The moment Gideon's voice declared "Begin!", all surrounding sounds vanished.
Ren didn't move.
And Leon… didn't either.
For several seconds, they simply stared at each other, as if reading each other's intentions. The evening wind swept across the field, stirring faint dust from the hard-packed earth beneath them.
Then—
*Tap.*
Leon stepped forward.
One step.
Firm.
Light.
Almost soundless.
Ren reacted instantly, raising his wooden sword into a defensive stance, holding his breath as his opponent approached without haste. Leon's steps were unnervingly stable… like a veteran's, not a beginner's.
And then—
*Whack!*
A horizontal slash came from the left like lightning.
Ren barely managed to block it. The impact sent violent tremors through his arms, forcing his left foot half a step back reflexively.
*Heavy!*
That strike wasn't just fast—it was precise, hitting his sword at an angle that nearly knocked it from his grip.
Before he could even inhale, Leon was already swinging again. This time—a vertical slash from above.
Ren retreated two steps, raising his sword diagonally.
*Thud!*
The strike was blocked, but the force shoved him back further. His heels nearly lost traction.
The spectators held their breaths.
"He's holding on…" someone muttered. "But…"
Leon didn't stop.
He gave no openings.
His expression never changed.
Ren tried to counter—a quick step forward, a horizontal slash to the right. But Leon merely shifted half a step sideways and deflected it with a single minimal motion.
*Crack!*
Ren lost his balance.
And in that instant—Leon lifted his right leg and—
*Thump!*
—kicked Ren square in the stomach.
Ren's body flew backward, rolling once before skidding to a stop in a half-seated position. Gasps and murmurs rose from the sidelines.
"Ren!" Kiel's voice shouted from afar.
Ren gritted his teeth. His stomach burned, his breath choked. But he stood. Slowly, with both hands gripping the wooden sword and knees trembling… he rose.
Leon remained motionless.
Still in his initial stance. Still one-handed. Still… expressionless.
Ren steadied his breathing.
*He's too strong… But I won't retreat.*
This time, he stepped forward first.
One step.
Two steps.
Leon met him—not with an attack… but with a slightly shifted gaze.
*Testing me?* Ren thought.
He lunged forward with an upward slash from the right, aiming for an exposed angle. But—
Leon pivoted and deflected with a spiraling motion.
*Crack!*
Ren staggered again, and in the next instant, the tip of Leon's wooden sword stopped an inch from his throat.
"Enough."
Gideon's voice cut clearly through the air.
Leon lowered his sword slowly and stepped back without a glance.
Ren stood frozen. His breath ragged. His face drenched in sweat. But this time, his body hadn't collapsed. Even in defeat… he'd remained standing.
And for today, that was enough.
"Damn it…" Ren muttered under his breath, still panting. He hunched slightly, gripping his trembling knees. "I couldn't even touch him once…"
The wooden sword hung loosely in his right hand, his grip no longer as firm as before. Not just from exhaustion—but frustration.
Losing wasn't unfamiliar in training. But this—this was absolute defeat.
Leon had given no openings. Never faltered. Didn't even seem to consider Ren a worthy opponent. It had felt like a one-sided drill.
Ren clenched his left fist, summoning the last of his strength to stay upright even as his legs threatened to buckle.
Across the field, Leon had already returned to the shade of his tree. He sat calmly, not a word spoken, not an expression shown. As if that duel… had been nothing more than routine.
Of course…
Ren understood.
The opponent he faced was on an entirely different level.
Leon—his stance, his movements, his posture—everything about him screamed experience. As if wielding a sword was second nature to his body. Even before joining this training, he must have… already known how to fight.
And himself?
Still shaky on basic stances. His grip too tight one moment, too loose the next. His footing misplaced more than once. His breath uncoordinated. His mind torn between tension and fear.
He wasn't a fighter.
Not yet.
"The gap's too wide…" he whispered to himself. "Way too wide…"
Yet precisely because of that—he felt anger. Not at Leon. But at himself, for being powerless.
And beneath that anger, a small flame flickered to life. Not envy.
Not despair.
But resolve.
Resolve to close that gap. Little by little.
Ren's steps were heavy as he walked off the sparring ring. Dust still clung to his arms and face, his breathing uneven. The wooden sword in his hand now felt heavier, as if burdened by the weight of defeat.
Some recruits watched from the sidelines—some with respect, some with pity, others simply silent.
But Ren paid them no mind. His gaze was hollow, fixed on the ground, his thoughts still replaying Leon's unstoppable strikes.
Just as he crossed the ring's boundary, a large, calloused hand clapped his shoulder.
"At least you held your ground, kid."
That voice—deep, rumbling—could only belong to one man here.
Ren turned.
Before him stood Gideon, their instructor, arms crossed and his single eye locked onto him.
His face was as stern as ever… but his tone carried a hint of acknowledgment.
Ren didn't answer. He only nodded faintly, forcing himself to straighten despite his unsteady legs.
"Fighting isn't about winning or losing," Gideon continued, his voice lower now, for Ren alone. "It's about how hard you can stand after falling."
He tapped Ren's chest with a rough finger.
"And you—you fell. But you got back up. That matters more than any technique you haven't learned yet."
Ren opened his mouth to thank him… but no words came. Only another slow nod and a heavy exhale.
Gideon withdrew his hand and turned. "Don't be satisfied. But don't despair either. You've got six more days."
With firm strides, the instructor returned to the field's center, calling the next pair for sparring.
Ren watched his back.
And for the first time since the duel ended… he felt slightly lighter.
*He knew I lost… but he also knew I tried.*
And maybe, for now—that was enough.
"Hey."
A familiar voice came seconds after Ren stepped away.
He turned slowly to find Kiel approaching, hands behind his head, his grin half-teasing—but this time, not entirely mocking. More like… grudging admiration.
"Seriously, you're insane. Fighting Leon on the first day? I'd have bolted before the whistle blew."
Ren just raised a brow, still catching his breath. "If I could've run… I might have."
They both chuckled weakly. Not because it was funny—but because it was a relief.
Kiel patted Ren's shoulder, gentler than usual. "But seriously, you were cool back there. Even though he was faster, stronger, and… well, better at everything. You still stood your ground."
Ren gave a faint smile. "I was more scared of falling in front of everyone than getting hit."
"Heh, then you'll last long here," Kiel joked before walking off, likely preparing for his own turn.
Ren exhaled deeply as he collapsed onto a wooden bench at the field's edge. His practice sword rested on his lap, hands braced on his knees, eyes fixed ahead—on the training ground still alive with clashing wood and cheers.
His body still ached, especially his shoulders and arms. But now, there was no trembling. Just honest exhaustion… and a strange relief.
He leaned back against the wooden post behind the bench. Cold sweat trailed down his temples, but he didn't wipe it away. Let it mark the remnants of his first duel still clinging to him.
On the field, more pairs were called.
Ren watched their movements more carefully this time. Their swings, their missteps, their stiff or overly loose arms. He began noticing how many mistakes could hide in a single motion.
Some recruits looked nervous. Some stumbled from poor balance, others overextended and left themselves wide open.
But among them, some were… learning. A stocky man weathered relentless strikes without countering, yet stood firm till the end. A dark-haired girl darted swiftly, overwhelming her opponent with footwork alone.
Ren observed it all in silence.
He felt… more aware.
That duel had crushed him. But it also taught him something—that technique could be learned, that strength could be chased, and that standing in the ring wasn't about winning… but facing yourself.
He looked at his palms again.
*Today, I lost. But I didn't surrender.*
The sun dipped westward, shadows stretching across the training ground. One by one, the sparring recruits sat down, nursing bruises, wrapping minor cuts, or simply staring blankly at the sky.
Ren remained seated, quiet.
But this time, not from exhaustion.
But because his mind was moving faster than ever.