After breakfast, Fyar returned to his room to retrieve his weapons. He was now wearing a set of local clothes he had bought yesterday, covered by a long, black coat. He then went back downstairs to wait for Zaefal's arrival.
Laura, who was cleaning a glass with a cloth while humming softly, shifted her gaze to Fyar. She looked over his outfit, which she found strange yet a little cool, and asked, "Master Fyar, are you heading out on a mission or an adventure?"
Fyar smiled and replied, "Ah, I'm going to train with the adventuring party from yesterday."
"Ahh, those weird people," Laura quipped. "Good luck, Master Fyar!"
After waiting for a short while, Zaefal arrived to pick him up. He led Fyar to a mountainous area not far from the city. There, a vast field was spread out before them, surrounded by trees with beautiful, light-blue leaves. A river with clear water flowed along the edge of the field, creating a peaceful scene.
By the side of that clear river, Fyar saw Illya grilling a fish using her fire magic, while Rasie sat nearby, waiting impatiently to taste it. As Fyar observed Zaefal, he sensed that something was different. The man seemed calmer, yet at the same time, there was a trace of sadness hidden in his eyes.
"What kind of training are we doing today?" Fyar asked as he readied his katana.
Zaefal glanced at the katana in Fyar's hand, then answered, "Swordsmanship." He then drew his own sword, a straight, dark purple blade that radiated a powerful aura.
"Zaefal, are you alright?" Fyar felt a little worried about his companion's condition.
Zaefal gave a faint smile. "Haha, don't worry about your opponent's condition. Fyar... I will suppress my magic energy so this fight is fair. Your task is to successfully land four slashes on me." Zaefal took a breath. "Are you ready?"
Fyar immediately regulated his own breathing. He focused his entire attention on Zaefal, convincing himself that he was in a life-or-death situation. This was his first time dueling someone from another world. Back in his middle school days, he had imagined moments like this so many times.
Fyar settled into his signature low stance. "You can make the first move."
The hiss of parted air was the only warning. In the blink of an eye, Zaefal had already dashed forward. His movements were so fast that he left only a blurred afterimage. His purple sword swung down fiercely from above, aiming directly for Fyar's head.
With reflexes honed over many years, Fyar raised his katana, parrying the attack just in time.
Fast! He's so fast. Damn it, what part of this is 'not using magic'?! Fyar cursed inwardly.
The clash of the two blades produced a loud, sharp clang. The force behind Zaefal's attack was so immense that it made Fyar's arms tremble and pushed his feet back several centimeters. This was no longer just training; it was a display of pure physical power against precise technique.
Zaefal leaped back, creating distance. That thin sword is absorbing some of my strength. What kind of sword is it? he thought, sensing a strangeness as his blade met Fyar's katana.
Zaefal gave him no time to think. He attacked again, this time with a barrage of swift horizontal and vertical slashes. Each of his swings held the power to split a stone. Fyar, however, was not intimidated. He held his position, not advancing to attack. He knew he would be hopelessly outmatched in a contest of speed. A frontal assault would be far too risky.
Fyar danced in the middle of the storm of attacks. He did not block Zaefal's blows directly, instead using his katana's blade to deflect each strike with minimal movement. His feet moved nimbly over the grass, his body twisting and evading, allowing the purple sword to pass mere inches from him. He turned Zaefal's destructive power into wasted energy. His best option right now was to wait. To wait for an opening, for one small mistake from Zaefal, to launch a deadly counterattack.
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