Ch.26888. Not Yet (3)

If jousting competitions were for nobles, the wealthy, and those who met certain conditions,

Then martial arts competitions were for those who didn’t meet those conditions.

As a result, the armaments showed stark differences from equestrian events.

From those who could call themselves knights and don full plate armor, to those who couldn’t afford iron armor and wore leather protection, to those who practically wore no armor at all but rather formal attire or clothes that allowed for easy movement.

Everything had its advantages and disadvantages.

If one could utilize mana effectively, full plate armor that only weighed one down and slowed movement might actually be cumbersome.

But true knights were those who could move with superhuman ability despite such attire, as if it were natural.

They weren’t considered powerful because of their formidable armor.

They themselves were powerful because they had overcome arduous training and intense drills to become human weapons, superhuman in their capabilities.

At that point, armor became wings rather than cumbersome accessories or decorative attire for showing off.

Of course, there were many who wore armor purely for vanity and display.

If you were to ask such people whether they had been formally knighted, or whom they served as lord,

They would not dare speak carelessly.

“What’s with this kid?”

That’s why the man couldn’t hide his inner bewilderment at the black-haired boy who had entered the competition in ordinary clothes without any special armor.

The spectators watching the match were no exception.

‘Did some mistake happen with the tournament?’

‘Is he older than he looks?’

‘Even so, that’s…’

Might he get seriously hurt?

Except for an iron sword, he was practically bare-bodied.

Although the sword had been dulled for competition, if one wanted to kill with it, there would be nothing stopping them.

Even a simple blunt weapon could inflict fatal wounds in a man’s hands, and those willing to participate in such tournaments were hardly the same as ruffians who caused trouble in back alleys or streets.

In other words, what they held in their hands, though not real swords, was still enough to kill a person.

…Especially given the already absurd difference in physical size.

“Child, this is not a place for you yet. Come back when you’ve grown bigger.”

“Does growing bigger qualify me to be here?”

“…Well, not exactly.”

He was about to give a perfunctory answer but felt strange and replied in the negative instead.

“Then it shouldn’t matter, right?”

Strange.

It shouldn’t make sense, yet he found himself agreeing.

‘Let’s not worry about it.’

He could simply rejoice in an easy victory.

The man pushed aside his distracting thoughts and gripped his sword firmly.

Some children need to experience reality’s harshness firsthand to truly understand it.

If that’s the case, there’s nothing to be done.

No matter what you say, they won’t listen.

The man had been the same in his youth.

He only learned after getting beaten.

Pain makes us mature.

Though not yet formally a knight, he believed he would earn his knighthood in a few years.

He firmly believed that.

“Fine. If that’s what you want to believe.”

With a tiny bit of lingering concern, he uttered his final words.

The signal announcing the start of the match blasted like a piercing sound, whether from a flute or a horn.

Rather than cheers, the demands of spectators eager to observe an exciting match poured into the arena like screams.

“Teach him a lesson!”

“This is no place for a brat! Go drink more of your mother’s milk!”

“Do you think this tournament is child’s play?!”

“Boy! Don’t be discouraged, do your best!”

It was quite a spectacle.

“Hmm.”

The boy approached, freely twirling a sword about the length of his forearm.

The man immediately noted that the boy was at least familiar with handling a sword.

‘I mustn’t let my guard down.’

Hadn’t his master taught him?

No matter who the opponent, even if a child, give your all in actual combat.

“Hah!”

He took his stance, holding his sword at middle level.

“What are you doing?! Are you scared of a kid?!”

“Why aren’t you attacking?!”

“Move! Move, I say! Are you rooted to the spot?! Planning to stay there forever?!”

…What a commotion.

Forcibly suppressing his urge to waver, the man calmly waited for the boy to approach.

“Hmm.”

Upon reaching a certain distance, the boy suddenly stopped.

Then, gripping his sword with both hands, he raised it straight before his chest and said:

“Come at me with all your might.”

And so.

What followed shocked everyone.

“Ugh!”

Without using mana, with movements that were noticeably slow yet precise, the boy disrupted the flow of his opponent’s movements.

Yet he neither finished him off nor delivered a final blow.

“Again.”

…At first, it seemed like he was toying with his opponent.

But the man engaged in the match felt as if this situation was both a real fight and… an extension of training and teaching.

Despite being just a boy, without using a hint of mana,

Somehow, he couldn’t gain the upper hand for even a moment.

As if caught in a snare.

Like a fish in a net or an animal in a trap, the man was employing every means at his disposal, and yet…

…the boy effortlessly neutralized all his efforts.

Though not flashy, the way he connected and led his movements and flow was beautiful.

Despite being on the receiving end, the boy’s swordsmanship and technique were impeccably clean and swift, seemingly merciless yet imbued with compassion… truly peculiar swordsmanship.

No, it wasn’t about the swordsmanship. The one wielding it was… simply special.

‘Where did this genius come from?’

As vast as the empire might be, or however expansive the continent…

Could even a genius be this exceptional?

To the man, the boy seemed like a being from a different realm.

Moreover.

While his own competition sword was getting noticeably damaged,

The boy’s blade showed no signs of wear or damage.

…Why was it that when he struck with all his might, the burden fell on his wrist, elbow, and shoulder, and why was he the one struggling to breathe?

Both were moving considerably, so why was he the only one drenched in cold sweat?

“Huff! Huff!”

And why was his breathing so disrupted?

“I can sense your effort. Though not your absolute best, I can tell you’ve honed your skills steadily over time.”

“…Who are you? That swordsmanship, that skill. How is it possible at your age, with your build…?”

“Well, despite my appearance, I’m quite old. So please don’t consider me special or extraordinary.”

The black-haired boy, Korin, replied somewhat bitterly and ambiguously.

“Well then, let’s settle this now.”

“……”

The man raised his concentration to its peak.

Perhaps more focused than he had ever been in his life.

Mana rose from his entire body, its effects visibly apparent.

It was calm yet faint, but distinct like a flame, emitting a blue light.

Those watching the match realized that the man had, in this moment, crossed a small threshold, a hill.

Though the man himself hadn’t noticed yet.

“Here I come.”

Korin stepped forward with a smile, his sword resting on his shoulder.

Eventually,

Korin took a stance as if about to swing his sword widely.

But suddenly, he began to rotate his body.

As his waist twisted and his upper body half-rotated,

With his back suddenly turned, the boy’s sword thrust at the man’s blind spot.

The sword was clearly held but neither swung nor slashed.

In that moment, as if the sword had teleported, it extended in a straight line after the turn.

Thunk!

“?!”

The sword embedded itself in the helmet.

Yet, as if it had never been stuck, the boy’s sword was withdrawn effortlessly.

All that remained was a small mark where the helmet had been pierced.

Not even a scratch on the forehead or head.

The boy’s feat of wielding the sword like a whip and retrieving it was spectacular to behold.

But the actual damage was minimal—just a small line that had cut through the metal helmet as if through water.

“……”

At this feat that wasn’t quite a feat,

Someone let out an admiration that wasn’t quite admiration.

“…My goodness.”

Among the spectators, Kariel watched.

‘So he can do such things with a sword too.’

A mixture of playfulness and seriousness.

Truly terrifying handiwork.

How bewildered and mentally shaken must the recipient of such a move be…

Even in bare-handed combat or simple swordplay without mana, such bizarre actions seemed implausible.

But Kariel sensed it.

This was not only a lesson for the opponent but also

Another teaching for himself—Kariel—who was watching from somewhere.

‘Was I too fixated on form?’

A trick where one changes footwork in Grate, pretends to naturally rotate the upper body but accelerates to thrust backward—a deception closer to trickery than honesty.

Yet that connection and conclusion were both an extension and application of what he had learned, as well as the orthodox itself.

Beyond mere difference in skill, it meant that such variables were possible.

The various possibilities that could derive from this immediately came to Kariel’s mind, numbering in the dozens.

‘Not something I’d imitate, but worth noting.’

Perhaps he had developed fixed ideas about handling a sword.

The sword of Uja that he had learned.

He had become familiar with it, mastered it, and reached a level of proficiency.

At some point, he stood before the door of conquest and perfection.

Yet still, there remained aspects to learn, acquire, and hone.

Or perhaps he needed to break from the existing path and dream of another ascension and transcendence.

This is why one cannot stop training and refining.

Probably until the moment of death, I will not be able to stop.

As one who has glimpsed this realm.

The blessing of being able to immerse oneself in something is truly special and noble.

‘Complacency and stagnation are the prerogatives of the rotten.’

Golden had told him that before.

‘If you don’t want to rot, constantly struggle, right?’

Eventually, whether you like it or not, a corpse will decay and crumble.

So, Kariel, sleep only when you’re dead.

For those of us who want to die anyway, the answer is to do what needs to be done and die quickly.

Yes, the point is to live meaningfully and die meaningfully.

But there’s a condition to that.

So that our death isn’t tainted by someone else’s hand.

Also, so that our killing doesn’t bind or restrain us according to someone’s intention.

…So we must prepare step by step.

If even death isn’t liberation, if it’s neither rest nor anything else but just a new beginning, another part of suffering and trials.

Kariel.

How great a tragedy and atrocity would that be?

“……”

Amidst the waves of cheers and cries from the audience, that voice distinctly echoed in his ears.

And so, Kariel, with his ash-gray hood pulled deep, left the place without lingering.

Through the hood, his snow-white skin, the area around his chin, and his soft lips were faintly visible.

But without a word from him, without catching anyone’s eye,

He walked out of the arena.

After he walked and walked into the gaps between buildings, into alleys,

He had already vanished without a trace.

The empire remains the same.

The system, of course, is no exception.

This place where terrible vitality prevails.

I, too much, disliked it.