After entering the inner area, Luke quickly realized it was much more professional in here.
For example—rank tiers.
The inner area used four kinds of badges—Iron, Bronze, Silver, and Gold—dividing everyone into four ranks.
That made the gap in strength much clearer.
It also made things more competitive.
Lower-ranked fighters could refuse duel invitations from higher-ranked fighters, while higher-ranked fighters could not refuse duels issued by lower-ranked fighters. The penalty for refusing was a points deduction.
There were also more professional scorekeepers, with point changes recorded and updated at any time.
In the outer area, point changes were handled on a daily standard: based on the last recorded score, whatever your points were for that day stayed the same for determining gains and losses, regardless of wins or defeats.
Only the next day would your new points be updated.
All of that was tournament structure. Luke wasn't really interested.
After asking around a bit, he learned that Fiora—just like Bear Mask had said—really was scheduled to duel someone called "Third Young Master of the Capital" this afternoon.
Inner area, huh. Even the nicknames sounded a lot more flashy.
The duel challenge had naturally been issued by Third Young Master of the Capital.
There was only an hour left until the duel time.
Luke's timing today was pretty perfect.
Since it wouldn't be long, he rented a lounge with points and took a short nap.
Time ticked by.
More and more people gathered outside.
Yurna gently shook Luke awake.
After his nap, Luke felt pleasantly sluggish. He sat up, yawned, and walked out of the lounge.
A crowd had already formed outside.
All the front-row viewing spots had been snatched up.
And the two fighters were already standing on the ring.
The most eye-catching one was Fiora, dressed in white. Wearing that white face mask, she stood on the stage with a cool, distant aura, holding a slender blade in her hand.
Her opponent wore a painted face mask, dressed in ornate clothes, and his weapon was also a longsword.
"Fiora," Third Young Master of the Capital said with polished courtesy, "if I win… will you let me see your face beneath the mask?"
To be fair, he really did have a gentlemanly air when he spoke—nothing like Bear Mask's forced performance.
Fiora only answered calmly, "You won't win."
"No need to say that so early." Third Young Master of the Capital showed a confident smile. "Anything is possible. My ranking is second only to yours—why would I have no chance to win?"
"Because you won't win."
Fiora repeated it again, her voice cold.
She had no interest in this fight to begin with. She was even starting to lose interest in the training camp itself.
She ranked first because the camp's ceiling was right there.
And he ranked second because his own ceiling only reached second.
That simple truth was exactly why this place no longer held any possibility of making her stronger.
From the day she discovered this place to the day she became its strongest, it had taken Fiora less than half a year.
"Even if there's a tiny chance?" Third Young Master of the Capital asked again, unwilling to give up.
"If you can make me feel even a little interest—just a little—I'll take off my mask," Fiora said, her patience thinning, but still giving him that.
The moment those words landed, the crowd below erupted.
The mysterious Fiora—what did the face under that mask look like?
For so long, it had been a topic of endless speculation, a scene countless people had imagined.
Was today finally the day they'd see it?
The crowd grew excited, throwing encouraging looks at Third Young Master of the Capital, hoping he'd step up and deliver.
He raised his longsword vertically in front of his face, his expression sharpening. "Fine. Then watch closely."
Fiora simply held her blade angled at her side, her eyes as cool and clear as ever.
Ding~!
A crisp bell rang from below.
In the same instant, both fighters moved.
But the fastest was Fiora. Her slender blade thrust out like a streak of white light.
Third Young Master of the Capital swung to block, but the second strike was already stabbing in—his pressure instantly spiked to the limit.
Still, he was ranked second for a reason. His mind worked quickly, and he found a response at once—he twisted his body hard to the side, catching an opening to counterattack.
Fiora shifted into defense, letting him press forward.
But after only a few exchanges, disappointment grew heavier and heavier in her eyes.
A sword style forged like it came off an assembly line—every move and posture locked into a fixed pattern. It carried generations of experience, yes… but it also shackled the user inside it.
She had seen this kind of swordplay too many times.
She could even predict his next move—she could even tell where his next strike would land.
Flat. Boring.
Once her interest vanished, Fiora began to apply force. With a sharp upward flick, she knocked his longsword aside, and then her offense fell like a rainstorm.
Third Young Master of the Capital struggled to defend, retreating step by step, the pressure doubling with every step back.
He tried to counterattack in the gaps—but quickly realized it would only make him lose faster.
Before long, he couldn't hold on anymore.
Even though Fiora's weapon wasn't sharpened, every hit still sent sharp pain through his body.
Finally, his sword was cut away and sent flying, and Fiora's slender blade stopped right in front of his face.
"I lost. Fiora, you really are incredible." Third Young Master of the Capital sighed, then—because he'd lasted so long—asked with hopeful anticipation, "And your evaluation of me is?"
"A stagnant pool. Unbearably dull."
Fiora drew her blade back and delivered eight icy words.
Third Young Master of the Capital froze. He hadn't expected the strength he took such pride in to earn only that.
To the spectators, the result seemed almost inevitable.
Fiora turned, about to leave.
Then, in the crowd, she caught sight of a frog mask that looked unbelievably dopey—just standing there made the wearer seem silly.
In an inner area full of all kinds of masks, it was distinctive in its own way.
More importantly… Fiora remembered that mask.
"Frog Swordsman?"
She murmured it softly.
A lot of people below heard her and immediately started looking around, trying to see who that name belonged to.
In the crowd, Luke raised a hand in greeting. "Fiora. We meet again."
Everyone realized there really was only one frog mask in sight.
A few people from the outer area also recognized him.
Fiora, who had been about to leave, suddenly changed her mind and invited him herself. "Want to spar?"
"Sure." Luke answered immediately.
As the crowd instinctively parted to make a path, he walked up onto the ring.
At this moment, the people who had never heard of the Frog Swordsman couldn't help feeling confused—why had Fiora suddenly issued an invitation?
And Third Young Master of the Capital, who had already stepped down and was about to leave, also stopped and stared, puzzled.
Ever since entering the training camp, he had never once seen Fiora proactively invite someone to spar.
TN: Thank you so much for the stones!
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