Chapter 270: Act 37 – Freya’s Swordsmanship (Second Update)
Freya understood that she did not possess exceptional talent. Since arriving at Buche, she had relied on her tenacious character to make up the gap with others. She worked much harder, pouring out sweat in an attempt to close the differences between people.
But things were not as simple as she had imagined.
As time passed, Freya gradually discovered that sometimes the disparity between people could not be bridged merely through effort.
In this academy, there were simply too many capable individuals, and among such a crowd, she felt insignificant. It was like a small firefly under the brilliance of a bright moon; the little pride she had maintained in Buche had completely vanished.
Before her stood an upperclassman knight trainee, a silver-ranked individual, on par with Brensen; in fact, if it weren’t for the restriction of limiting their maximum strength to Black Iron Peak for this competition, and if they were to engage based solely on their understanding of swordsmanship, Freya would have likely already fallen to the ground.
Yet even so, she could feel her hands trembling around the sword.
However, the frowning upperclassman was also carefully circling around her. Freya’s tenacious fighting style had caused him some trouble—since the inception of the annual championship tournament at the Royal Cavalry Academy, there was a rule that drew complaints from everyone—there was no rest between matches; everyone had to pay the price for the excessive stamina they had expended in the previous battles.
It was said that the founder of the academy established this rule to teach students that there would be no “reasonable” rules on the battlefield; they needed to learn to conserve their stamina if they wanted to survive longer in the field.
The Royal Cavalry Academy was founded to produce the finest military talents for this ancient kingdom, and in times of peace, all students who graduated from here were trained as mid-to-high-ranking officers. Even those who graduated with excellent grades were often selected for royal knight orders immediately upon stepping out of the academy.
Thus, there were many who could rise to prominence in one fell swoop.
Like this annual championship tournament, the knight competition used a point system where trainees from different grades competed for points—a cruel single-elimination system. Only the one who stood at the end could earn the title of “Champion Knight,” representing the academy’s highest honor.
After determining the champion knight, the best knights from each grade would also be selected based on points.
Basically, these individuals could already carry the mark of nobility.
It must be said that although this system was not entirely fair, it more accurately reflected the life-and-d*ath struggles on the battlefield. As one of the founding figures of the academy famously stated:
“Luck is not just your strength; it will also be one of your greatest assets.”
This phrase perfectly described Freya at this moment—as a girl with only mid-tier Black Iron strength—of course, this rate of advancement was already quite rare among ordinary people and could be seen as the greatest affirmation of the sweat she had poured out over the past days. But here, it was still far from enough; Freya felt that she had no spare strength to react to her opponent’s movements.
She could only barely keep up with his circling motion, then pray that luck would favor her, or perhaps a miracle would be more fitting.
Her opponent seemed to have noticed this as well, and after carefully confirming that she was not deliberately deceiving him, the upperclassman decisively launched an attack.
His sword came from the most difficult-to-defend right rear side. Freya didn’t think much—perhaps she didn’t have the energy to think. She raised her sword—almost as an instinctive movement, but as if inspired, in the next moment she allowed his blade to pass through the guard of her sword.
A sharp pain shot through her hand; however, her opponent was momentarily taken aback. Without a second thought, Freya twisted her hand back, catching his blade on the guard and pulling it back—seizing the moment he was stunned, she pressed an elbow against his chest.
The upperclassman was sent flying, but when he got back up, Freya’s sword was already pressed against his neck.
“What kind of swordsmanship was that?” The first words out of the upperclassman’s mouth as he got up were to ask, seeing the droplets of red bl**d trickling down the girl’s hand—somewhat glaring.
“…” Freya said nothing.
In fact, she was feeling a bit dazed—just now, that last move had clearly been something she recalled in a moment of urgency, a sword technique Brendel had once used. Back then, she didn’t think much of its intricacy, but now that she recalled it, those moves were indeed very practical.
But she thought that if it were Brendel’s technique, it wouldn’t have caused her own hand to be injured as well.
“I concede.” After a moment of shock, the upperclassman raised his hand. Freya then saw the black-haired, shoulder-length female knight, serving as the judge, walk in, her face as cold as ever as she separated the two and turned to look at her.
“I heard you have been on the battlefield?” Nymesis asked coldly.
However, Freya noticed a glimmer of deep skepticism in the other’s gaze—she rarely saw any excess emotion in those pitch-black eyes, as if this knight wore a cold mask at all times—but at this moment, the mask seemed to waver slightly.
Freya was somewhat puzzled, but she nodded. At the Royal Cavalry Academy, no one dared to confront this senior.
“Was it against the undead of Madara?”
“Yes.”
“Could you demonstrate that swordsmanship again?”
Freya hesitated; she felt like she was about to faint.
But Nymesis had seen through her awkwardness and stopped insisting, saying, “The sword you used just now bore hints of Erluin’s military swordsmanship, which is not the same path as the knight swordsmanship taught in the academy. I heard you used to be a militia?”
Freya nodded again.
“But the swordsmanship of the militia, and that of the defense force, is not this straightforward killing swordsmanship. This resembles true Erluin battle swordsmanship,” the black-haired knight frowned deeply, staring hard at her, “You came from Buche? Do you know anyone in the White Mane Legion?”
Freya was momentarily taken aback; she didn’t understand why her usually caring senior was bombarding her with these strange questions today.
Of course, she shook her head.
However, Freya was no longer that naive girl from Buche who knew nothing; a few months of study had given her quite a bit of insight. She recalled that last strike, and many sword techniques Brendel had used—they all seemed to have a common trait: in simpler terms, they were concise.
An extremely concise swordsmanship, as if no extra moves were needed, purely designed to achieve victory. Freya could imagine the effect of such swordsmanship on the battlefield, no wonder Nymesis referred to it as killing swordsmanship.
She recalled clearly that every move Brendel made in battle was indeed clean and remarkably quick.
But as she snapped back to her senses, she saw Nymesis’ pitch-black eyes staring intently at her. Startled, Freya had never seen this side of her senior, but after some time, the other merely said to her:
“Actually, that isn’t purely Erluin battle swordsmanship.”
Freya was taken aback, her heart skipping a beat—what did that mean?
“Are you hiding something, Freya?”
The girl hurriedly shook her head, her ponytail swinging with the movement.
“Alright then, it’s a modified version of Erluin battle swordsmanship,” Nymesis straightened up, her expression somewhat peculiar, “I’ve seen this kind of swordsmanship before.”
Freya watched as Nymesis turned and walked toward another field after saying that. But a faint pallor began to seep onto her face as she suddenly thought of a possibility—
This woman knows Brendel.
…
“Who is that?”
The half-elf princess turned back and asked, “Who?”
“The girl who won previously,” Margadale looked down at the crowd in the competition arena, “I saw Nymesis talking to her for a long time; she seems like a girl—”
Grifian followed her gaze and suddenly realized.
“That’s Everton’s daughter,” the silver-haired girl sighed, “What a pity, it seems she hasn’t inherited her father’s talent. Though she’s already quite good, among this batch of trainees, she isn’t considered the best. Compared to her father, she falls much shorter.”
“Grifian, that’s because this batch of trainees is exceptionally good.” Although the Sister Princess was not proficient in swordplay, her wisdom and insight compensated for this gap, “That young man named Brensen, and two others, I’ve heard you mention them more than once.”
The silver-haired girl smiled, “Yes, Lady Martha still watches over Erluin.”
She continued, “I plan to select the best individuals from both the upper and lower grades to accompany you to Ampere Seale, Tine; among this batch of trainees, both Lord Olfwell and I believe it’s necessary to cultivate them further, letting them leave here to gain experience; that’s my idea.”
“So you have your sights set on Brensen, Grifian?” Margadale turned to ask, “He is indeed a very composed young man, young people like him are quite rare among the nobility—”
“Not necessarily, Tine,” the silver-haired girl’s eyes sparkled, “I know there’s another one who made me realize that the bl**d of Erluin’s ancestral nobility hasn’t dried up yet, so there’s still hope for this ancient kingdom.”
“You rarely say such praise about someone, Grifian.”
The half-elf princess unusually did not respond to her friend’s words; she was thinking of the young man mentioned by Olfwell, and she had confirmed that he had not come here with Freya—what a mysterious fellow.
She did not know where he was or what he was doing, but she had a vague premonition that this young man would not be content with obscurity; he would soon reappear in everyone’s sight once again.
As for what form he would take?
The silver-haired girl smiled faintly in her heart, casting aside this odd thought.
…(To be continued. For more chapters, please log in and support the author, support legitimate reading!)
