Sheffil had a habit of seeking amusement in his own unique way.
Sometimes it was the usual kind of entertainment—joining mixers, competing in rankings, going out with friends from all over for food and fun.
These were things he used to fill the occasional void in his life.
But more often than not, Sheffil preferred moments like this one—catching a smug opponent off guard, then delivering a brutal slap to the face, whether by fair means or foul.
Though he never kicked a man when he was down, and would even offer a kind word to his defeated foes, Sheffil knew all too well that this generosity only surfaced after he’d thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Just watching the stunned transformation in his opponents’ expressions—from triumphant to utterly crushed—was enough to make him feel euphoric.
Sometimes, the satisfaction brought him so close to tears he had to blink them away.
Even as his heart surged with dark delight, his expression remained composed, gracious, humble.
After all, he was the protagonist’s ally—how could he possibly reveal such twisted thoughts?
That would be breaking character.
Suppressing the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, Sheffil weighed the longsword in his hand.
It was an utterly ordinary blade—nothing like the elegant, water-sheen sword held by his opponent, the one named Shaya.
As someone who loved swords to the point of obsession, Sheffil couldn’t help but covet it.
If only he’d agreed to the wager earlier, he could’ve claimed that beauty as his own.
Regret gnawed at him as he strode toward Shaya, sword in hand.
Seeing Sheffil silently approaching, Shaya quickly shook off his astonishment and drew his own blade, adopting a defensive stance.
Though this was merely a spar using the techniques of the Blazing Swordsmanship—where power levels mattered less than technique—it was still unnerving to see a Fourth-Rank man shrouded in black mist approaching with such imposing presence.
As someone slightly lower in rank, Shaya naturally felt a ripple of unease.
“Blazing Sword Style—First Form: Wind’s Caress.”
There were seven forms in total.
Since this was a sparring match, it was only proper to begin from the first form and climb upward, step by step.
A strike as light as the wind—two gleaming swords glided toward each other like falling leaves, closing in with deceptive gentleness.
Clang!
At the instant their blades were about to meet, both fighters poured strength and speed into their attacks.
The clash of cold steel was sharp and brief—they broke apart almost instantly, with Sheffil stepping back to widen the gap.
That strike had been even.
Sheffil hadn’t gained an upper hand, and Shaya hadn’t managed to catch him off guard either.
“Shaya, truly worthy of the War God’s bloodline.”
On the sidelines, Fangor stroked his chin with approval, watching the blond man who wore a calm, easy smile.
“Even when outmatched in strength and speed, he holds his own through technique. Beyond bloodline heritage, that kind of mastery must come from relentless effort.”
His gaze then shifted to Sheffil.
Talented as he was, and diligent in training the Blazing Sword Style, Sheffil still fell short of those prodigies raised with private tutors from childhood.
“So,” Fangor murmured, “how are you going to gain the upper hand, son of the War God?”
“Second Form—”
Sheffil didn’t waste time talking.
He raised his sword, shifting into the stance for the next technique.
Though it had surprised him that Shaya fully blocked the first strike—
“Stonefall Eightfold.”
Sheffil exploded forward like a cannonball.
In a flash, he blurred past Shaya’s front and reappeared at his flank.
Shaya instinctively raised his sword—but Sheffil’s near-ground sprint had already carried him behind his opponent.
His blade rose, savage and sharp.
Clang!
“Tch!”
Shaya barely had time to pivot and slash downward.
But Sheffil’s unstoppable strike slammed into his sword, knocking it wide.
“Damn it!”
Shaya’s heart sank.
The second strike of Stonefall Eightfold—was coming!
With a fierce grip, Sheffil redirected the force of the clash and cleaved down with brutal power, aiming straight for Shaya’s face.
“Third Form: Fourfold Crossing!”
No technique could block it head-on.
Sheffil was simply too fast.
Shaya had no choice but to preemptively switch to the only retreat-based move in the entire Blazing Sword Style.
Clang!
Four rapid slashes.
So fast, even Sheffil’s eyes couldn’t follow.
His brutal strike was stopped cold, and a mournful vibration rang through his blade, echoing again and again.
He was… being suppressed?
“Hmph.”
But this, too, was within Sheffil’s expectations.
“You fell for it, Shaya!”
All his wild aggression earlier had been for this very moment—to force Shaya to burn his one and only reversal technique!
A surge of vapor-like mana erupted around Sheffil.
Dark mist engulfed his body as his speed, strength, and magical output all soared to their peak.
“Fourth Form—”
“Eightfold Mirror!”
Amid the terrifying magical fluctuations, his crimson eyes blazed within the black fog like a beast stalking its prey.
It was not the gaze of a duelist, but that of a predator staring down its next meal.
But—
“Damn you! Do you think so little of me?!”
Shaya could feel that gaze, filled with unrestrained contempt.
He had never been looked at like that before—not even by the imperial prince himself.
And now this Sheffil?
Some no-name commoner?
If not for the restriction to use only Blazing Sword techniques, he wouldn’t be getting pushed around like this!
“Don’t think you’ve already won!”
Shaya reversed his grip and drew on every ounce of strength, spiking his power to the peak of the Third Rank.
His mana condensed into a protective layer like armor.
“Eightfold Mirror!”
Their swords clashed with sudden fury.
In mere seconds, they exchanged dozens of blows.
In Shaya’s hands, his sword moved with fluid grace, like a loyal hound obeying its master’s command.
The sheer power and speed he unleashed was staggering.
But Sheffil’s sword was faster, stronger, fiercer, and more relentless!
“Fall!”
With a thunderous roar, Sheffil’s eyes flared wide.
His blade smashed through Shaya’s defense and slashed straight toward his face!
At this moment—Shaya was spent, his strength all but gone!