She Is Not a Witch

The winter sun gradually rose to its zenith. After the snow melted, the black soil on the ground was still somewhat damp. The final match was taking place in the center of the arena.

Tocolin wielded his longsword with both hands, ice-blue sword light leaving several afterimages in the air as he struck at his opponent. Unable to dodge in time, Rock could only use his twin swords to parry the blow.

The heavy force transmitted from the blade to his wrists, sparks and a grating sound erupting where the blades met. Tocolin didn’t withdraw his sword, but continued to press forward, strength being his forte.

The tilted blade was only two inches from Rock’s forehead. Wielding two swords didn’t allow for as much force as one, and as Tocolin advanced, Rock could only retreat step by step.

This couldn’t go on. Rock pivoted, bringing his swords to the right while withdrawing one to slash at his opponent’s wrist.

Seeing this, Tocolin still didn’t withdraw his sword to dodge, but instead slashed diagonally upward from the lower right, trading injury for victory.

Rock nimbly rolled to the left, his sword only managing to leave a shallow wound on his opponent’s wrist. Blood began to flow from the wound, staining the cloth wrapped around the sword hilt. Seeing Rock roll to the side, Tocolin didn’t pursue, but instead pulled back to prepare for the next exchange. Rock was agile, and close combat with him wasn’t a wise choice.

He raised his longsword high again, ice-blue light flowing along the blade. A cold wind followed the sword as it swung towards Rock, making him feel as if his blood was freezing, his body stiffening. Before he could circulate his magic to counter this negative effect, Tocolin charged in again.

Clang——

One sword flew into the air with a clear ringing sound. Rock drew the dagger from his boot and rushed straight into Tocolin’s embrace. The dagger flashed with magical light; though not sharpened, it still carried considerable lethality.

Tocolin stomped heavily on the ground, sharp ice spikes protruding upwards, piercing through Rock’s shoes. The ice shards shattered, but many still stabbed into his foot. A bone-chilling cold and pain spread from below, causing him to momentarily slow. Tocolin pulled back again, his sword light sweeping horizontally.

Damn, does this guy have no weaknesses? Rock twisted his body, picking up the fallen thin sword. He crossed the two blades and charged in again.

With his foot injured, Rock had lost his previous agility and couldn’t fight for long. He could only end this quickly. Crimson magical power began to spread along his blade, the blood vessels on his body bulging, wisps of white steam rising in the winter air.

Scarlet sword shadows clashed rapidly with ice-blue ones in the air, sparks flying everywhere, occasionally accompanied by falling ice shards that quickly melted. With the intense collisions, the already thin sword began to show cracks, finally shattering with a bang. Rock gripped his remaining sword tightly, continuing to twist and strike.

Tocolin raised his sword horizontally, ice-blue light flowing, cold wind reversing to create a suction force that momentarily slowed Rock’s movement. Then he swung down with all his might.

This move again? Rock was surprised but had no time to think. Just as in his previous duel with Isaiah, he quickly closed in. In a flash, the thin sword shattered, and a dagger was held against Tocolin’s collar. A slight cut appeared on his opponent’s neck, thin streams of blood beginning to flow down.

“Rock wins, the final match is over!” the referee shouted, quickly stopping the fight and calling for someone to attend to Tocolin. After all, he was once a viscount’s son and a genius; he couldn’t be allowed to die here carelessly.

After a moment of silence, Tocolin slowly lowered his sword, his eyes burning as he stared at Rock, as if to memorize this opponent.

Sorry, I took a bit of an advantage, but I won’t concede because of that and give up my qualification, Rock thought silently, meeting his gaze without flinching.

The Eick City Academy competition finally concluded with an extremely exciting final match. When the fight ended, Rock finally noticed the enthusiastic cheers from the crowd. Some spectators exclaimed that it was well worth the trip.

“Rock!”

“Rock!”

“Rock!”

“Rock!”

A group of students surrounded him, lifting this rising star high into the air. All around were cheers and celebrations. Although Rock usually didn’t care about others’ opinions, the taste of victory was still so sweet. It made his heart expand, like dark clouds that had been suppressed for too long finally parting to reveal the beautiful sun and future.

Emenas, a name of glory and heroes, the aspiration of countless people, would now open its doors to him.

In stark contrast to the jubilant cheers nearby was another silent youth. Tocolin, covering the wound on his wrist, slowly walked into a dark passageway, quietly leaving this lively scene that had nothing to do with him.

An old, dilapidated carriage waited outside. Its decorations had faded, many peeling off. Tocolin boarded the carriage without a word.

“Young Master, is your wrist alright?” the elderly coachman asked with concern.

“Mm, it’s nothing serious. Let’s go, Uncle Fitch.”

“Very well.” The old coachman didn’t inquire further, knowing his young master’s temperament. Since the master’s death, he had become increasingly cold and stubborn.

I failed this time, but I’m still young. I’ll definitely come back next year. Just wait, Rock, I’ll defeat you again, just like I’ve done countless times before. This time was just your luck. Tocolin watched the arena through the carriage window until it slowly disappeared from view.

⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱

In the training forest behind the Belis family’s house.

“So, this is why you had me spar with you for a month?”

Rock’s foot was wrapped in bandages. Though not visible through his shoe, it still occasionally throbbed with pain.

“That’s right. I used to train with Tocolin under a master from the Wind-Swaying Sword School. He learned this move very quickly and liked it a lot. There was no reason he wouldn’t use it in battle. I just wanted you to familiarize yourself with it beforehand.”

Isaiah replied matter-of-factly.

“But that’s not fair,” Rock answered.

“Fair? What is fair? There’s never been perfect fairness, Rock,” Isaiah replied with rare seriousness.

“Your father is the captain of the guard. You’ve had access to swords since childhood, never worried about food or clothing, had good nutrition, started with a teacher’s guidance, and had ample practice time.”

“But children from poor families don’t have these conditions. Many of them never touch a real sword in their entire lives. Not only do they have no teachers, but they often have to help with household chores, leaving no time for practice.”

“It’s not fair when you win against them either. Why should you get the qualification? What kind of result are you seeking that would be truly fair?”

“I admit my talent isn’t as good as yours, but I have a good sister and a better birth. I don’t reject these things, but rather make good use of the conditions I have.”

“I don’t believe it was purely diligence that made me who I am. There are more complex reasons behind it, but should I be ashamed? No.”

“I will live well, and I will strive to make those around me live better. I want to become a hero, to illuminate everyone around me.”

“Not obsess over your narrow concept of fairness.”