Damn it. Logically, there's no way I can beat him. I'm just an ordinary human without magic. Even though he said he's suppressing his magic energy, this is still hard as hell Fyar cursed inwardly.
Fyar knew that in this training match, his defeat was a certainty. He had no magical power source to rival Zaefal. His ego, however, refused to simply surrender. He had to find a way to land at least one hit. On Earth, he had never lost in a one on one fight. This training could be his first defeat, and his ego flatly rejected that outcome.
A crazy idea then crossed his mind. He would let Zaefal's slash hit him.
On the other side, Zaefal felt a sense of awe. Fyar, an adventurer with no magic, was actually able to withstand all his attacks. He, a Level 29 Hunter, was being challenged by pure technique and reflexes alone.
Fyar is truly skilled. How strong will he be when his sealed power returns? Zaefal wondered.
Zaefal moved in again, pressing Fyar with a more intense assault. Fyar remained on the defensive, deflecting each strike while searching for an opening. He saw a split-second opportunity as Zaefal pivoted and attempted a quick thrust. Zaefal, however, easily dodged it, as if he had read Fyar's movement before he even made it.
Zaefal then leaped back. He prepared to charge forward one last time, intending to end the match.
Fyar took a long breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. He bent his body slightly, both hands gripping the hilt of his katana tightly. With a slow, measured movement, he brought the sword to the side of his waist, as if preparing to draw it from a scabbard, even though the blade was already unsheathed. His sharp eyes were focused squarely on Zaefal, unblinking.
Zaefal had never seen a stance like that in his entire life. He tried to guess what Fyar intended to do by waiting for an attack in such a pose.
Zaefal smiled faintly. He braced his stance and dashed forward again. This time, he planned to aim for Fyar's liver, an attack that could incapacitate without killing.
The wind hissed as his body cut through the air. Zaefal moved in and prepared to swing his sword.
Fyar remained perfectly still, waiting with patience.
As Zaefal got close enough and his sword was about to slash, he sensed that something was wrong. Fyar was not trying to evade. His expression was calm, as though he were intentionally trying to receive the attack.
What is he thinking? Is he giving up? Various questions appeared in Zaefal's mind in that split second.
Just as the distance between them closed and the tip of the purple sword almost touched Fyar's side, Fyar moved. He closed his eyes, and a cold, terrifying smile graced his lips. With all his might, he swung his katana in a powerful horizontal slash.
This! Zaefal instantly realized what was happening.
This was an exchange of lives. Fyar was willing to receive a stab to his liver in order to land a fatal slash on Zaefal's neck or chest. In a real fight, this was a technique to ensure mutual destruction.
There was no other choice. Zaefal was forced to use a bit of his magic energy to cancel his attack and leap backward with all his speed.
The hiss of Fyar's slash cut through the air with lightning speed. Zaefal managed to evade, but he felt a sharp sting on his face. As he landed, a few drops of blood trickled from his eyebrow, which had been thinly grazed by the tip of Fyar's katana.