He lowered Sangrelia by his side, gaze distant as his thoughts deepened. 'To reach Entry, I just need to bring the Third and Fourth Moves to a sufficient level of proficiency. Once that happens, Entry should follow naturally—and with it, the ability to infuse this Sword Art with Lunar Qi.'
'Over the past three weeks, I've essentially "mastered" the first two moves. Considering that the Third and Fourth aren't significantly harder or more complex, I should be able to reach Entry within another three weeks.'
A faint smile appeared on his lips. 'Though… with my new understanding of Sword Arts gained in the last three weeks, my progress should speed up allowing me to finish earlier. But how much sooner? That, I can't say. I can only push forward and train as hard as I can with the time I have left, which is…'
He glanced up. The moon hovered high above, casting pale light across the clearing. 'Six more hours until sunrise—and until I switch to cultivating the Sword Nurturing Art. Let's make them count.'
Resolving himself, Mikael sat and opened the Moonpiercer Sword Art manual once more, turning to the section detailing the Third Move. His eyes tracked the flowing script with quiet intensity, absorbing the structure, rhythm, and momentum embedded in each line.
Once a certain level of comprehension settled into his mind, he rose. This time, he didn't summon the shadow figure. He wasn't ready for sparring—not yet. First, he needed to forge the foundation. He would refine the Third Move to the necessary standard before tempering it through imagined combat.
He began slowly. His movements were deliberate, methodical. Each step carried precision as he traced the sweeping arc of the Third Movement. He adjusted his grip, fine-tuned the flow of Qi through his limbs, and repeated each motion until it etched itself into muscle and memory. Every slash carved a silent path through the air—measured, unerring.
His expression remained focused. Calm. Empty of doubt or distraction.
The night around him was still, disturbed only by the faint whisper of Sangrelia cutting through the dark.
Or so he believed.
A subtle shift brushed against the air.
Then, without warning, a blade surged out from the shadows—silent, razor-fast, and chilling in its precision.
Mikael's instincts didn't hesitate. They didn't think—they reacted.
In an instant, he unleashed a Eclipsing Crescent Cut, intercepting the strike with a forceful counter. Simultaneously, a cloak of aura burst around him as he activated the Weightless Wind-Explosive Style, dramatically amplifying both the speed and impact of his slash.
Sangrelia collided with the incoming blade, and for a moment, the two swords clashed on equal footing. But the balance didn't last. The instant his aura cloak surged to full power and the power behind Weighless Wind-Explosive Style fully activated, the overwhelming strength behind Mikael's slash tipped the scales completely. His opponent was flung backward, rocketing through the air at a velocity dozens of times faster than sound itself—a blur of motion tearing through the night.
Yet even in the face of that extreme force, the man's control was remarkable. Rather than being launched uncontrollably into the distance, he covered only a few dozen meters before halting midair, stabilizing his momentum with practiced ease. Then, as if nothing had happened, he landed softly on his feet, barely disturbing the ground beneath him. It was the kind of recovery that spoke not only of raw power, but of complete mastery over his body and Qi.
Everything had unfolded in mere instants, though to Mikael's sharpened perception, time stretched just long enough for his mind to process the implications. The clash, the blow —it all clicked into place as he realized he was being ambushed. His gaze snapped toward the attacker, taking in the sight before him with steely clarity.
The man standing across from him was handsome, his expression cold and unreadable, a sword resting comfortably in his grasp. His entire presence radiated sharpness—like a drawn blade honed to its limit. But more than his aura, it was the physical state of his body that caught Mikael's full attention. Despite taking a full-force, augmented blow from Sangrelia, the man bore no wounds. Not a cut. Not even a bruise. In fact, his clothing remained in pristine condition, untouched by the violence of the exchange.
That kind of resilience would normally raise every red flag, warning Mikael of a dangerous opponent who might be far beyond him. Yet in this moment, that thought faded into the background as a flicker of recognition stirred within him. His expression shifted, a controlled mixture of surprise and guarded wariness sharpening his gaze as he finally spoke.
"Senior Brother Renjiro?"
Even with the identity of his attacker confirmed, Mikael didn't lower his weapon. Sangrelia remained poised before him, ready to intercept any sudden strike. His divine sense extended outward, senses sharpened to the edge, prepared to react instantly should the situation take a turn for the worse. The silence between them thickened, tension coiled beneath the calm.
Renjiro didn't respond at first. His sharp, unreadable gaze remained locked onto Mikael, as if analyzing the angle of his guard, the tension in his stance, and the minute flow of the strange energy covering him.
Eventually, he took a single step forward, the motion so fluid and quiet that the soft brush of his foot against the grass barely registered.
"I was passing by," Renjiro finally said, his tone flat and distant, a voice like still water under winter frost. "Then I saw your sword."
There was no greeting, no apology for the ambush—only that detached statement, delivered with the gravity of a final verdict rather than conversation.
Mikael didn't ease his guard. His eyes narrowed slightly as he replied, voice calm but edged with disbelief. "That was passing by?"
Renjiro blinked once, the question seemingly lost on him. Rather than offer any form of explanation, he simply raised his sword again with measured precision.
"Your strike was good," he murmured, more to himself than to Mikael. "But it lacked follow-through. The initial movement, though... clean would have been better with more aggressiveness. Still the transition from training into a live counterattack was seamless."
He seemed to forget Mikael was even there, as if watching a technique play out rather than facing a real opponent.
"Again."
Before Mikael could ask what he meant, Renjiro vanished.
A blur of motion—sharp, silent, lethal. Mikael's instincts roared in warning.
Clang.
This time, Mikael wasn't taken off guard and consequently was able to unleash the full power of the Weighless Wind-Explosive Style and aura, his eyes sharpening as a mix of aura and mana erupted around him at full intensity. He caught Renjiro's blade mid-air, redirecting the force before spinning. His counter came swiftly—several strikes of Lunar Shadow Slash aimed at Renjiro's flank.
Renjiro parried without flinching, his eyes cool and focused, analyzing every move Mikael made—especially his swordwork. They exchanged several more blows before Renjiro's voice cut through the rhythm of their clash, cold and commanding.
"Stop using your movement technique and the boosting one. Use only your Sword Art."
Mikael paused for a breath, but obeyed without protest. He had already grasped that Renjiro wasn't trying to kill him. If he had been, Mikael wouldn't have survived the first ambush.
'If he'd meant it... I wouldn't have even reacted.'
And even if by some miracle he had managed to respond in time, the ensuing fight would have ended in his complete defeat with escape being a possibility only if he used the Weighless Wind-Explosive Style to run away and even then he wasn't sure if he would be able to run!
After all he was only at the beginning of his cultivation journey; there was no delusion clouding his judgment. Renjiro was the strongest among the Core Disciples, said to rival some of the Core Elders themselves. The gap between them was real.
So for their earlier exchanges to seem equal in power made no sense. Mikael wasn't arrogant enough to believe he had caught up. It was clear that Renjiro was restraining himself, adjusting his strength to match Mikael's level.
With that in mind, Mikael decisively deactivated both his aura cloak and the Weighless Wind – Explosive Style. His grip tightened on Sangrelia as he committed to using only his Moonpiercer Sword Art.
Clang.
Their blades met again, Sangrelia and Renjiro's sword ringing out through the clearing. Even though Mikael had scaled down his power, Renjiro followed suit, confirming what Mikael had already suspected.
They darted through the open space like shadows, their speed blurring the air. Shockwaves tore through the grass with every step, and leaves scattered like fleeing birds under the pressure of their colliding auras.
Not a word passed between them. They didn't need to speak—their swords spoke for them.
Again and again, their blades clashed with unrelenting precision, raw violence, and undeniable lethality. Each exchange was like a thunderclap of steel, yet amid the storm, Mikael felt himself being gradually overwhelmed. But it wasn't because Renjiro was stronger or faster. No, that wasn't it.
It was pure, refined skill.
Renjiro's swordplay was simply on another level—more calculated, more precise, and far deadlier than Mikael had expected. Every motion, every slash, carried a clarity of intent that bordered on perfection.
Mikael had believed his swordsmanship to be exceptionally high. After all, in the last three years, he had wielded his blade in countless battles, refining his technique through constant encounters. But this spar... this changed everything. Every one of Renjiro's movements pushed the limits of what Mikael had thought was humanly possible.
And none of it involved flashy techniques or Qi-empowered strikes. These were just basic sword moves. Pure and unadorned.
"Clang."
Their swords collided once more. In that instant, Renjiro masterfully used the impact's momentum to slip past Sangrelia's guard and angle his blade at Mikael's exposed throat.
The cold touch of steel against his neck made Mikael instinctively freeze. He held his breath as his eyes locked with Renjiro's calm, pitch-black gaze.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then, without a word, Renjiro slowly withdrew his sword and said in his usual blunt, unbothered tone, "This is the fifth time."
He offered no further explanation and silently returned to his stance.
But Mikael understood.
Renjiro was telling him that this marked the fifth time during their brief spar where a killing blow could have been delivered. And it wasn't due to superior strength, speed, or a high-grade technique—Renjiro had used nothing but mortal swordsmanship to get those openings.
Yet despite being thoroughly outmatched, Mikael didn't feel frustrated or discouraged. Contrary to how most would react to being repeatedly overwhelmed, he felt no irritation—only exhilaration.
'This is exactly what I needed.'
Sparring against someone whose mastery of the sword eclipsed his own was tempering Mikael in real time. His own swordplay, though far from perfect, was sharpening rapidly under pressure. His footwork grew more fluid, his strikes more accurate, his movements increasingly efficient. Even the first two techniques of his Moonpiercer Sword Art began to flow more naturally, transitioning with smoother rhythm and less wasted energy.
As the match went on, Mikael remained firmly on the defensive—but with each passing moment, his swordsmanship continued to evolve. All of his talents—his perception, instincts, adaptability—were working in unison, striving to absorb and replicate what he witnessed, to understand and overcome the wall that stood before him.
By the time an incense stick burned out, Renjiro abruptly stopped, signaling the end of the spar.
To Mikael's dismay.
He had been fully immersed, not just in the thrill of the clash, but in the unmistakable sensation of growth. Fighting an opponent of Renjiro's caliber wasn't just challenging—it was transformative. And Mikael wanted more.
Even better, the improvement he felt wasn't something simple like becoming ten percent stronger or faster. No, it was far more meaningful than that—it was his swordsmanship that was evolving. Not in the sense that 'his' ten-meter-long flying sword attack was now slightly more powerful, but in the fact that his mortal, fundamental swordplay had sharpened.
It was his foundations that were improving, and that mattered tremendously. No matter how powerful a Qi-powered technique might become, without a solid base in swordsmanship, the result would always pale in comparison to what a true swordsman could achieve.
Because of that, Mikael was genuinely pleased by the unexpected spar. He wanted nothing more than to continue growing in battle, to keep refining himself against a superior blade. But unfortunately, Renjiro had already stepped back and calmly sheathed his sword, signaling the end of their impromptu duel.
Now, the two stood several meters apart in silence, breaths misting faintly in the cool night air. A thin sheen of sweat coated Mikael's brow, a physical mark of the intensity of the fight he just experienced.
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