Chapter Thirty-Three: Allen vs. Paul—This Is the Silent Blade!

Alan’s pupils constricted. His blade, caught in a motion he could not pivot away from, was already too late to intercept Paul’s sword. He thrust his palm forward, exposing a segment of the sword hilt, and prepared to use the Water God Style’s "Flow" secret technique to neutralize Paul’s strike.

"No! This won't lead to any improvement!"

Alan aborted the Flow technique he had already prepared, and a split second later, Paul’s blade struck the end of his hilt. The force, infused with battle aura, sent him flying. He struggled to adjust his posture and plant his feet, but even so, lacking the inertia-dampening mechanics of the Water God Style, he plowed a half-meter furrow into the ground.

Yet, the moment he steadied himself, he abruptly channeled his battle aura, using the recoil force to lunge fiercely at Paul!

With a sharp *clang*, the two blades met and began to grind against each other just centimeters apart.

Paul kept his sword held against his own neck, looking at Alan—who was instinctively glancing at his lower stance—and shouted a reprimand.

"Focusing only on my neck and striking—that move is starting to look like something! But where are you looking now?"

Alan gritted his teeth and twisted his blade. The sword light left a lingering trail in the air as he struck toward the other side of Paul’s neck. But at that moment, Paul’s sword was already centimeters from Alan’s throat.

"No! His Sword God Style is faster!"

Alan shifted his feet, twisted his body to slip past Paul’s flank, and while avoiding the blade, swung his sword toward Paul’s ribs. Yet, Paul’s sword once again struck first, accurately meeting Alan’s blade and knocking it away from his body.

Alan backed off to create distance, intending to charge again, but Paul held up a hand to stop him. The playful grin that usually graced Paul’s face vanished, and he looked at Alan with a solemn expression.

"Alan, adjust your breathing. Clear your mind."

He then pointed a finger to a spot one finger-width in front of his own neck.

"Keep your gaze only there. Cast aside thoughts of follow-up techniques; leave only the sensation of the strike itself."

"Then, strike. It’s as simple as that."

Paul narrowed his eyes. "I’ll count to three. Strike immediately. Do you understand?"

Alan took a deep breath, instantly regaining his composure. He looked at Paul with grave focus, nodded, and then closed his eyes.

He whispered to his inner self: *"...Faster than thought..."*

Alan opened his eyes and stared at Paul’s neck.

"Understood."

Paul watched Alan’s stance, licking his lips with growing interest.

"One!"

Alan sank into a crouch, gripping his sword with both hands.

"Two."

He held his blade at his side, extending it diagonally behind him in a sweeping posture. He fixed his gaze on the point one finger-width in front of Paul’s neck, gathering his spirit and quieting his breath.

"Thr—"

As the friction of Paul’s tongue hitting his palate created the sound of the count, Alan’s pupils shrank to pinpricks!

In that instant, the light and shadows of the courtyard rapidly receded, coalescing into wisps of mist. The trajectory of the floating leaves vanished into the haze, the sound of the wind retreated into the void, and Paul’s burning gaze dissolved into dust.

And so.

Threads of smoke dissipated into a tranquil darkness. The only light remained fixed upon Paul’s neck.

Then, ripples stirred the darkness—the tremors of Paul’s voice.

At the same time, Alan heard his own heart.

It felt distant...

*“...I see it...”*

But it was clear enough!

*“I cut it down!!”*

The next moment, the environment broke free from the darkness. The world was drenched in vibrant color once more, and startled gasps from Zenith and Lilia erupted from the second floor.

Alan blinked. The light in the darkness felt like a dream, an illusion, a moment of bewilderment between heartbeats—a groundless hallucination.

He stared blankly, subconsciously looking back at the point one finger-width in front of Paul’s neck.

A sword hung there, vibrating incessantly, as clear as if it were right before his eyes.

No, not "as if."

The sword was right there.

Alan followed the blade down to his own hand, which was tightly gripping the hilt.

It was no illusion.

He looked at Paul in astonishment. Paul broke into a brilliant smile, reached out a finger to flick the thin blade tip away, and pulled Alan into a hug, landing a heavy punch on his chest.

"Excellent! Excellent! That is the Sword God Style! Remember this feeling! This is the feeling of the 'strike'! This is the Silent Blade!"

Just then, Sylphiette’s hesitant voice drifted from the courtyard gate.

"Um, Rudy is ready. Alan, shall we go?"

Alan turned toward the sound. Sylphiette was staring at him, blinking incessantly. The wind blew through her green hair, which had grown longer than it was two months ago, now falling to her chin. Her expression was no longer as timid or bashful as it had been; she simply watched Alan quietly, her reddish-brown eyes filled with inquiry.

Alan blinked, then felt a force from behind. Paul pushed him, causing him to stumble. He steadied himself and looked back. Paul was laughing, rubbing his neck with his hand.

"Go on! Be careful, really, be careful! Don't put your blade as close as you did just now when you're actually sparring. Rudy’s body doesn’t have the reinforcement of battle aura."

Alan turned and nodded. "Right! I know! We agreed that getting within one meter counts as my win."

A sigh of relief came from upstairs—Zenith’s, a bit too audible. Alan looked up at her and waved his sword. "Don't worry, my lady! I'll sheath the blade once I’m within a meter! I won't hurt him. You should be more worried about me getting blown away by one of his fireballs!"

Zenith covered her mouth and giggled, waving goodbye. Alan waved back, nodded at Paul with a smile, and turned to leave the courtyard with Sylphiette.

Once Alan was out of sight, Paul’s expression suddenly soured. He lowered the hand he had been using to touch his neck, revealing a thin red mark where a few beads of blood were beginning to surface.

*‘Such strong battle aura quality... it nearly broke through my own aura... is this really the state of a nine-year-old child? And to grasp the trick of the Silent Blade so quickly...’*

He watched Alan in the distance, patting Sylphiette’s head as she walked with a slightly stiff back. A sincere smile returned to his face.

*‘Philip, you truly sired an incredible genius... I wonder when you two will be able to recognize each other?’*

—

By the time Alan reached the hillside that served as their usual training ground, Rudy was standing at the bottom, arms crossed, watching him with a glimmer of confidence in his eyes, even though the grass already reached his waist.

Alan smiled at the sight. "Ready?"

"I’m going to surprise you this time."

Alan turned to Sylphiette. "Wait for us up on the hill."

Sylphiette blinked, looking hesitant, then glanced at Rudy. "Um... please be careful, don't go too far."

Alan was slightly surprised. The implication in Sylphiette’s words was that Rudy held the advantage, which piqued his curiosity.

Once Sylphiette had climbed the hill and leaned against a tree, Rudy and Alan stood one hundred meters apart. Seeing that both were in position, Sylphiette nodded. Her soft voice was carried down the slope by the breeze.

"Begin!"