Second Choice Noble Son: Apparently I’m Stronger Than the Summoned Heroes Chapter 119 : The Last Spar Before Goodbye

(Rooga POV)

The evening air was cool and still, painted in the soft orange of the setting sun.

Most of the estate had already gone quiet — the workers had finished for the day, and the sounds of dinner carried faintly from the main house.

Only the faint thwack of wooden swords echoed through the back field.

It was just the two of us — and Elara.

Our last spar before she left again for the Academy.

She stood tall, her blade angled low, the golden light catching the edge of her hair.

Her posture was perfect — calm, balanced, confident — the stance of a Valemont heir.

“I’m not going easy on you, little brother,” she said, though her smile gave her away.

“You never do,” I replied, raising my sword. “But you’ve been gone too long. Maybe you’ve gotten soft.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh? We’ll see about that.”

She struck first — quick, precise, testing my guard.

Her form hadn’t dulled at all. Every swing ca with purpose, the wind of her blade sharp enough to sting.

But to my surprise… I wasn’t falling behind.

Each ti she struck, I t her with ease. My movents weren’t faster — just lighter, smoother, flowing from one motion into the next like ripples in water.

It wasn’t a fight.

It was rhythm — and I was matching her beat perfectly.

After a few minutes, her breathing grew heavier.

Sweat beaded on her forehead.

“You’ve improved,” she said between strikes, her tone shifting from teasing to serious.

I grinned. “And you’re holding back, sis.”

Her next swing ca faster, sharper, the wind of it grazing my cheek.

I parried, turned my body, and countered with a clean slash that stopped just shy of her shoulder.

She stepped back, eyes wide.

“See?” I said, lowering my sword. “You’re getting soft.”

Her expression hardened — the smile vanished.

“Don’t mock , Rooga.”

The air changed.

Her mana flared faintly, the ground beneath her feet cracking as she lunged forward.

This ti, there was no playfulness — only precision.

Each swing ca with real weight, real intent.

But the more serious she beca, the calr I felt.

Her strikes cut through air like storm winds, but my blade flowed like water, turning, weaving, always one step ahead.

I wasn’t thinking — just moving.

The rhythm was effortless, the world narrowing to the hum of mana between our swords.

Our blades clashed again, sparks flying.

She pushed forward, teeth gritted, refusing to yield.

But she was chasing my tempo now — my flow.

And then, in one clean motion, I stepped past her guard and brought my sword to her side.

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The duel froze there.

She looked at , chest rising and falling.

Her eyes flicked down to the wooden edge resting against her ribs.

I could’ve pressed on.

I could’ve claid it.

But instead, I lowered my sword.

“That’s enough for today,” I said quietly.

For a long mont, neither of us moved.

Only the sound of the evening wind filled the silence.

Then she exhaled and gave a small, tired laugh. “You stopped.”

I shrugged. “You were getting serious. I didn’t want to ruin your mood before the academy.”

She smiled faintly, but her eyes betrayed the truth.

She knew.

She knew she’d lost.

Elara had never lost to anyone close to her age.

Only Father had ever beaten her — and that was years ago.

Now, standing there under the fading light, she looked at like she was seeing for the first ti.

The boy she once protected.

The brother she once feared to hurt.

The one she once thought would never catch up.

And for the first ti… he had surpassed her.

She sheathed her sword, her tone soft again.

“You’ve really grown, Rooga.”

I smiled. “Don’t let it bother you, sis. You’ll still beat next ti.”

“Next ti,” she repeated, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. “You sound like Father.”

We walked back toward the house together, side by side.

No one said it aloud, but we both knew the truth:

That was the last spar where she would look at as her little brother.

From now on, we’d et as swordsn.

The next morning arrived too soon.

The sky above Valemont was still pale, the color of wet ash before sunrise, and the world was hushed — like even the wind was holding its breath.

The carriage waited by the front gate.

Two horses stood restless, hooves shifting, steam curling from their breath in the cold air.

Elara stood beside it, dressed in her academy uniform — crisp white with silver lining, her sword strapped at her hip.

She looked taller sohow, older. The sa sister who used to ruffle my hair now carried herself like a knight ready to command a battlefield.

Mother stood close, adjusting Elara’s collar with trembling hands.

“Do not skip als,” Mother said quietly. “And do not forget to write this ti.”

Elara smiled. “I will, Mother.”

Father chuckled softly. “She said that last ti too.”

Mother shot him a look that could bend steel.

Father raised both hands. “Just reminding her.”

Little Riaz and Eria stood by the porch, waving small wooden flags that Cro had carved.

Riaz was trying not to look sad, but his lower lip kept trembling anyway.

Lyra leaned against the wall, arms folded. “The academy’s lucky to have you,” she said. “Try not to make them regret it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Elara replied, smiling faintly. “Though I can’t promise to behave exactly as they expect.”

When everyone had stepped away to help the driver, I stayed where I was.

Elara noticed and walked over, her boots crunching softly on the gravel.

“You’re quiet today,” she said.

“Just thinking,” I replied.

She tilted her head. “About what?”

“About how you still owe a rematch.”

She blinked, then laughed — that bright, genuine laugh that I hadn’t heard in a long ti.

“So that’s what’s been on your mind.”

“Of course,” I said, smiling. “I can’t have my sister going off pretending she’s undefeated.”

She smirked, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Keep training, little brother. When I co back, you’ll need more than fancy footwork to beat .”

Her hand lingered there for a mont, warm and steady.

Then her voice softened. “You’ve really grown, Rooga.”

I looked up at her, the early light catching her hair. “You too, sis.”

She hesitated, then added quietly, “Thank you… for that night.”

I didn’t have to ask which one.

The spar.

The mont she realized I’d caught up.

I shook my head. “No need to thank . I just reminded you how strong you already are.”

The driver called out that it was ti.

Elara nodded once, straightened her coat, and turned to face the family again.

Mother hugged her tightly, whispering sothing I couldn’t hear.

Father rested a hand on her shoulder, eyes proud but gentle.

Then, with one last wave, she climbed into the carriage.

The wheels creaked, the horses snorted, and slowly, the carriage began to move.

I stood there, watching until the road curved and she disappeared from sight.

The wind brushed past, carrying her faint voice as if she were still there.

“Don’t forget, Rooga — next ti, I’m the one who’ll win.”

I smiled, hands in my pockets. “We’ll see about that, sis.

The sun broke fully over the horizon, painting the estate gold.

The world felt bigger sohow — emptier, but not in a bad way.

It was strange how goodbyes worked.

They hurt, but they also made room for the next hello.

I turned toward Maori’s tree in the distance, her branches gleaming in the light.

The wind stirred again, almost like a whisper through the leaves.

“You’re proud of her, aren’t you?”

I nodded softly. “Yeah. I really am.”