Even though Old Jaque remained calm, Celia couldn't help but worry.
After spending so many days with him, she had already come to regard Old Jaque as a true friend.
But duels between swordmen were never trivial—such battles ended only in death or victory. Especially against someone like Tairon, whose sword aura alone was unimaginably lethal. The clash of blades at their level was cataclysmic.
Holding back in such a match was the ultimate form of disrespect.
That was why, after the fateful battle many years ago, most people had simply assumed Mad Blade Jaque was dead.
Old Jaque, however, wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth, patted his full stomach, and said with casual indifference, "Heh, Tairon? Just another swordsman. If I want to challenge him, I don't need to pick a special day."
"Excellent!" John clapped with enthusiasm. "Still got that youthful fire, huh? I bet when you went to challenge him decades ago, you said the exact same thing."
