Standing before each other were Lythian and Randolf.
The contrast in their physiques was unmistakable, more like David facing Goliath.
"In your positions… begin!"
Both cadets had opened their previous bouts by attacking first, so the watching knights, and Seven still sitting atop the stacked storage boxes, held their breath, wondering who would move first this time.
At the signal, Lythian advanced.
His strikes came sharp and precise, forcing Randolf onto the defensive. It was the correct choice. Had Randolf attacked first, Lythian would have been subjected to the same overwhelming barrage that had crushed Perci.
Clank, clank!
The offense continued for a while, at least, until Randolf planted his foot firmly into the snow. He ignored Lythian's offense and prepared to unleash his first heavy strike.
Stomp!
But it was a mistake! Lythian swept his knee with a kick.
Despite the solid footing, Randolf's leg slid across the slippery snow on the ground, breaking his balance and was forced to leap backward, cancelling his attack.
"…Eh? Why is he just standing there? This was his chance to lead the flow once again."
Seven muttered, seeing how Lythian did not pursue Randolf and simply stood there with the sword lowered.
Truth is, it was a bait Lythian purposely set and Randolf took it with open hands. Like a fish lunging at the hook, Randolf leapt high and brought his wooden sword down in the same hammer-esque strike he had used before.
Clang, boom!
Lythian blocked it head-on. His knees buckled slightly under the force, but he angled his sword, letting the impact slide instead of stopping it outright.
From there, the bout changed
A series of exchanges followed, but not flashy nor explosive, like dramatic leaps or crushing blows. Instead, it was an exchange of just basic strikes.
Stabs!
Blocks!
Parries!
Slashes!
Like a turn-based duel in RPG games, each cadet took turns attacking from the front.
Despite the simplicity of the sparring, Lythian felt his hands grow numb. Randolf's raw strength far exceeded his own! Still, he held his ground.
Randolf smirked, believing he had the advantage.
Swoosh, swoosh. Clank!
The wind cried as wood met wood again and again, until no one noticed that three minutes had already passed; the knights watched in growing anticipation.
But Seven only frowned.
"Lythian… he's holding back."
During the exchange, Lythian had at least five perfect opportunities to counterattack. They were of course not by coincidence, but his choice— he took none of those opportunities.
To put it simply, the knights saw it as a contest of strength such as Randolf overpowering Lythian.
But in Seven's eyes, Lythian had been guiding the direction of the exchange all this time. He could've turned the tables on his preference.
He was not fooled by Lythian's facial expression, which seemed like he was having a hard time like he was barely holding on, which also made no sense! There was absolutely no reason to do that when facing someone that is obviously 'weaker'.
After all, Randolf was predictable, and his strength was obvious that even for him, who had no experience in sparring, believed that he could easily dodge Randolf's strikes.
Only when Lythian spared Seven a brief glance and smiled that he realized the intention behind the exchange:
"…No way. Could it be—? That damn arrogant fudger."
Stomp!
Convinced of his dominance, Randolf abandoned the basic exchanges and committed to a final, decisive blow. He raised his sword high and brought it down with everything he had as usual.
And that sealed his defeat.
In that instant, Lythian had finally counterattacked, shattering Randolf's wooden sword.
Step!
He stepped inside and struck Randolf's chin with the hilt, his upper stomach, and lastly his throat.
Randolf collapsed to his knees, gasping.
Some might have called it underhanded, attacking a knight with a broken sword, but none of the knights thought so— in the real battlefield, they might even praise that!
"T-turning the tide of the sparring, Lythian is the winner!" Edward announced.
Seven jumped down from the storage boxes, biting his lower lip.
"Damn it, he's looking down on me…"
Everything Lythian had done was by, again, his choice, a display, and a lesson meant for Seven's eyes alone.
Lythian knew that he was watching the battle with observant eyes, taking it as a chance to remind him of the gap between them: both the gap of their experiences and their skills.
Because in all that exchange that seemed to only consist of simple techniques, Lythian had only purposely hit the same exact spot repeatedly, again and again, as the reason why Randolf's wooden sword had broken.
Randolf's attacks, by contrast, were scattered across Lythian's sword— though it still had cracks thanks to his superb strength.
To put it simply, it was a battle of strength and accuracy, power and strategy.
Step, step.
Now, Seven was walking into the field to face that arrogant— no, that prodigy.
It made sense now.
Out of the three cadets' fathers, only Lythian's had awakened a Zi Ring, and it was also the fact that the old man, the commander… was his grandfather.
Seven listed every detail in his mind, running simulations of the upcoming battle based on what he had witnessed so far. But there was one gnawing thought inside his mind:
'…So that's why he hates me.'
If he were in Lythian's place, hard-working with the sword, watching someone blessed with sword blood waste it in comfort… he'd hate that person too.
If that was not enough, that same person had decided to pick up a sword on a whim and decided to be a knight in training.
'Tch. It's not my fault. I was cursed.'
"Next up, Lythian and young lord Seven!" Edward continued, grinning. "Please step into the field."
"Yes."