Ludger stepped into the center of the training yard and pulled up the sleeves of his shirt. The reinforced forearm guards, thin, dense, and tightly bound to his skin, caught the morning light. He never removed them. Too many surprise attacks in too many situations had taught him the value of always having at least one piece of armor hidden on his body.

He tightened the straps with slow, deliberate motions while Renvar stood opposite him, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck like he was preparing for a formal duel instead of a public humiliation.

Then Renvar drew his sword. The metal hissed against the sheath, revealing a long, gently curved blade. It wasn’t a katana, too thick, too heavy, too aggressive in its taper. It resembled a talwar, but stretched to a size that made it straddle the line between elegance and brutality. A strange hybrid for someone Renvar’s age.

Renvar twirled it once in a flashy, unnecessary arc before turning the edge inward, presenting the flat toward Ludger. He clearly didn’t want to risk cutting Ludger’s arm off, even though he was probably overestimating his own chances.

“Fighting like that will be hard,” Ludger said, adjusting his posture.

Renvar grinned, confidence leaking from every pore. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to slash you too much..”

Ludger stared at him.

Renvar cleared his throat. “And, uh… I’d rather not risk accidentally killing my future vice guildmaster at the start.”

Ludger sighed. “That’s not something you’ll need to worry about.”

From the stone wall overlooking the training yard, a familiar voice cut in.

“That’s because he’s not taking you seriously yet,” Kaela said, legs crossed, chin in her hand as she watched like a bored queen on a perch. Her tone was equal parts taunting and amused. “If you want him to fight properly, you’ll have to show actual skill first, idiot.”

Renvar looked offended. “I have skill!”

Kaela ignored him completely and addressed Ludger instead.

“This’ll be good for both of you. He gets humbled, and you get something to hit that won’t cry.”

Renvar sputtered. “HEY—!”

Ludger rolled his shoulders once, letting mana hum faintly beneath his skin. The ground under his feet tightened in response, already attuned to his presence. He raised one hand and beckoned Renvar forward with a small, calm gesture.

“Ready when you are.”

Renvar shifted into stance, blade angled, eyes narrowing as excitement and stupidity blended into one reckless spark. And around them, the guild’s members and the morning students gathered like spectators at a festival, whispering behind their hands.

Everyone knew what was coming. Everyone knew how this would end. Especially Ludger.

Kaela didn’t bother standing up. She simply lifted her hand from where she lounged on the wall, crossing one leg over the other like an empress presiding over a gladiator match. Her voice carried effortlessly across the yard.

“Duel starts now! Try not to get your teeth kicked in, Renvar.”

Renvar inhaled sharply, part bravado, part nerves, and shot forward with a burst of speed. His first strike came in low and horizontal, aiming for Ludger’s side. The motion was crisp enough to show training, but the swing lacked real weight, real intent. It was the kind of attack someone used to feel out an opponent, not cut them down.

Ludger didn’t step away or dodge. He simply raised his left arm and let the long curved blade smash against his forearm guard.

Sparks flared briefly as metal scraped against enchanted alloy. The impact echoed through the yard, but Ludger didn’t budge, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. His stance remained solid, rooted in the ground like a carved statue.

Renvar stumbled back a step, startled. But instead of freezing, he shook off the surprise and circled around Ludger with restless footwork, good footwork, but jittery, like he wasn’t fully sure what he wanted to do next.

Then the real show began.

Renvar darted in with a sharp overhead slash, leaping into the air. Ludger raised a wrist and redirected the blade with a small twist. Renvar used the momentum to flip sideways, turning midair to snap a kick toward Ludger’s shoulder. Ludger leaned just enough to let the heel pass by his ear. Renvar landed, spun into a backflip, and dropped smoothly into a perfect stance, sword angled precisely, chest steady, posture showing off more than it protected.

The onlookers murmured. Even a few recruits blinked, impressed by the acrobatics. But Ludger squinted, studying the movements with a critical eye. Renvar’s style was strange.

It wasn’t a soldier’s disciplined sword form. It wasn’t a mercenary’s pragmatic brutality. It wasn’t a northerner’s rigid power or a duelist’s sharp precision.

It was something else entirely, an unpredictable, flashy hybrid of swordplay and acrobatics. Graceful, fluid, almost theatrical. Like street performance turned into combat. He moved like he wanted people to watch him. Like the flourish mattered more than the outcome.

It made for a pretty spectacle.But pretty didn’t win fights. Ludger stepped forward slowly, expression unreadable.

“Flashy,” he said, voice even.

Renvar raised his blade, shoulders tensing.

“And completely useless,” Ludger finished, tone flat as stone.

Renvar’s grip faltered. The confident grin he’d been wearing cracked for the first time, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Kaela chuckled from the wall, already sensing blood in the water. Ludger exhaled once, grounding his mana. It was time to show Renvar, and every kid watching, what actual combat looked like.

Ludger didn’t give Renvar time to recover from the verbal hit. He stepped once, the ground cracking faintly beneath his heel and then he moved.

A blur of motion, sharp and controlled, like the wind had decided to take on human form. In the blink of an eye, Ludger closed the distance and launched a straight punch at Renvar’s guard, forcing him to raise his blade in a desperate block. The impact rang out like a bell.

Renvar winced, arms trembling from the force, but he didn’t freeze. He pushed off the ground and twisted backward, flipping cleanly onto his feet again. His acrobatics weren’t just for show; he used them to reposition, redirecting momentum so that Ludger’s strike threw him backward instead of breaking through his defense.

Ludger didn’t slow. He pressed forward with a second, third, fourth punch, each one sharper and heavier than the last. Renvar barely managed to get his sword or arms up in time. Every block forced him back. Every dodge turned into a stumble. Every impact echoed through his bones.

But Renvar wasn’t entirely helpless. He adapted.

Each time Ludger’s fist connected with his blade or guard, Renvar used that force like a springboard, letting it push him into a slide, or a flip, or a jump that carried him just outside Ludger’s follow-up angle. He wasn’t blocking the hits. He was redirecting them, dispersing the force through motion rather than brute strength.

It was clever. Chaotic, but clever. The spectators murmured, watching Renvar tumble, pivot, and launch himself away from Ludger’s fists with impressive intuition. Ludger closed the distance again, stepping into Renvar’s blind spot to finally pin him down, only for Renvar to twist midair and land on a training post like a cat, breathing hard but still upright.

He wasn’t winning. But he wasn’t collapsing either. Interesting. Just as Ludger moved in to push harder, really harder, he abruptly halted, stepping back with a measured calm that contrasted sharply with the explosive burst of speed from moments ago.

Renvar blinked, confused, panting as sweat rolled from his brow. “Why’d—why’d you stop?”

Ludger didn’t answer him immediately. He turned to the watching kids and recruits, who stared wide-eyed, some gripping their practice staves so hard their knuckles whitened.

“This,” Ludger said, voice steady and projecting, “is what happens when you use your head instead of just swinging harder.”

He pointed at Renvar.

“He can’t overpower me. He can’t match me in speed or strength. But he can redirect attacks, redistribute momentum, and avoid taking hits directly.”

Renvar blinked, surprised at the unexpected compliment.

“It’s not a perfect technique,” Ludger added bluntly, “but it’s clever. It keeps him alive.”

The kids leaned in, absorbing every word. Ludger stepped back into stance, his gaze settling on Renvar again, now less like he was fighting an annoyance, and more like he was demonstrating something deliberately.

“So pay attention,” Ludger said, raising his hands.

“Strategy,” he continued, “keeps you breathing.”

Renvar swallowed, straightened his blade, and grinned despite the sweat.

“Round two?” he asked, breathless but excited.

Ludger nodded once.

“Try not to die.”

Renvar stood still for a moment, breathing hard, sweat glistening on his forehead. The swagger faded from his expression, not gone, but sharpened into something more serious. His jaw tightened. His grip firmed. His posture straightened. And then he did something that made the entire yard quiet with sudden anticipation. He flipped his sword.

The curved blade, previously turned inward for safety, rotated outward, the sharpened edge now pointed squarely toward Ludger. It was a small adjustment, but the intention behind it shifted entirely. Renvar wasn’t playing anymore. He was finally acknowledging this wasn’t a spar meant to impress the kids. It was a duel where he wanted to land real blows. But that wasn’t even the real surprise.

Ludger felt it before he saw it, the subtle ripple of mana under Renvar’s skin, the way his breath hitched and then steadied, the faint whistle of air that wasn’t caused by wind at all. Renvar’s mana stirred, flowed upward through his legs, coiling around his waist, and gathering like a storm behind his shoulders. Then it snapped into motion, threaded through his limbs in a controlled, spiraling rhythm.

Overdrive. And not just any Overdrive, an elementally aligned one. Wind.

Ludger shifted his stance, watching the mana move with an analytical calm. “So that’s where all the confidence comes from,” he muttered to himself. “You weren’t just showing off. You’re actually controlling it.”

Renvar grinned, the real one this time, excited, reckless, and absolutely sincere. “Round two,” he said, voice low and steady. “For real now.”

And then he vanished. There was no dramatic explosion, no dust cloud, no thunderous step. He simply moved, breaking the distance with a burst that carried him like a gust sliding across the ground. His sword came down in a clean arc aimed for Ludger’s shoulder, faster than anything he’d shown before. Ludger barely had time to raise his forearm guard.

The impact rang through the courtyard, steel screaming against metal, wind-enhanced force crashing against enchanted bracers. This time, Renvar didn’t get pushed back. The mana swirling along his limbs cushioned the recoil, let it bleed off through his stance, and turned what should have been a stagger into a pivot.

Renvar twisted, redirected the momentum, and brought his blade around in a tight follow-up sweep. Ludger stepped aside, intercepting the slash with the back of his wrist guard and immediately lunged for Renvar’s exposed hand.

But Renvar wasn’t there. A burst of wind launched him backward, fluid, effortless, almost graceful. He touched down lightly, boots skidding across the dirt, then immediately pushed forward again. His movements were tighter now. More deliberate. Less showy. His acrobatics blended naturally with the elemental mobility, and suddenly everything clicked for Ludger.

The messy flips. The momentum tricks. The unpredictable footwork. The way he redirected force rather than tanking it. It was all part of the same instinct.

Renvar had been building a fighting style around his affinity long before he even had the skill or knowledge to refine it. His entire approach was makeshift, chaotic, awkward in places, but rooted in genuine talent. He’d been teaching himself to fight the way his mana wanted to move.

Ludger tracked him with sharp, narrowing eyes. This kind of instinct couldn’t be faked. It couldn’t be taught easily either. It reminded him of someone. Arslan. The young Arslan, the one who picked fights with anyone breathing, who challenged stronger warriors out of sheer stubbornness, who threw himself into danger because he trusted something deep inside him would adapt in his youth.

Renvar wasn’t Arslan’s equal, but the echoes were there.

Renvar darted in again, blade slicing from multiple angles, each strike fast enough to make recruits gasp. Ludger blocked them all, but he had to shift his feet, adjusting his center of gravity. Renvar wasn’t hitting harder, he was hitting smarter. Using Overdrive to manipulate distance, weight, and direction, trying to force Ludger to react instead of control the pace.

When Renvar finally pulled back with a sliding retreat, he was breathing hard, sweat soaking his collar, chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. But his grin was wide and alive.

“You keeping up?” Renvar asked between breaths.

Ludger loosened his shoulders, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Your Overdrive’s responding well,” he said. “You really have been training it.”

Renvar straightened slightly, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Since I was ten,” he replied. “A lot of falling on my face.”

“I can tell,” Ludger said dryly.

But inside, he was genuinely impressed. Renvar wasn’t just loud and reckless. He had talent, real talent. And Ludger was still going to put him into the ground.

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