, yet he had failed to block it. Edwin was simply faster than his reactions.
Edwin did not get carried away by the point. He withdrew his sword and calmly reset his stance.
'It's a straightforward attack, but I can't block it even when I see it coming.'
Aron neither clicked his tongue nor panicked.
He had already accepted objectively that his strength and reflexes were sorely lacking.
If he could not stop Edwin in a head-on contest, there was only one method left: make his opponent move as he wanted, as he had in the previous matches.
Aron steadied his breathing and stepped forward again.
Edwin approached once more with economical steps.
This time Aron moved first. He deliberately widened his stance by half a step, letting a tiny opening show low down.
It was a subtle movement that made his center of gravity seem slightly raised. Someone trained in textbook swordsmanship like Edwin would never overlook such bait.
As expected, Edwin's eyes dropped and his sword shot fiercely toward Aron's lower body.
'Here it comes.'
As though he had been waiting for it, Aron pivoted on his extended foot and twisted his body, readying a counterattack. He intended to avoid the low strike and hit Edwin in the head at the same time.
But Edwin was no careless opponent who would be trapped by his own trajectory like Nail.
He noticed the tiny shift in Aron's balance and smoothly turned his wrist midstrike.
His sword instantly changed course, rising diagonally from its low path.
SHHK.
With a faint scrape, Edwin's sword brushed across Aron's side.
Because the attack had changed course, Aron took the hit before he could even extend his own sword.
"2-0!"
A second point conceded.
A flexible response that never faltered even when the situation changed. That was what solid fundamentals looked like.
Aron exhaled briefly and stepped back.
A crude trap or shallow trick would not work on Edwin. He had spotted Aron's attempt to steer him and turned it to his own advantage.
In an instant Aron was down 0-2. One more valid hit against him would end the match.
Yet there was no impatience or anxiety on his face.
'Don't move too soon. I have to wait.'
Aron drew his sword close to his body and shifted entirely to defense.
He had already played every card he could. All he could do was hold out until a single meaningful piece of information became useful, even if only for an instant.
Edwin closed the distance again with steady weight behind his steps.
This time, a stream of attacks came straight at Aron with no feints.
CLANG—! CLAAANG—! CLANG—!
The swords collided in bursts of sparks.
Aron gritted his teeth and barely knocked away the incoming strikes. Defending alone left his gripping hand stinging as though it would split open, and he could hardly catch his breath.
But he kept his eyes on the tip of Edwin's sword, clinging to the fight with stubborn persistence.
Right, up, then down again.
Edwin's muscle movements and trajectories continued to appear in Aron's vision.
Aron twisted his body by force to block them, using that information as his guide.
The fierce exchange went on.
It lasted much longer than an average sparring match between first-year students.
At last, Edwin began to breathe harshly.
[Breath recovery below average during prolonged combat]
The line Aron had seen at the beginning flashed through his mind.
Edwin's shoulders rose slightly with every breath. His thrusts had also slowed by about half a beat.
'Now.'
Edwin transferred his sword from his tired right hand to his left. Drawing a deep breath, he brought the sword down in a powerful overhead strike.
This time Aron did not retreat. He angled his sword upward and caught Edwin's attack obliquely.
Instead of striking back, he let the opposing blade slide along his own and guided it to the left.
[Left-hand grip strength 8% lower than right]
A heavy load fell on Edwin's left hand as it held the sword.
Normally he could have borne it easily. But his breathing was ragged and his grip was 8% weaker; his sword failed to spring away and instead drove slightly inward.
For one fleeting instant, Edwin's upper body pitched forward and lost its balance.
Aron did not miss that tiny opening.
With a snap of his wrist, he thrust the sword he had used to deflect Edwin's blade straight in.
TAP.
The point of Aron's practice sword struck the exact center of Edwin's chest protector.
"2-1!"
The instructor's call broke the silence.
Aron had won back a point against the odds.
Edwin's eyes widened as he tried to catch his breath and reset his stance. His opponent, who had been barely able to defend, had struck perfectly at the instant his breathing faltered.
Edwin's eyes changed. The calmness from moments earlier was gone, replaced by a fighting spirit intent on bringing Aron down.
"Whew."
Edwin moved his sword back to his right hand. He exhaled briefly, gathered his remaining strength, and closed the gap in one burst.
He was on another level of speed from before. Aron could see Edwin's approach, but he could not even finish setting his guard.
CLANG—! CLAAANG—!
Two sharp strikes knocked Aron's sword aside.
His grip weakened, and his sword was driven far to one side. His chest was wide open.
Edwin's third thrust came in without hesitation.
THUD.
With a dull sound, Edwin's sword touched Aron's chest protector.
That was the end of it.
"3-1! Winner, Edwin Roas!"
The instructor declared the match over.
Aron drew back the foot that had been driven behind him and braced himself on trembling legs. He was breathing hard, and sweat had soaked his entire body.
"Huff, huff."
Across from him, Edwin lowered his sword, also breathing heavily.
He wiped away his sweat and walked slowly toward Aron. He seemed more deeply surprised by something than at ease with his victory.
"You really surprised me."
Edwin spoke as he caught his breath.
"You're the first lower-ranked student to block my thrusts for that long. That point you scored just now—you saw me lose my balance and took full advantage, didn't you?"
There was sincere admiration in his voice. He knew better than anyone that Aron had not scored by luck.
"Let's fight again sometime. Come back stronger when we do."
The hand he offered was a straightforward acknowledgment of his opponent after a fair match.
Aron nodded evenly.
"Good match. You really are fast."
Aron accepted Edwin's offered hand with that brief reply, picked up his sword, and turned away.
There was no trace of an excuse or resentment over the loss. He had no reason to blame his ability in the first place.
Aron took the steps slowly down from the sparring stage.
As he walked toward a corner of the parade ground, his mind was filled with cool-eyed self-assessment, not the sting of defeat.
The exchange he had just fought passed through his mind as though in slow motion.
'What good is finding weaknesses with my ability, no matter how well I do it?'
He had clearly seen where Edwin's attacks would land.
The analysis window had pointed out everything: Edwin's stride, the contraction of his shoulder muscles, the timing of his ragged breathing, even the tiny difference in grip strength.
Yet Aron had known all that when he took the first hit and the last.
'If my body can't respond, it's all useless.'
No matter how obvious an opening was, it meant nothing without the physical speed and strength to reach it.
The defeat he had just suffered proved that to him down to the bone.
If his opponent changed course even slightly or charged half a beat faster than usual, Aron could see it coming and still had no choice but to take the blow.
Aron gathered his things from the corner and brushed back his sweat-dampened bangs.
It was clear what he needed to turn the opportunities he saw into certain victories rather than merely watch them pass.
'Speed. And a mastery of the most basic sword techniques.'
He did not need clever tricks or flashy skills. He needed economical footwork like Edwin's and the basic movement of a swift, accurate thrust.
Only by pushing those to their limits could he fully make use of the information he analyzed.
Aron gripped the hilt of his practice sword tightly.
Today's loss was not the end. It was a guidepost showing him a clear direction for his next training.
He blinked once, then set off toward the training hall beyond the parade ground.
There was still so much he needed to build up.