A spar? With Wang? Now?

This certainly came out of nowhere.

I stare at him. His gaze is as serious as it gets.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ayu watching me—expectant, maybe even a little excited.

Hmm. Well, we do have six hours with nothing to do…

"Sure, why not."

He slightly bows. "Thank you."

Chiara watches us with a slight frown, but a small smile tugs at her lips. Ayu, on the other hand, is outright beaming.

Damn, am I the entertainment now?

As Wang and I move to a clear spot nearby, I catch sight of Lukas and Imani heading this way. Even Arjun, who just arrived, is hanging around—clearly ready to watch.

What the heck?

I glance at Ayu. "This was you, wasn't it?"

She blushes slightly and pointedly looks away, rolling her eyes.

I sigh.

Well, whatever. I'd probably be the same if I were them. Not much else to do in this place. Watching a fight might as well be peak entertainment.

"As for the rules," Wang says, his tone measured, "I believe we should avoid bullets, the tendrils, and strikes to the head. Besides that," he pauses, "I would appreciate it if you took this seriously."

Serious?

I narrow my eyes. I've heard about his unique condition, but I've never seen it in action. He, on the other hand, has seen me fight. Is he really that confident? Is it that strong?

"Fair enough," I say, slipping my mask on. "Ready whenever you are."

He nods, puts on his mask, and unsheathes his sword.

One or two?

After a brief hesitation, I draw both. A ripple of reactions spreads through the crowd—except for Ayu, Chiara, and Lukas, no one else knew I was wielding Chiara's blade now.

But just as we're about to start, Lukas suddenly steps forward. "My sincerest apologies, but could you guys hold up for a moment? I'm thinking of calling the others to watch the spar—I believe it'll be a valuable learning experience for them. Is that alright?"

Yeah, and why don't you bring some popcorn while you're at it?

I glance at Ayu. She is grinning like a Cheshire cat. Oh, I'll get my revenge for this tonight.

"It's fine by me," Wang says, then looks at me.

Dammit. How did I go from a feared lone wolf to public entertainment?

I exhale. "Alright," I say in defeat.

Seconds later, the full group—twenty-plus climbers—gathers around, forming a wide circle. Most look excited, some murmuring to each other, and a few are already cheering for Wang.

"Well, everyone, I've gathered you all here for a rare opportunity—one you won't want to miss. On one side, we have your captain, Wang, recently awakened and ready to test the limits of his abilities. On the other, we have Alonso, whose skill in combat needs no introduction.

"This isn't just a spar; it's a lesson. A glimpse into the gap that separates you from them. The difference between proficiency and mastery. Watch their movements, their choices, the way they react under pressure. Every feint, every strike, every counter—there's something to be learned.

"So take this seriously. Absorb everything you can." He steps back, giving us space, then bows slightly. "Apologies for the delay. You can go ahead."

Classic Lukas. Even with that straight face, I know he's doing this on purpose. Was this planned beforehand with Wang?

Well, I've already fallen for it anyway.

I rotate the swords in my hands, locking eyes with Wang.

It's on.

Wang dashes forward, his body a blur of motion.

That acceleration…

Good.

I push Overdrive to full-state, and the world shifts—slowing, sharpening, every detail crystal clear.

I track his movements, analyzing every micro-adjustment in his stance, the tension in his muscles—but something is off. His movement isn't just muscle-driven. His waves are guiding him, bending his trajectory in ways that shouldn't be possible.

Interesting.

I hold my ground, shifting my weight—right foot pressing down, left foot bracing back—ready to absorb and redirect his momentum when he closes in.

He slashes at my ribs, a fast, efficient strike. I counter, my left sword angling for his wrist while my right aims for a gap in his armor at the waist.

Wang reacts instantly, his body snapping back with a sharp burst of acceleration, just enough to let my left sword cut through empty space. At the same time, his sword blurs downward in a flash, parrying my right blade away from his waist with impossible speed.

I step in, keeping the pressure up, my blades working in tandem to close him off. He reads my movement and shifts into a tight guard, his sword angled defensively.

I feint high with my right sword, baiting his block—then twist my wrist at the last second, converting it into a sharp thrust toward his shoulder.

Wang vanishes from my direct line of attack. A burst of acceleration sends him pivoting just past my blade, his speed leaving an afterimage in my perception. His free hand flickers toward my wrist, aiming to break my grip.

I switch tactics. Instead of retreating, I commit. My left sword sweeps low, targeting his knee.

He barely sidesteps, shifting his entire body in a blur of motion. But the evasive burst costs him footing.

I drive forward with a shoulder bash, my gauntlet-enhanced force slamming into him just before he stabilizes.

He doesn't resist—he rides the impact, shifting his momentum in midair with a sharp burst of acceleration, landing light on his feet several meters away.

His counter is immediate. Before I can press further, he bursts forward, his sword flashing in a tight, precise arc—fast, controlled, no wasted movement.

I cross both swords, catching the strike between them, and push outward, breaking his momentum. My left blade disengages instantly, reversing into a quick thrust aimed at his ribs.

Wang's reaction is a blur. His entire body twists with an unnatural sharpness, driven purely by sheer speed. His foot plants, his body shifts, and before I can blink, his boot strikes my wrist, just enough to redirect my strike.

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He's fast.

I smile.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

I push forward, my body surging as my gauntlets and leg armor push me forward. I unleash a relentless flurry—left, right, diagonal, a blur of steel cutting through the air.

Wang's blade meets mine in rapid succession, his parries sharp and impossibly fast, deflecting just enough to survive the onslaught.

Every impact rings out in quick succession, his feet adjusting by the millisecond, recalibrating, never lingering in one spot for too long. He's holding, but the pressure is mounting.

Then, suddenly, he stops retreating.

A sharp burst of acceleration roots him in place for an instant—his entire momentum shifting. Instead of falling back, he steps in, threading through the storm of my assault. His sword moves in a blur, catching my right blade with a precise parry, angling my strike off-course with just enough force—

Then he bursts forward, lunging, his blade streaking toward my side with vicious speed.

I react on instinct. My body twists mid-motion, both swords snapping into position to intercept. The clash is brutal—steel grinding against steel, sparks scattering between us. The impact sends a jolt through my arms, but I hold.

The crowd barely breathes.

Wang exhales, his stance tight, his grip steady. But I catch the subtle tension in his shoulders, the slight strain in his frame.

How is he accelerating so quickly? Sure, he's using a 30% Overdrive now, but that shouldn't be nearly enough. Is his body really that efficient of a conductor? More so than even the boss's armament?

His swordsmanship is also very good. I can spot small gaps in it, but it's still better than my dual-swordsmanship—perhaps around 1.1-1.15 SU or something like that.

Alright.

I rush forward this time.

Let's go for the second round.

I press the attack.

This time, Wang is on the defensive.

My swords strike—left, right, high, low—each blow faster than the last, a storm of steel closing in from every angle. His blade moves in rapid, precise deflections, parrying at the very edge of control. Every impact sends a jolt through the air, his stance shifting in micro-adjustments, his speed the only thing keeping him in the fight.

He's fast—blindingly fast—but I can feel it now. The pressure is mounting.

I tighten my footwork, cutting off his escape routes, forcing him into a tighter space. His swordplay is exceptional—clean, efficient—but in a battle of pure offense, I hold the advantage. He's keeping up, barely, but his reactions are stretched thinner with every second.

Then, it happens.

Not a misstep—an adjustment.

Instead of blocking, he lets my momentum carry him, using the force of my attack to propel himself backward. But he doesn't land.

He bursts into the air, his movement clean, fluid—his speed translating into lift as his body hovers midair, weightless, controlled.

The crowd gasps.

I stop, lowering my swords slightly as I watch him suspend himself, floating just above the battlefield.

Then, I grin.

Fighting in the air, huh? Sounds fun.

Slowly, I rise too.

A few murmurs ripple through the onlookers as I ascend with ease, my leg armor propelling me upward.

Wang's eyes narrow.

Then we clash again—this time in the air.

The dynamic shifts. No stable footing, no planted strikes, no leverage. Every movement relies on balance, control, and raw speed.

Steel flashes. Our blades meet in rapid bursts, each exchange calculated. No wasted swings. No reckless power. Just precision.

Wang drifts backward, adjusting effortlessly mid-air. I tilt forward, closing the distance in an instant, pressing with a relentless barrage of tight, controlled slashes.

He twists, angling his blade at impossible speeds, deflecting the attack just enough to spin himself around. A sharp thrust follows.

I parry, twisting my body to let his strike slide past—then slice toward his shoulder.

He shifts back—fast. Too fast. His entire body moves as one, adjusting mid-air as if gravity doesn't exist.

I deflect another thrust aimed at my ribs, but something feels off. My movements feel heavier. Less fluid. Wang flows through the air seamlessly, while I still carry weight.

So that's why he went airborne—his unique condition gives him an advantage over me here.

I calm my breath.

Let's push Overdrive just a bit more, then.

The moment I press on it, the world sharpens. Wang's movements slow, every subtle shift in his stance laid bare before me.

I feel everything.

My heartbeat pounds—faster, stronger. My senses stretch to their limit, my awareness amplifying every detail around me.

I can hear Wang's breathing, steady but slightly heavier than before. The way his blood pulses through his veins with each beat of his heart. The minute adjustments in his muscle fibers as he prepares his next move.

I smile.

Let's see how fast you really are.

I drive forward.

My swords cut through the air—pure instinct, pure momentum. No hesitation. No thoughts. Just speed.

Wang flickers away. Fast. Too fast. But… I am fast too.

He accelerates—straight back, no wasted motion. I close the gap instantly, my gauntlets surging, my body a missile locking onto its target.

I strike.

Wang barely meets my blade, his parry sharp, but the force of my blow sends him reeling through the air. His waves burst, correcting his flight path.

I don't give him a chance.

I'm already on him. A downward cleave—he dodges. My left sword thrusts—he barely deflects. My knee shoots up, slamming into his guard before he can retreat.

He's sent flying, twisting mid-air, stabilizing with another burst.

I chase.

Another clash. Another explosion of force. Sparks scatter as our swords meet—again, again, again. But he's not attacking anymore. He's defending. Barely keeping up.

I slam another strike into his blade, forcing him down. He fights to recover, trying to shift, but I'm already above him.

I see it. The perfect angle. The perfect spot. Everything aligns.

I channel everything—waves surging through my gauntlets and swords—every ounce of force compressed into a single strike. Both blades, a finishing blow.

But—

This is a spar.

A fraction of a second before impact, I wrench control back. My left sword halts, my right carrying through alone. The power drops drastically, yet—

Still—

The moment our blades meet, Wang's body detonates downward. The sheer force overwhelms his guard, his own waves failing to fully redirect the impact.

His form blurs, a streak of motion as he plummets like a meteor. The ground shatters on impact—dust and dirt exploding outward, a crater forming beneath him.

I hover above, the wind howling past as silence grips the onlookers.

Then—

A sharp cough.

From the crater, Wang rises.

His stance wavers—just slightly—but that fierce, unyielding gaze never breaks.

Good.

Then I'll respond in kind.

He said to go all out. Alright.

I push Overdrive. Higher. As high as it can go—just below the point where my body would start to break.

The world collapses into slow motion.

Every detail sharpens. Every sound stretches.

The cheers in the distance—each individual voice, each syllable splitting apart in my mind. The subtle shifts in the crowd. Ayu's eyes widening. Lukas tilting forward, reading the moment.

Wang blinking.

I move.

All my waves burst at once—one extreme pulse, one violent acceleration. The ground craters beneath me as I close the distance in a blink.

At the same time, I channel a precise pulse into his mind—a shock, a disruption, a fraction of a second's hesitation.

Enough.

Before he can react, I am there.

My right sword presses lightly against his throat.

The crowd is still cheering. They haven't even processed what just happened.

But… it's over.

I drop Overdrive. The world snaps back to normal speed.

The cheering stops.

The silence hits.

Wang stands frozen, his breath heavy. His fingers twitch slightly, like his body is still processing the loss.

Then, slowly, he nods. A deep, measured nod. "Thanks."

I lower my swords. "That was a good fight. We should do it more often."

His eyes flicker with something—surprise, then something steadier. He exhales, shoulders relaxing.

"Sure."

The crowd cheers behind us.

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