Chapter 9

A few days had passed since the confrontation with Elmont. It was evening, and as always, the sun crossed the sky and sank westward, its trailing edge fading into twilight.

The Academy, once bustling with its cadets, had fallen silent as if the noise had never existed. Commuting cadets had all returned home, and even those in the dorms had likely finished dinner by now.

There was no one around to cross paths with Leon as he headed toward the annex. His footsteps echoed down the empty corridor. A sound drowned out by the usual daytime noise—now eerily clear. Leon listened to it, almost unfamiliar, and steeled his resolve.

It had been a while since he sparred with anyone other than Lyon. No one in the commoner class was a better dueling opponent, and Lyon didn’t bother with anyone else either. Some students had even misunderstood this as friendship, thinking Leon and Lyon were close.

Leon stopped in his tracks and muttered, “Ah.”

—What is it?

El-Cid asked, surprised by the sudden halt.

“It’s nothing. I just realized why Elmont’s group suddenly decided to come after me.”

—Oh? And why’s that?

As Leon resumed walking, he explained, “They left me alone before because I was always hanging around Lyon. They must’ve figured I wasn’t someone to mess with. But it’s been over a month since we’ve even spoken, let alone trained together. They probably thought now was a good time to make a move. That confrontation in broad daylight the other day? I bet it was to see whether Lyon would intervene.”

—And if he had?

“They’d have backed off, claimed it was all a misunderstanding.”

It was a classic noble tactic to sniff around like a jackal at the scent of blood but test the waters before making a move. After all, in politics, nothing derailed a plan like interference from someone higher up the social ladder.

No risk, high return. That was the motto these ignorant nobles loved more than anything.

—Heh. What a joke.

El-Cid snorted in contempt.

—

No risk

? What kind of fool thinks the world’s that easy? Now they’ve fallen into their own trap. If they’d just picked a fight right then and there, maybe a few of them would’ve walked away with nothing worse than a bruised ego.

Leon agreed, “You’re not wrong. Worked out for me, though.”

Elmont’s biggest mistake had been trying to avoid the Lyon variable, which meant he failed to really observe Leon. He never asked why Leon seemed so confident or wondered why he didn’t back down. He just dismissed it all as a desperate commoner’s tantrum. Those who spent their lives looking down from high places rarely saw the stones beneath their feet.

Leon stepped into the annex, saying in a cold tone, “I’ll make sure to snap that arrogant nose of his.”

The moment he crossed the threshold, a deep voice greeted him.

“You’re here.”

It was Instructor Helmut, the strictest man in the Academy, famous for his no-nonsense attitude. His hair, peppered with white, resembled a lion’s mane.

Even in his sixties, he was in impressive shape. The muscles pressing against his thick clothing looked like they could crush stone. From deep-set eyes, a sharp gaze studied Leon.

With a flicker of surprise in his voice, Helmut said, “You’ve changed a lot in just a month. If this was one of those reckless spur-of-the-moment, adolescent conflicts, I would’ve stopped you, but it looks like you know what you’re doing. Am I wrong, Leon?”

“I’m... not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Playing dumb, are we?”

Despite the evasive reply, Helmut chuckled warmly.

He had known about Elmont’s group and their bullying, but as an instructor, there were limits to how much he could intervene. All he could do was ensure no one got seriously hurt. However, Helmut got a feeling that this would be the incident to break that cycle.

“Go ahead and do whatever you want,” he said to Leon.

“Pardon, sir?”

“I’m telling you to teach those idiots a lesson they won’t forget. Understood?”

Leon blinked in surprise, then nodded firmly. They soon arrived at the promised venue: a smooth, well-packed floor, in a ring twenty meters wide. A faintly glowing circle marked the boundary—step out, and it counted as a loss.

The noble boy who had arrived first shouted across the ring, “You! Making a noble wait? You’ve got a death wish, you peasant!”

Standing beside him, Helmut scoffed under his breath. To his eyes, this kid from House Heinrich was like a rabbit trying to show off in front of a bear.

Leon, unfazed by the bluster, walked calmly into the ring without saying a word. He simply stepped forward and took his place.

“Sir, I’m ready,” he declared.

“Very well,” Helmut responded before the noble boy could start ranting again.

“Jeff Heinrich and Leon. You will commence in a duel under my supervision, pledging your honor and pride to this match. Jeff Heinrich, what is it you seek from this duel?”

“For that commoner to confess his crimes, sir!”

“Hmm? Crimes?” Helmut muttered as he cast a glance at Leon, but seeing the calm on his face, he simply let out a dry chuckle.

Then he turned to Leon and asked the same question, “Leon. What is it

you

seek from this duel?”

“That, after this, they stop interfering with me, sir.”

“Very well.”

Helmut nodded, sealing the terms from both sides.

There are two roles assigned to a match observer. One was to judge the outcome fairly and impartially, and the other was to certify the agreed-upon terms of the duel. Now, only one thing remained for Leon and Jeff.

“Raise your weapons!”

At Helmut’s signal, both combatants raised their swords---wooden swords instead of the usual dull-edged metal practice swords. Even dull-edged practice swords could cut if Aura was imbued into them, and Helmut, knowing that Leon couldn’t use Aura, had stepped in to ensure the conditions were fair.

And then—

“Begin!”

Leon stepped forward the moment the word was spoken.

—Want me to show you that guy’s stats?

No, I’m good.

Leon declined El-Cid’s offer and narrowed his eyes. Knowing your opponent’s stats was a massive advantage—but relying on that would only dull his instincts. Besides, no matter how strong he was, this guy was still just one of Elmont’s underlings. Leon had no reason to lean on El-Cid’s power for this.

His focus deepened and his vision widened—pulling in all information from all directions, no matter how minute. He had activated Rodrick’s Vision, and for a moment, it felt like the world slowed to a crawl.

The rush of data accelerated his mind to the point where every noise turned into a long, low whine. It was the kind of perception one might experience once in a lifetime—in a do-or-die moment.

The enemy moved in the slowed world.

He’s coming.

Jeff Heinrich, was it?

Leon probably wouldn’t even remember his name after today. He didn’t feel the need to have any reaction on his part until he was finished scanning the gray hair, the blue tie, and the ring on his index finger.

There was a diagonal slash, coming from the upper right toward the lower left.

Such an obvious angle meant that there was a good chance it was a feint. Leon stepped half a pace to the side and thrust his sword forward.

With a loud

thwack

, Leon’s wooden sword slammed into the side of Jeff’s head.

“Urk.”

With a grunt, Jeff collapsed like a sack of bricks, unconscious in a single blow. Leon stared at the scene, looking almost dazed.

Did I really just win... that easily?

He felt silly for getting even a little tense.

Even Helmut, standing outside the ring, looked stunned—his mouth opening and closing like a fish. El-Cid, meanwhile, sounded smug.

—What did I say, huh? See? You won.

Perhaps the Holy Sword truly did contain the insight of a great hero.

While Leon was quietly impressed, Jeff groaned and began to stir. Still clueless after being knocked out, he blinked in confusion and glanced around.

Helmut didn’t let the haze last long. He declared, “Jeff Heinrich. You have lost.”

“Wha...?!” Jeff cried out in disbelief, staggering toward Leon. “You think one lucky hit makes you the winner?! That was a fluke! One more round—fight me again!”

It was an outrageously disrespectful outburst. Even if he was a noble and Leon was a commoner, it wasn’t just the two of them present. Helmut’s face, usually impassive, darkened with fury.

“That’s enough! Jeff Heinrich, I will not tolerate another moment of—”

Leon interrupted, “Sure, why not.”

“H-huh?”

Helmut blinked. Even he hadn’t expected that. Letting go of a victory was unthinkable. Jeff, however, latched onto the response immediately.

“Haha

!

You may be a commoner, but at least you know your place! Very well. Since you’re showing some humility, I’ll go easy on you this time—”

Leon didn’t answer. He just raised his sword. He was accepting the rematch—and he meant it.

Still failing to grasp the situation, Jeff grinned and took up his stance again. Helmut, massaging the back of his neck, sighed deeply. Since both sides had agreed, there was nothing more he could do.

“Begin...”

Leon snorted at the weary call and looked ahead.

El-Cid chuckled, fully understanding Leon’s intent behind the rematch. He said, —Alright, this time don’t end it with one hit. Treat it as practice.

Jeff probably thought Leon had given in, but he would soon realize it would have been better to accept the clean loss. The first strike had been a mercy.

Once again, the world slowed. Leon shivered as the strange sensation washed over him. His opponent moved like he was underwater—every motion drawn out. Arms, legs, even his pupils were traceable.

Having mastered Rodrick’s Vision, Leon could follow it all.

And in that moment—

There!

He predicted the next move

before

it even happened, and it was possible because he had tracked the movement from its starting point. He could now read exactly what would follow.

He’s gotten a little faster than before, but still...

A horizontal thrust, then a downward slash from the right, then a flurry of follow-up attacks aimed at his neck, waist, knees, and shoulders.

Leon dodged every strike with perfect precision. Even as Jeff’s Aura-enhanced movements picked up speed, all he managed was to graze Leon’s sleeve once or twice.

There it is.

Overextended from his combo, Jeff’s footwork faltered. Even with Aura-enhanced strength, he had limits. Muscles stiffened and breathing grew ragged.

Trying to overwhelm Leon with reckless attacks had backfired. Lacking real battle experience, Jeff had no idea how to manage stamina in a drawn-out fight.

Leon struck his thigh with a blunt

thwack

.

“Graaah!”

Jeff, unaccustomed to pain, shuddered violently—but still didn’t drop his sword. He staggered back a few steps, taking deep breaths and trying to regroup.

He regretted anxiously rushing his attacks, but he gritted his teeth and shifted tactics.

Foolish peasant. You should’ve finished me when you had the chance. A hit like that won’t bring me down!

However, what Jeff didn’t realize as he thought this was that Leon very well

could

have finished him. He just... hadn’t.

This fight was dragging on only because Leon was using him as a moving practice dummy—to refine Rodrick’s Vision in real time.

Leon didn’t want to end it in one blow again. He didn’t want Jeff to pass out too soon, but he also wasn’t about to let a single opening go unpunished.

The once-quiet annex filled with the rhythmic sound of beatings and Jeff’s wails.

—Excellent! See? This is what I’ve been saying—training hits different when it’s in real combat!

The Holy Sword El-Cid—allegedly a symbol of the merciful, benevolent goddess—cheered on the lopsided beating while offering helpful commentary, which sounded less like advice for a chosen hero and more like a tutorial from a back-alley thug.

—Strike the shin lightly—it hurts more that way.

—The collarbone is fragile; go easy or it’ll break in one shot.

—Don’t hit the head too hard unless you want him to pass out right away.

The more Leon listened, the more his strikes grew... vicious. Soon, Jeff pleaded in desperation.

“H-haagh! I yield—”

Jeff finally tried to tap out, nearly a hundred strikes in, but Leon didn’t let him.

And Helmut? Sure, he should have stepped in and stopped the duel, but he loathed Elmont’s little crew enough to just clear his throat and look the other way. Leon was avoiding fatal points, after all. That was good enough.

“Leon wins!”

It took two full hours before Jeff was finally allowed to be dragged to the infirmary.