The Cornflower Witch

Chapter 55: Heated Competition

"Crack—"

The first time their wooden swords clashed, both weapons snapped, sending splinters flying from the rough breaks. Deprived of their familiar weapons, they had to rely on fists, but this ungraceful brawl was quickly halted by the instructor.

"Stop. Switch to unsharpened iron swords now," he announced again.

Soon, excited trainees brought over two thick-edged iron swords and handed them to the pair.

Gripping the iron swords, they each swung them a few times to adjust before stepping back into the arena.

This time, they charged at each other without waiting for the instructor's signal.

"Screech—"

Their first exchange saw the iron swords scraping against each other, leaving deep, sparking scratches. They separated and then clashed again.

Their footwork was steady and powerful, their swordsmanship equally proficient. Having the same instructor and learning the same techniques meant there was no obvious gap in skill.

"Clang— Clang—"The iron swords clashed repeatedly, their vibrations sending tiny sparks flying from the edges. A closer look would reveal small nicks and chips already appearing on both blades.

They traded blows back and forth. Solyn would occasionally circle, then suddenly erupt with a burst of force. Each explosive strike forced Mick to defend desperately, sometimes even having to retreat several steps to absorb the massive impact.

From Solyn's perspective, however, the situation looked very different. He was pouring out all his skill and power, yet despite his significant advantages in strength and speed, he couldn't defeat Mick, not even injure him. This stalemate put immense pressure on Solyn.

After reaching the First Tier, he could now use his Power Burst ability ten times a day, compared to just twice before. Yet, under this relentless assault, his opponent was still holding on?

The first time...

The second time...

The third time...

The longer the fight went on, the more alarmed Solyn became. At enrollment, their strength had been similar, with him even holding a considerable advantage. Mick's foundation in subjects like secret history was particularly weak, something Solyn had never taken seriously.

Only a month and a half had passed since their last match during the assessment tournament. How was it possible that not only had the gap closed, but Mick had even surpassed him?

How could this be?

Though a commoner, Solyn's father was a seasoned warrior, and Solyn himself was proud and arrogant. He believed that among the trainees, aside from Iona, whose family background gave her an accumulated advantage, no one else was his equal. Even Baren only held a slight edge thanks to his noble father's legacy.

As the battle raged, Solyn's composure began to crack. Gone was the steady confidence from the start. He grew impatient, desperately searching for flaws in Mick's swordsmanship, convinced that this guy's foundation must be weak and full of holes.

To deny Mick any chance to catch his breath, Solyn began using Power Burst consecutively. Under this relentless pressure, Mick's situation became perilous.

They were both using iron swords. Even unsharpened, the combination of raw force and hard metal gave them lethal potential, making this duel far more dangerous than the safe sparring with wooden weapons.

The fight reached a fever pitch. The watching trainees held their breath, and the instructor watched with rapt attention.

On one side of the arena, Komea clenched her fists, cheering for Mick, then turned her head.

"Tia, do you think Mick can win?"

The black-haired girl watched the two on the platform, a faint, shimmering light swirling in her pupils. After a few seconds, she spoke softly, "He will win, but he might get hurt."

"Clang—"

Another slashing strike fueled by Power Burst sent a larger fragment flying from the stressed iron sword. It grazed the corner of Mick's eye, adding a touch of ferocity to his already fierce expression.

Suppressed repeatedly by Solyn, Mick could no longer contain his frustration. He began trading blows with full force. Under their combined power, the iron swords were pushed to their limit.

Seeing Mick still daring to fight back only stoked Solyn's fury. Driven by anxiety and agitation, his attacks grew reckless, disregarding safety. The fight had shifted from a standard training match toward a real, kill-or-be-killed confrontation.

The instructor watched, his hand slowly moving to rest on the hilt of his own sword. Yet, he didn't immediately step in to stop them, choosing instead to observe how things would unfold.

Such a thrilling, blood-pumping duel was rare. Why rush to stop it? Like a pride of lions, they needed to determine the strongest among them. Forcing them apart now would be meaningless.

"Hiss—"

A blade sliced across the training leather armor on Mick's body, tearing a long gash and drawing blood.

Despite the injury, Mick didn't pause. Seizing the brief opening when his opponent struck him, he threw a powerful kick, landing it squarely on Solyn's hip and making him grunt in pain.

They clashed again, their contest of swordsmanship and strength reaching a white-hot intensity. It was here that a subtle difference began to show.

Perhaps Mick's current swordsmanship was indeed slightly superior to Solyn's. In the fierce exchange of wounds, Mick sustained fewer and shallower injuries, while Solyn began to show signs of fatigue.

Using abilities came at a cost. Solyn was simultaneously activating his Breathing Technique and Power Burst, placing a higher burden on himself than Mick bore. Moreover, his Breathing Technique was only at the second stage, lacking the endurance and coordination of Mick's third stage. After several minutes of intense combat, this disparity became apparent.

Soon, Solyn's stamina plummeted rapidly. His strength could no longer suppress Mick, and he began to be overtaken in every other aspect, until finally, a heavy blow from Mick knocked his weapon flying and sent him tumbling off the arena platform.

"Huff— Huff—"

Mick leaned on his sword, breathing in deep, ragged gasps. Sweat soaked his forehead and back. His leather armor was torn and disheveled, revealing his muscular build. Sticky blood mixed with sweat as it trickled down.

He was exhausted. He was in pain. But it also felt incredibly satisfying.

The sweat and effort of the past had borne fruit. The pent-up frustration was released, leaving him refreshed and invigorated, wanting to roar out loud.

Applause erupted from all around. Everyone looked at Mick on the platform, clapping with genuine admiration.

Both sides had fought with everything they had. This duel showed the watching trainees the real gap between themselves and the two on stage. That complete mastery of technique, that tempered strength and speed—these were not things a half-hearted practitioner could match.

Solyn had truly lost, but there was no shame in it. None of the other trainees believed they could have performed better than he did.

"Good. Very good, both of you." The instructor walked over, helped the fallen Solyn to his feet, and praised them loudly.

"Finally showing some true warrior spirit, haha." He helped Solyn back onto the platform, then wrapped an iron-like arm around each of them, laughing heartily.

After all, he had trained them both. How could he not be proud?

"Training ends here for today. You two, come with me. I'll tend to your wounds and we'll review some areas for improvement from your match."

"Yes, Instructor." Both of them were gradually coming down from their adrenaline-fueled state, returning to normal.

"Well, they've certainly stolen the spotlight now." Komea propped her chin on her hand and turned to look at the girl beside her.

"Tia, if you went up on stage, you'd probably scare everyone."

"How could that be? I haven't even advanced to the First Tier yet." The girl smiled, shaking her head as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Still, seeing the companion she had tutored make such progress filled her with a sense of relief and happiness.

After all, it meant her efforts had borne fruit.

She needed to work harder too. Come to think of it, Lady Franne should be returning soon, right?