Chapter 102: The Talent of Knowing When to Give Up (5)

If one were to pick the weakest among Luke, Anis, and Taragon, it would inevitably be Taragon. It was a matter of talent and effort. Compared to Anis and Luke, he was neither as talented nor as hardworking. It was only natural that he lagged behind them.

Yet, he was the first among them to successfully wound Gyro. One would expect Taragon, who craved praise, to be pleased. But there was no smile on his face. In fact, he looked rather despondent.

“Why the long face, Taragon? It wasn’t a fatal wound, but still, you were the first to land a hit.”

Anis patted him on the shoulder, but Taragon shook his head.

“Anis, what I did was practically cheating. It’s nothing to be proud of.”

“Cheating? All I saw was you imbuing both aura and intent and boldly closing in on Gyro to stab him with an arrow.”

“No. My double imbuement is far inferior to yours or Sir Luke’s. How could someone like me possibly land a blow on Gyro? It was all... because I spent a week analyzing him.”

“And how is that cheating?”

“Because that has nothing to do with archery or martial skills. In the Sword of the South Tournament, you don’t get the luxury of observing your opponent at leisure. And it took me a full week just to discern Gyro’s attack patterns. The only reason I managed to pierce an arrow into his shoulder was that I exploited a gap in his habits. It’s not something that would work in a real match... or in real combat. It’s cheating.”

“...Hmm.”

Anis stroked his chin. Taragon had a point. Luke, who had been listening in silence, also found himself unsure of what to say.

At that moment, another figure who had been eavesdropping stepped forward.

“Number Three. I misjudged you.”

Taragon’s face fell.

He thinks you’re just a dishonorable piece of trash.

“I thought you were nothing but ordinary with no talent whatsoever,” Keter said.

“I’m sorry, Instructor... I cheated because I was so desperate to win Gyro. I won’t participate in the training from no...”

“Let me finish. You have talent—a talent of knowing when to give up.”

“...?!”

There were a lot of different talents, but the talent of giving up? Luke and Anis had never heard of it before.

“You said you observed Gyro for over a week. That is because you gave up on beating Gyro from the beginning. You were certain that you could not apply the dual and layered imbuement technique I taught you.”

It didn't sound like a compliment. Taragon looked bewildered, and Luke and Anis shared the same puzzled expression.

“Number Three, you can assess yourself objectively—neither overestimating or underestimating your abilities. Because of that, you also know when to give up.”

Those who lacked self-awareness struggled to decide whether to persist or to give up on something. Some refused to give up because they couldn’t bear to let go of the time they had already invested, or because they could not accept their own inadequacy. That was why the world was full of reckless fools who kept failing yet refused to quit.

Sure, there were people who eventually succeeded after repeated failures, but such individuals were rare. For some, a single failure meant the end of their life.

Opportunities were not handed out equally. Members of a noble family could afford to fail countless times and still try again—that was an undeniable fact—but there was no guarantee of success.

There was a saying that little strokes fell great oaks. But trying was not striking the same tree multiple times; each attempt was like striking a different tree. No matter how many times one swung, if their technique remained unchanged, the tree wouldn’t fall. It was not the goal that must change; it was the person striving for it.

Taragon was that kind of person. If he lacked the strength to chop down a tree with an axe, he wouldn’t keep swinging in vain. Instead, he would take his time and saw it down. And if that didn’t work, he would find a better axe. That was Taragon’s unique talent—he did not stubbornly cling to a single solution.

“As you said, in real combat, there’s no time to sit back and analyze an opponent. You must predict their attack patterns in real time by reading their stance, weapon, and footwork. But you are not that kind of genius. Charging in blindly wouldn’t help either. If you’re at a disadvantage, create an advantage. Do not fight on your opponent’s terms. Set the time and place to your favor. It’s better to be called cowardly and survive than to die bravely.”

Keter shot a glare at Luke and Anis.

“That doesn’t mean Number One and Number Two were idiots who failed to analyze Gyro. They did observe, but only to a limited extent. Instead, they spent that time honing themselves. It’s simply a difference in approach. Everyone is improving in their own way. None of you are wrong.”

Keter’s tone suddenly shifted. His face twisted into a scowl as he raised his fist.

“But you’re too slow. Your growth is far too slow! Are you planning to wait until Gyro dies of old age? From now on, break time is reduced from thirty minutes to twenty.”

“Urgh...!”

Taragon, who had been smiling moments ago from the praise, was now on the verge of tears from the cold announcement.

The trio’s grueling days passed swiftly. With each passing day, they grew visibly thinner. Their bodies were pushed to the brink of exhaustion while subsisting on meager meals.

Yet, their attacks grew sharper and faster, just as Keter intended.

They rely too much on brute strength, which limits their movements to conventional levels. So, I’m stripping them of their muscles. With less muscle, they will be forced to rely on aura instead.

Moreover, as nobles, hunger was an unfamiliar agony to them. It wasn’t something they could simply endure.

Keter made them a promise: defeat Gyro, and they would be rewarded with a lavish feast. By offering a clear reward, he fueled their motivation. Though he scolded them for their slow growth, in truth, their progress was quite fast—just not fast enough for Keter.

It’s been two weeks. They can match Gyro now, but they are still far from overwhelming him. At this rate, it will take another three weeks.

One more week—that was the deadline Keter had set in his mind.

I can’t push their stamina or willpower any further. If I heal them with an elixir, they will lose their edge and become complacent. There must be another way to accelerate their growth...

Snap!

Keter snapped his fingers. An idea had struck him—one that would propel the trio forward in an instant. It would be a technique they had never experienced before.

“I think it’s been a month since I’ve seen that guy.”

With that, Keter made his way to the prison.

* * *

Keter made his way to the prison holding the Bydent knights. Originally, there were seven prisoners, but the Bydent family paid the ransom for six of them, securing their release. The last remaining prisoner was Spear Dragon Jordic, as his ransom had not been negotiated.

Sefira and Bydent smoothly agreed on a ransom of twenty thousand gold for the regular knights and ninety thousand gold for Lieutenant Commander Arbold. However, negotiations over Jordic’s ransom were at a standstill.

No, rather, Bydent was furious, as Besil had demanded a ransom of five hundred thousand gold for Jordic.

“Five hundred thousand gold? That’s far too greedy, Lord Sefira. Let’s settle for two hundred thousand gold.”

Volus, the Bydent family’s deputy patriarch and lead negotiator, suggested a lower amount than what was put forth, but Besil drew a clear line.

“Four hundred thousand gold. I won’t release Jordic for anything less.”

Besil had been told by Keter that they could demand ten times as much. However, keeping prisoners required considerable resources, and he needed money urgently for the upcoming Sword of the South Tournament. So, he made concessions, but not for Jordic. He had no intention of letting him go easily or at a reasonable price. It was a matter of principle.

For now, he was taking money and releasing the knights, he made it clear that next time, they would be executed on sight.

“...It will take time to prepare four hundred thousand gold in cash. We’ll issue a promissory note instead.”

“Cash only.”

“Ha... Fine. We’ll meet again in a week.”

The Bydent family was also preparing for the Sword of the South Tournament, and Jordic was one of their most promising knights. They needed to get him back as soon as possible.

This negotiation had taken place three days ago. Now, with only two days left until Jordic’s release, he received an unexpected visitor.

Jordic, who had been meditating while facing the wall, focused his attention on his hearing.

“It’s not mealtime... Am I finally being released?”

Click.

The prison door opened. A person walked in, then suddenly struck Jordic on the back of the head.

“Released? What a joke. You’re going to rot in here forever.”

Jordic first felt the pain, then recognized the voice.

Keter.

He sprang to his feet.

“You! You finally dare to show yourself!”

Jordic had sworn a thousand times to tear Keter apart the next time they met. He lunged at Keter, but his strength and aura were sealed. He was no stronger than a commoner and could do nothing to Keter.

Keter simply kicked him back to the ground and sneered.

"You’re no longer Spear Dragon Jordic—you’re Worm Jordic.”

“

Grrr...

Just wait until I get out of here. You’re dead!”

“Perfect. I came with an offer you can’t refuse.”

“An offer? If you want my secrets, you’ll have to pay for them. Did you think you could just waltz in here and demand them for free?”

Despite his earlier threats, Jordic’s mouth watered slightly. He had been conditioned by Keter’s torture.

“Bet your secret on a duel. If you lose, you tell me a secret. If you win, you walk free immediately.”

“What?! Freedom?! You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

“I swear on Sefira.”

But Jordic was not one to trust such an easy offer.

“What kind of duel? You’re probably picking something I have no chance of winning.”

“I told you, it’s an offer you can’t refuse. It’s a duel. You win, you go free.”

“With my strength and aura sealed?”

“I’ll unseal everything. I’ll even give you back your spear.”

“...”

Jordic’s eyes narrowed. The terms were too generous.

“One-on-one?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s the fight?”

“The training ground.”

“You’re not planning to place any extra restrictions on me, are you?”

“No.”

“Hmm... Last question. Who’s my opponent?”

Jordic was confident in fighting any of Sefira’s knights, except for the commander of the Order of the Galaxy or the patriarch himself.

“A retired knight.”

“A retired knight...”

In this world, retirement meant one of two things: they either retired by dying or by aging out of combat. If it was the latter, the opponent would be a two or three-star knight at best. There was no chance that they would be above four-stars, as at that level of aura, aging slowed significantly. As such, knights four-stars and above could look like they were in their forties, even into their eighties.

So a retired knight was definitely two or three-star at most. Of course, if they had to retire instead of dying in battle, it probably meant they were highly skilled and experienced, but even still, Jordic was sure he could win.

Ah, I see. He’s trying to observe the Moonlight Spear Techniques!

Even the greatest techniques had weaknesses; they just weren’t very obvious. The Moonlight Spear Technique was no exception.

Heh... So that’s your plan. You want to analyze and counter our family’s Moonlight Spear Technique. In that case...

Jordic smiled inwardly but kept a serious face.

“I don’t like this, but I’ll trust you and accept the duel.”

“I told you, it’s an offer you can’t refuse. Follow me. Your weapon is already waiting at the training ground. I will unseal you there.”

Keter had anticipated Jordic’s answer and prepared everything in advance.

As Jordic walked toward the training ground, he mentally reviewed his plan.

Fool. You think I’ll play into your hands? A retired archer? I won’t even need the Moonlight Spear Technique. I’ll defeat them with simple basics.

The fundamentals of spearmanship: Block, spin the spear outward to deflect, Pull, pull the spear inward, and Thrust, thrust to counterattack.

It looked simple, but this foundation was the essence of everything about spear combat.

Keter led Jordic to the secluded Fourth Training Ground. Luke, Taragon, and Anis greeted Keter. Then, they turned to Jordic, eyes widening in shock.

Jordic frowned.

Who are these hobos? I can smell their stench all the way from here, tsk.

He glanced around, searching for the retired knight he was supposed to fight.

Then, Keter handed him a cross spear. At the same time, he unsealed Jordic’s strength and removed the bracelet suppressing his aura.

“If you want to survive, you will need to give it everything you’ve got.”

“That won’t be necessary...”

Grkkk... Grkkk...!

A deep scraping sound echoed from afar.

Everyone turned to look.

A man was entering through the training ground’s entrance, dragging a massive sword along the ground. His face bore the expression of a wrathful demon.

“...?!”

Jordic froze at the sight of Gyro. Even at a glance, the sheer energy radiating from him was anything but ordinary.

“W-wait a second! You said he was a retired knight!” Jordic shouted.

“He is.”

“He’s not a retired knight from Sefira!”

“I never said he was from Sefira, did I?”

“Yo-you tricked me again, Keter!”

Jordic grabbed Keter by the collar, but Keter merely smirked.

“I didn’t trick you. You just assumed wrong.”

“You bas...!”

“Hey, you.”

Whoosh!

In an instant, Gyro, who had been ten meters away, closed the distance and swung his massive greatsword down toward Jordic.

Jordic rolled to the ground, dodging for dear life.

Boom!

The ground caved in under the force of Gyro’s attack, leaving behind a giant crater.

Gritting his teeth, Gyro glared at Jordic and growled.

“I was talking to you. Were you the one who said a washed-up old man like me would be an easy warm-up?”

Feeling the weight of Gyro’s fury, Jordic reluctantly raised his spear. It was not to win but to survive.