The two swordsn faced each other in the center of the platform, a respectful distance between them. The arena fell silent as they prepared for their formal introduction.
"Marcus Turner," the regressor announced with a slight bow, his voice carrying the weight of experiences beyond his apparent years.
"Leon Steelheart," ca the reply as Leon reciprocated the gesture, his movents displaying the practiced precision of soone who had dedicated his life to the blade.
With the introductions complete, Ambrose backed away with unhurried steps, leaving the two warriors to establish their positions. Both swordsn widened their stance, hands hovering near their weapon hilts, fingers relaxed yet ready. The tension between them was palpable, a silent communication between kindred spirits who recognized in each other a worthy opponent.
Lancaster’s voice bood across the arena: "Ladies and gentlen, in an unexpected turn of events, both teams have agreed to determine the championship through a duel of swordsmanship!"
The announcent triggered an eruption of cheers and excited conversation. What had seed a predetermined outco suddenly transford into sothing far more compelling—a pure test of skill between two distinguished bladesn. Noble and commoner alike leaned forward in their seats, rivalries montarily forgotten in their shared appreciation for martial excellence.
"Which swordsman will prove superior? The mysterious Marcus Turner or the inspiring Leon Steelheart? The academy shall witness mastery of the blade today!"
Ambrose reached his customary position at the platform’s edge, settling into his lotus ditation posture with practiced ease. His mind reached out, establishing the telepathic connection that had beco his signature during the tournant.
"~You may begin," his ntal voice echoed simultaneously in both combatants’ consciousness.
In that instant, steel flashed in perfect synchronization as both warriors drew their blades. The tallic ring of swords clearing scabbards rged into a single harmonious note that reverberated across the arena. They launched forward with explosive power, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat, their swords eting in a clash that sent sparks dancing through the air and the sound of striking steel echoing through the hushed colosseum.
The final battle had begun.
…
Ambrose settled back into his ditative posture, analytical eyes fixed on the platform’s center where Marcus and Leon faced each other. A satisfied smile touched his lips as he observed the two swordsn begin their dance of steel.
Finally, Marcus gets his mont to shine, Ambrose thought, realizing how little opportunity the supposed protagonist had received to demonstrate his abilities thus far. He also hadn’t gotten the chance to see Marcus’s improved abilities after the dungeon incident. Although he had a general idea, it wasn’t as good as personally witnessing it. When he had seen that their final opponent would be Leon Steelheart, Ambrose imdiately recognized the perfect matchup for Marcus—another dedicated swordsman whose skills would provide a genuine challenge.
Despite Leon’s lack of awakened talent, Ambrose’s Mind’s Eye ability had revealed sothing fascinating about their opponent. Leon’s raw stats nearly matched Marcus’s, making him a remarkably even adversary. Ambrose nodded appreciatively as he continued his observation. Experience more tales on .Côm
Ambrose had little doubt about the ultimate outco. The laws of narrative progression practically guaranteed that Marcus—a main character archetype if ever there was one—would triumph, even against an opponent of equal caliber. He said equal caliber as he didnt believe Marcus was the type of person to use mana against an opponent who couldn’t reciprocate. Such restraint aligned perfectly with Marcus’s character.
The thunderous clash of steel against steel brought Ambrose’s attention back to the duel. Marcus and Leon’s blades t with perfect precision, sparks cascading around them as they tested each other’s strength and technique. True to Ambrose’s prediction, Marcus was relying solely on his physical capabilities, eschewing the mana-based enhancents his Sword Intent talent could provide. This would be a battle of pure swordsmanship.
On the platform, Marcus struggled against Leon’s powerful strike, their blades locked montarily before Marcus managed to redirect the force, throwing Leon slightly off-balance. Seizing the opportunity, Marcus created distance between them with a strategic backward step, his eyes never leaving his opponent.
A subtle smile played across Marcus’s face as he regarded Leon with newfound respect. This encounter carried unexpected significance for him—Leon Steelheart was no stranger in the world Marcus rembered. In his previous life, the na Steelheart had beco legendary across the continent.
The Sword Saint, Marcus recalled, mories flooding back. Leon Steelheart had transcended the limitations of his talentless body through sheer dedication, pushing himself beyond normal human boundaries until he stood among the continent’s most formidable powers. His achievents had made him an inspiration to countless aspiring warriors—Marcus himself included.
There had been a ti when Marcus had looked upon the Sword Saint with undisguised admiration, acknowledging that Leon’s natural affinity for swordsmanship surpassed his own. The bitter irony hadn’t escaped Marcus—that a man born without talent could ascend to such heights while he, blessed with a Top Level talent, had accomplished so little in comparison.
This duel represented more than tournant victory for Marcus. It was an opportunity to test himself against the nascent version of a legend, to asure his growth since regression. Deliberately holding back his mana usage, Marcus wanted to discover if his improved skills alone could overco Leon’s natural genius—even this younger, less experienced version of the future Sword Saint.
With renewed determination, Marcus charged forward, dropping into a smooth crouch to avoid Leon’s horizontal slash. In the sa fluid motion, he brought his blade upward toward Leon’s exposed neck. The attack was perfectly executed, yet Leon responded with astonishing intuition, twisting away from the lethal edge and imdiately countering with his own strike.
Marcus’s smile widened as he parried the counterattack. Since his regression to this earlier point in his life, nothing had brought him such genuine enjoynt. The pure exchange of technique without politics or ulterior motives felt like a cleansing ritual, washing away the accumulated cynicism of his forr existence.
Across from him, Leon appeared equally invigorated by their exchange. He had recognized Marcus as a skilled swordsman from the tournant’s earlier rounds, but this direct confrontation revealed depths of technique he hadn’t anticipated. More impressive still was Marcus’s deliberate choice to forego his magical advantage, eting Leon on equal terms. Such honorable conduct commanded respect, and Leon silently vowed to respond in kind by offering nothing less than his absolute best.
From the sidelines, Leon’s teammates watched with surprised expressions. Their leader’s usual stoic deanor had given way to sothing approaching joy—an emotional display they had rarely witnessed. The burden of being talentless in a talent-focused world had long weighed upon Leon, yet here, matched against a worthy opponent who respected his skill enough to et him as an equal, he appeared liberated.
Throughout the arena, spectators who had co expecting a quick, one-sided affair found themselves enthralled by the display of martial excellence unfolding before them. Compared to the flashy magical confrontations of earlier matches, this pure contest of steel and skill felt more authentic, more primal—a reminder of combat’s fundantal nature that transcended magical enhancent.
Marcus narrowly escaped a powerful downward slash, finding himself montarily vulnerable as he rolled across the platform floor. Leon pressed his advantage imdiately, bringing his blade down toward his prone opponent. With lightning reflexes, Marcus completed his roll, the sword striking empty stone where he had been a heartbeat earlier.
Rising to a defensive stance, Marcus t Leon’s evaluating gaze. "You’re quite good," Leon acknowledged, genuine respect evident in his voice.
"You’re not so bad yourself," Marcus returned with equal sincerity, before both warriors simultaneously charged forward to continue their dance.
Their blades t with trendous force, the impact driving both combatants backward several feet. Neither lost their balance, each regaining their footing with practiced ease before charging forth once more.
This ti, Leon sidestepped Marcus’s thrust with fluid grace, pivoting to deliver a horizontal slash. Marcus avoided decapitation by re inches, bending backward just enough for the blade to pass harmlessly overhead. In that mont of apparent advantage, Leon executed a brilliant feint—deliberately dropping his sword, only to catch it with his opposite hand in a seamless motion that completely disrupted Marcus’s defensive calculations.
The unexpected maneuver caught Marcus off-guard. Although he managed to shift his body to avoid a mortal wound, Leon’s blade found its mark, drawing a thin line of crimson across his shoulder. Channeling pain into focus, Marcus delivered a powerful kick to create separation, buying precious monts to reassess his approach.
As Marcus touched his wound, a realization crystallized in his mind. The current Leon, talented though he might be, remained a shadow of the Sword Saint Marcus rembered. His techniques, while impressive, lacked the refinent and deadly precision of his future self. With newfound confidence, Marcus smiled and prepared for his decisive assault.
Charging forward with controlled aggression, Marcus initiated a complex sequence of strikes designed to test Leon’s adaptability. He began with a standard overhead slash that Leon easily parried, but imdiately transitioned into a deceptive feint targeting Leon’s left side. When Leon moved to defend, Marcus reversed his blade’s montum with frightening speed, executing a perfect pivot that brought his sword arcing toward Leon’s exposed right flank.
Leon barely deflected the strike, his balance compromised by the unexpected direction. Capitalizing on this montary instability, Marcus executed a lightning-fast poml strike to Leon’s sword hand, simultaneously sweeping his opponent’s legs with a low kick. As Leon began to fall, Marcus completed his combination by catching Leon’s descending blade with his own, using the leverage to direct both weapons safely away from their bodies.
The maneuver ended with Leon flat on his back, Marcus’s knee firmly planted on his chest and the edge of his training sword resting against Leon’s throat—a position from which no recovery was possible.
A genuine smile spread across Leon’s face as he lay pinned against the platform. "I lose," he declared without hesitation or bitterness, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly silent arena.
"Victory to Team Rothschild!" Lancaster’s announcent broke the spell, unleashing a thunderous ovation that shook the very foundations of the colosseum. The spectators rose to their feet in unanimous appreciation for the display of martial excellence they had witnessed.
Marcus withdrew his blade and extended his hand, helping Leon to his feet with a comradely grip. "Let’s fight again soti," he offered, genuine respect evident in his tone.
Leon nodded, clasping Marcus’s forearm in the traditional warrior’s acknowledgnt. Without further words, he rejoined his waiting teammates, his posture betraying neither sha nor regret—only the quiet determination of soone who had discovered new heights to aspire toward.
As Marcus watched Leon’s retreating form, he felt a curious mixture of satisfaction and nostalgia. In defeating the younger version of his forr idol, he had proven his growth since regression. Yet rather than diminishing Leon’s legend in his eyes, the encounter had only deepened his respect for the future Sword Saint—knowing firsthand the solid foundation upon which that legendary skill would be built.
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