Rocky narrowed his eyes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, not from exertion, but from the growing confusion that had been gnawing at him ever since their first clash.
It had only been a few minutes ago.
His opening strike had been hard, fast, and full of force—more than enough to take down any untrained opponent. Especially this man standing before him, who looked like nothing more than a stable hand. ssy hair. Simple clothes. No armor, no cloak, no family crest. No indication of class. No trace of a mana aura surrounding his body.
And yet, the man had not only withstood the strike but evaded it with startling precision. His blade had parried at just the right angle, draining the montum cleanly. His movents weren’t refined; in fact, they were clumsy, like soone who had only recently learned proper form.
But there was sothing else.
Sensitivity. Reflexes. Instinct.
Three traits found only in those truly gifted with the sword.
Rocky gritted his teeth. He launched strike after strike, trying to overwhelm the man’s defense through sheer power. But the longer they fought, the stranger it felt.
Riven wasn’t retaliating with brute force. He wasn’t trying to overpower him in a single blow. But he also wasn’t being driven back helplessly. His footwork was light but purposeful. He adapted as they fought, syncing with the rhythm, eyes analyzing every crack in Rocky’s technique. Even his swings now held a growing confidence, as if his body were rembering sothing long buried.
And what unsettled Rocky the most—
The man started to smile.
A small, subtle smile—but unmistakable. The smile of soone not only gaining control of the fight... but enjoying it.
"Damn it..." Rocky muttered, backing off a few steps.
As a trained knight, Rocky had always relied on brute strength. He had awakened his affinity, forming a bond with stone that enhanced his body and made his strikes far more powerful than those of ordinary n.
Yet even now, he hadn’t used that power.
Because using it would an admitting sothing he didn’t want to face. The man in front of him had better swordsmanship than he did.
Impossible.
How could soone who looked like a naless stable boy outmatch him in technique?
Rocky inhaled deeply, his tone now devoid of mockery, heavier with sothing else.
"Your na," he asked. "You never gave it."
Riven didn’t answer right away.
He took a single step back, breathing in slowly to calm the fire building in his chest. His grip tightened around Crystalis, his gaze never leaving his opponent.
And then, in a calm yet firm voice, he said,
"Riven."
He stamped his foot once, then shot forward—simple, direct, flawless.
Crystalis flashed upward in a clean arc from below—fast and precise. Rocky quickly raised his sword to block, but a second swing ca from the side, followed by a shallow thrust that forced him to back off.
Now, Riven was the one pressing forward.
His footwork flowed. His body moved on instinct, guided by the relentless training with Ashtoria these past days. His form was still rough at tis, with occasional openings, but his spirit and battle sense made up for it. He attacked again. And again. Pressing. Advancing.
More than anything, he was enjoying it.
In his mind, Ashtoria’s instructions echoed: balance, blade angles, reading your opponent’s breath. And now, all of it ca together in a rhythm that no longer felt like logic... but instinct.
Rocky clenched his jaw. He parried once, twice, three tis—but each ti, he stepped farther back.
’What the hell...?’ he cursed under his breath, boiling with disbelief. ’This can’t be happening...’
He was a knight. A noble trained since childhood. His body was empowered with a stone affinity, ant to grant dominance in close combat. Even without activating it, this was absurd. A man like this shouldn’t be able to push him back.
It made his blood boil.
"Enough!" Rocky shouted, swiping away a strike that nearly broke through his guard. He leapt back, creating distance between them.
Riven stood firm. His chest rose and fell, but his gaze still burned.
Rocky stared at him—conflicted... and furious.
He couldn’t let this continue. Not now. Not when he was this close to—
Losing.
He clenched his left fist and pressed it to his chest.
A faint aura began to ripple from his body—coarse, deep, like the earth groaning from within. His skin slowly changed, hardening. His shoulders and arms darkened, as if coated in a fine layer of granite. The very air around him thickened with pressure.
Riven narrowed his eyes.
’What is this...?’
Rocky tilted his head slightly, locking eyes with a renewed intensity—bloodthirsty and unrestrained.
"Playti’s over," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Now you’ll see why they call Rocky the Stone Fist."
There was a sound—like cracking earth—as Rocky stepped forward. Each footfall caused a subtle tremor in the ground. The aura of stone affinity now cloaked his entire body.
Riven felt the pressure.
A new challenge.
But there was no fear in his eyes.
Rocky snarled and suddenly flung his sword aside. It hit the dirt with a heavy clang. Then, without warning, he charged—like a bull unleashed.
Riven was caught slightly off-guard.
That massive fra moved with a speed that defied its size. But Riven spotted an opening. His eyes sharpened, Crystalis gripped firmly yet effortlessly. He let his instincts take over.
’I can cut him.’
He didn’t hold back. No hesitation. No restraint. This wasn’t a drill. There was only one thought in his mind—slice, break through, end it.
Rocky shivered.
That look in Riven’s eyes wasn’t sothing a beginner should have.
It was a killer’s gaze. A hunter’s resolve.
Rocky’s instincts scread. He raised his stone-armored forearm just in ti, parrying Crystalis with a brutal clang. The flat of the blade ricocheted off his hardened skin.
"Kh—!"
Riven staggered for a heartbeat, but couldn’t retreat fast enough.
Rocky’s fist was already flying.
The punch ca from below, like a hamr driving upward. It slamd into Riven’s chest with full force.
"Gah—!"
His body was lifted off the ground.
Desperation kicked in. Riven’s leg lashed out, catching Rocky in the gut in an effort to push himself away. But it was too late.
The blow had landed.
His lungs collapsed with a gasp. Pain exploded through his ribs. He was launched backward, flung through the air like a ragdoll until his back crashed into the massive stone he had been striking earlier that day.
THUD!
The stone quivered, a thin crack appearing across its surface.
Riven crumpled to the ground.
He coughed—once, then again—then spat a mouthful of blood onto the earth.
The world tilted.
His chest burned.
But in his eyes...
The fire still remained.
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