Chapter 56: The Swordsmanship Tournament 2: Grand Finals

“Let us begin our next and final match; Prince Sion, Prince Abel, please step into the arena.”

The two princes slowly made their way into the dueling area. A large number of students had gathered to watch the match. As the crown prince of a great kingdom who was widely known to be a prodigy with the sword, Sion naturally attracted a lot of attention. Abel, however, was no slouch. As a first-year student, his relentless streak of victories made him rather magnetic as well.

Geez, who’d have thought it’d end up like this. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to become the center of so much attention.

With a wry smile, Abel bowed to Sion. Then, he raised his unsheathed sword high above his head. It was the first stance of the style of swordsmanship passed down through the Remno royalty. In contrast to Abel’s extremely aggressive stance, Sion held his sword loosely in a low one, the point far below his waist.

Sion’s swordplay reflected his genius. Through masterful use of deflections and parries, he would wear his opponent down, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His style was one of counterattacks; his sword stung through the riposte. Each strike was fatal, as he attacked only when his opponent was completely vulnerable. With their weapon parried and their balance lost, they had no way of avoiding the single, match-ending stroke of his sword. It was a style that was impossible for all but the most brilliant of swordsmen, as it demanded absolute confidence in one’s ability to withstand every form of attack the opponent might thrust at you. It was, therefore, impossible for Abel.

Abel Remno was an ordinary person. He’d been aware of his mediocrity from the day he was born, but it had been a vague recognition. That all changed one day when he’d crossed swords with Sion. The experience taught him many things: that geniuses existed, that some were just born better, and that it was a gap he’d never close. He’d seen it first-hand — felt it through his sword — and he knew himself to be inferior. It was the day he accepted his mediocrity in full.

And so, he gave up. It seemed to him the sensible choice. Some people just had more talent. He could try all he wanted, but he’d never catch up. Therefore, he’d stopped trying. It was a perfectly rational decision.

Then he came to Saint-Noel Academy, met Mia... and something changed. A raw desire began to grow within him. He didn’t want to lose to Sion. He wanted to win, and by winning, show that Mia was right to believe in him.

Alas, reality was cruel. The cleft between their talent was as deep as ever, and it swallowed his desire whole. Had his opponent grown indulgent in his genius and stopped putting in effort, he might yet win through diligence and hard work. Unfortunately, Sion was no such slouch. Though he was born with a gift, he never rested on his laurels. Abel practiced, but so did Sion. Faced with a prodigy who put in as much work as the everyman, no amount of improvement would ever be enough. The gap would only get bigger...

A normal approach would never work. Therefore, Abel threw away what was normal. In hindsight, it was simple. If he’d never be a better swordsman, he just needed to be a better something else. He had to pare his training. Narrow his focus. Throw away defense... Throw away feints... Throw away spins... Throw away thrusts...

He focused every ounce of his efforts on one single thing. He raised his sword, and he swung it down. He repeated it. Then he did it again, faster. And faster. He devoted all his time to honing the motion. Ever since the night of the dance party, he’d done nothing else. Day after day, he poured his heart and soul into practicing that one swing. And now, after all the sweat and fatigue and pain, it was time.

He swung.

Today, he would conquer genius.

Today, he would slay a god!