What a vicious offensive!
Bear Mask had never felt this much pressure from a rookie before. He hadn't even had time to catch his breath when that blade flashed into view again!
Not good!
"Hah!!"
With a roar, Bear Mask exploded with brute strength and forcibly jolted Luke back.
Luke hopped lightly backward, and the moment he saw Bear Mask already breathing hard, he gave him no room at all—he stepped in and unleashed Sweeping Blade in one fluid slash.
The curved blade drew a long arc through the air, looking light and effortless, but carrying razor-sharp intent.
Bear Mask had barely managed to get a breath in before he had to raise his greatsword to block again.
Even though he stopped the strike, Luke rode the momentum of Sweeping Blade to squeeze forward, crushing Bear Mask's defensive space. His falling blade kept changing angles, in and out with total control.
Bear Mask's strength was probably around the trainee stage as well, so Luke didn't feel much pressure.
But for Bear Mask, it was the opposite—he was forced back step after step. Those hurried blocks kept draining his stamina. If these were real blades, he'd already have several new cuts on him.
And he'd realized something too: this wasn't just some sword-obsessed rookie.
This kid had a real foundation.
"Tch… this rookie's swordplay is seriously sharp."
"Yeah. It's aggressive as hell—Bear Mask is actually getting suppressed."
"Did you notice? Even while he's attacking, his footwork still keeps a defensive posture. He's got room to advance and retreat!"
"Haha! Bear Mask hunts birds all day, and today the bird pecked him right in the eye!"
The crowd below watched with relish. Seeing Bear Mask eat dirt felt amazing.
At this point, anyone who knew even a little swordsmanship already understood how this match would end.
Sure enough, after only a few more exchanges, Bear Mask's greatsword was knocked right out of his hands. He immediately threw both hands up—just as Luke's blade arrived at his face.
"Damn, kid. Old Bear really got caught out."
Bear Mask had lost. Beneath the mask was a helpless expression. He gulped air, clearly drained.
Luke drew his blade back and smiled. "Good match."
"You've got good swordplay. In the future, you'll probably have a spot on that leaderboard."
Bear Mask wasn't a bad guy at heart. After losing, he laughed and came over to pat Luke on the back, acknowledging his skill.
"Who knows about the future," Luke said modestly.
Below the ring, the rabbit-masked attendant finished recording and announced, "Bear Mask, minus thirty points. Frog Swordsman, plus thirty points."
"What? Thirty points?!"
Bear Mask instantly exploded, charging off the ring with reddened eyes. "You're trying to kill me!"
"Old Bear, you know the rules. Your points were way higher than his—losing a big chunk is normal."
Someone stepped up, forcing down a laugh as they tried to comfort him.
Behind them, several people were already laughing out loud.
Luke felt like this place was… kind of fun.
"Still have stamina? Can you fight me?"
A voice rose from below the ring. Even with the distortion, you could still hear the chill in her tone.
Luke looked down.
A slim figure stood there, wearing different armor than the others—light and sleek. In her hand was a narrow blade, and on her face was a white mask that hid her features completely.
But Luke was certain.
She was the one he'd followed.
"The Duelist!"
"The Duelist—let me fight you! I've got tons of energy!"
"Me, me! I can fight!"
The moment she appeared, the nearby men erupted, scrambling to volunteer.
No other reason—standing below the ring was the number one swordsman on the camp's leaderboard: "I'm Not Fiora."
No one knew what she looked like, but her pleasant voice—even through the mask—her graceful figure, and her powerful swordplay made her a star in a training camp that was basically all burly men. She had a whole army of fanatics.
"You idiots, shut up. She's obviously inviting me."
Bear Mask, who had been panting a second ago, somehow looked fully recovered now. He stepped forward with righteous conviction. "Honestly, Old Bear only used one-tenth of his stamina earlier. I've got plenty left to accept the Duelist's invitation at full strength."
Up on the ring, Luke looked down and said, "I've still got a bit of gas. I should be able to fight one more."
"Good."
The Duelist hopped lightly onto the ring.
Bear Mask—completely ignored by both of them—fell silent on the spot.
Under the mask, it was probably the most awkward face imaginable.
"Do we need to register?" Luke asked.
"No need." The Duelist shook her head and said coolly, "The gap between us is too large. There's no point recording it. I'm only interested in your sword technique from earlier. Don't worry—I'll suppress myself as much as possible to fight at your level."
Her tone was full of pride. She wasn't looking down on Luke—she was simply stating a fact.
"That's… honestly kind of heartbreaking to hear," Luke said with a helpless laugh, knowing she wasn't wrong.
The difference between them was huge. The only reason he'd caught her attention was because of the Way of the Wind swordsmanship he'd shown.
A circle of people gathered below, all wanting to see the fight between a rookie and the camp's strongest.
More importantly…
Watching the Duelist fight was a treat.
"Whenever you're ready, you can attack," she said, raising her narrow blade.
"Alright!"
Luke gripped his curved blade at an angle and answered sharply—already bursting forward.
After one step, the blade in his slanted grip swept out in a horizontal cut. He lowered his center slightly; this was a common body movement in the Way of the Wind, meant to keep his options open for immediate adjustments.
But before he could close the distance, the Duelist was already prepared. She gave Luke no chance to get in close, maintaining a fencing-like range.
The instant Luke lunged into her striking distance, her narrow blade thrust out.
Luke had no choice but to abandon the chance to stick close. In mid-swing, he changed targets—his horizontal cut slammed into her thrust.
The two weapons collided and bounced apart, but the Duelist's narrow blade came back even faster, stabbing again.
Luke immediately blocked sideways, catching the thrust precisely with the flat of his blade. In the next heartbeat, he flowed into another change—his blade turned vertical, sliding along her weapon with a sharp scrape, and he surged forward with Sweeping Blade!
The Duelist's eyes flickered.
So this swordplay really was interesting.
She didn't panic. With calm footwork, she stepped back, just as agile as he was. In that moment she found the opening to retract her thrust and meet Luke's incoming pressure.
Their blades collided again—only this time they didn't bounce away immediately. They bound for a second before the two swordsmen disengaged and retreated.
And once again, the Duelist was the first to seize the next opening and launch an attack—partly because of the raw gap in strength, and partly because of her refined mastery of her own style.
Luke felt the pressure instantly.
He hadn't expected that the first real time he used the Way of the Wind swordsmanship, he'd run into an actual expert.