The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family

The sun was just cresting the fortress walls when Klaus roused Team 55 for their final preparations. Outside, a faint chill lingered in the early morning air, but nobody complained; nerves and adrenaline warmed them from within. Today was the day they'd spar against Team 19—a squad with a reputation for blistering speed and coordinated aura strikes.

Klaus stood at the front of the barracks, scanning the faces of the eight who would represent Team 55. Juron, the broad-shouldered swordsman, looked resolute. Alexandra Lionhart, as always, bore a calm poise tinged with fierce determination. Then there was the lean swordsman, plus five more who had steadily improved under Klaus's drills. The rest of the squad hovered around, offering encouragement or simply trying to manage their own anticipation.

"All right," Klaus began quietly. "We've practiced synergy, scenario adaptability, and quick re-formation. Team 19 is known to be fast and aggressive. They'll likely try to break our lines early. Let's use the pivot tactics we worked on."

Juron huffed softly. "They won't catch us by surprise if we stick together."

Alexandra nodded. "Agreed. Just remember to call out flanks."

A subdued chorus of agreement rippled through them. Outside the windows, the fortress was stirring—other squads making their own rounds, squads finishing morning drills, and a few curious onlookers heading toward the northern field where the match would take place.

Klaus's gaze flickered between them. "We only get three rounds. Best of three wins. If we lose, we don't drop in rank automatically, but it'll hamper our reputation. If we win, we might climb. Either way, fight with focus, not fear. Understood?"

A confident "Yes, sir" rose in unison—a sign of how far they'd come from the initial skepticism.

* * *

By late morning, a decent crowd had gathered on the northern training field. Word had spread that Team 55 was meeting Team 19, and White Lion members loved a good competition. Klaus noticed pockets of other squads lingering around the perimeter—some curious, some possibly scouting. He imagined rumors already swirling: Can the emperor's youngest grandson really elevate a once-flailing squad?

In the center, an officer stood with a parchment listing rules and rosters. He glanced at Klaus as Team 55 approached. "You're on time. Team 19 arrived earlier. They're warming up on the east side."

Klaus offered a polite nod. "Understood." He waved his group forward, guiding them to their assigned half of the field. A broad swath of packed dirt about a hundred feet wide stretched between them and Team 19, who indeed were practicing brief aura surges and swift footwork combos. The opposing squad radiated confidence; even from this distance, Klaus could sense their synergy.

Captain Kalix wasn't present—likely busy elsewhere—but two lieutenants took positions on raised platforms to referee. Klaus recognized neither, but that didn't matter. They'd ensure no lethal force was used and that basic rules were respected.

He turned to Team 55. "Form our starting formation. We'll see if they do a head-on rush."

Juron and Alexandra anchored the center, the lean swordsman on the right, and three more on the left flank, while two stood slightly behind, providing support. Klaus himself took a spot near the middle. Though he was the best fighter among them, he'd focus on coordinating rather than overshadowing.

One of the lieutenants raised a hand. "Teams, ready?"

A hush fell. Team 19 assembled in a V-shaped wedge, each member brimming with aura. Their leader, a tall woman with a short spear crackling with green energy, nodded sharply.

"Begin!"

Team 19 exploded into motion. Klaus instantly saw how they'd earned their speed-based reputation: three fighters lunged forward with aura-laced blades, while two soared around the flanks in wide arcs, each footstep disturbingly swift. Their formation aimed to overload Team 55's center quickly.

"Hold!" Klaus barked. He and Alexandra braced at the center, crossing swords with the lead attackers in a flurry of sparks. The aura surges rattled their blades, sending vibrations up their arms. But they held firm—thanks to days of synergy training, nobody panicked at the sudden force.

Juron, on the left, matched blows with another attacker who angled in from the flank. The big man's stance was more stable than ever, not budging even when hammered by consecutive aura strikes. The lean swordsman, on the right, managed to intercept the second flanker, preventing a quick wrap-around.

Still, Team 19's pressure was immense. They moved in short, coordinated bursts that threatened to push into Team 55's backline. Klaus caught an attacker's blade with a deft parry, scanning quickly for the next threat. He saw that the center was holding, but the left flank wobbled under intense assault.

"Left shift!" he shouted.

Immediately, two from the backline moved left, supporting Juron. The synergy clicked. They repelled the flanker, halting her momentum and forcing her back. Meanwhile, Alexandra launched a precise counter-lunge at the central spear-wielder, forcing them to retreat lest they get skewered.

It became a tug-of-war of aura bursts and defensive pivots. Team 19 advanced, retreated, then advanced again. Team 55 refused to yield, maintaining a flexible perimeter. After a grueling minute of back-and-forth, a tall attacker overextended, thrusting deep into the line. The lean swordsman seized that slip, delivering a decisive strike to the man's torso—controlled but strong enough to incapacitate him for the rest of the round.

The loss of one attacker destabilized Team 19's wedge. Sensing advantage, Alexandra pushed forward with Juron, corralling a second attacker into a compromised position. Within seconds, the battered foe conceded. Now outnumbered and flustered, the rest of Team 19 regrouped, but Team 55 systematically boxed them in.

The round ended when the spear-wielder, battered and panting, signaled surrender. A lieutenant raised his arm. "Round One goes to Team 55!"

Cheers rippled around the field. Members of Team 55 exchanged triumphant glances, though they were breathing heavily. Klaus merely nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. He recognized that Team 19 wouldn't make the same mistakes twice.

* * *

They took a brief pause for water. Onlookers murmured with excitement. Some squads who'd expected Team 55 to buckle in the face of Team 19's aggression now leaned in, intrigued. Klaus overheard a snippet: They're actually in sync—didn't expect that from them…

Team 19's leader, the short-spear wielder, huddled with her squad, likely revising tactics. The tension in her posture hinted at frustration. They knew if Team 55 snatched another round, it was over. Klaus turned to his own group, speaking quickly.

"They rely on aura bursts to stagger us. Stay calm under the second wave. They might shift tactics—maybe isolate one of us or force a chase."

Juron nodded. "We keep formations fluid."

"Exactly."

Round Two

"Begin!" called the lieutenant.

This time, Team 19 approached more cautiously. Rather than a wedge, they spread out, forming a half-circle that threatened multiple angles simultaneously. Klaus recognized the maneuver: They want to pull our formation apart, forcing us to chase or to watch flanks. He signaled Team 55 to hold a tight center rather than fan out.

Attacks came from three sides. Klaus and Alexandra covered the front, the lean swordsman and two others guarded left, and Juron with one partner took right. Team 19 tested them with feints—some faint surges of aura that never fully manifested, trying to bait defenders into lunging. Meanwhile, an attacker hovered at the rear, observing for any gap.

Klaus felt the pressure build. Team 19 was controlling the tempo, not engaging too deeply, instead edging around. Then, suddenly, they collapsed inward, launching aura-laden strikes in unison. The field erupted in a swirl of clashing steel and shimmering energy.

The blow to Team 55's center was brutal—Klaus barely managed to parry a thrust that crackled with enough force to numb his arm. Alexandra intercepted another blow, forced to backpedal to avoid a follow-up slash. Juron's side wavered under a barrage of swift combos. The synergy that had held so well in Round One began to fray.

"Pivot left!" Klaus shouted, but the command came too late. One attacker slipped behind the line, striking one of Team 55's fighters from the side. That comrade staggered, forced to yield. Now down one, Team 55 was outnumbered momentarily. Sensing blood, Team 19 pressed the advantage—another of Klaus's defenders took a pummeling aura burst, dropping to a knee.

In seconds, the tide turned. Klaus and Alexandra found themselves isolated in the center, two allies pinned or forced back. Grimly, Klaus tried to rally them, but the dynamic assault splintered their formation. The short-spear leader hammered a final push, using a concentrated aura surge that forced Klaus off-balance. Alexandra managed one desperate counter, but it wasn't enough to offset the swarm.

Team 55 conceded the second round.
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Cheers erupted from Team 19's supporters. Klaus exhaled sharply, chest heaving. Alexandra leaned on her rapier, frustration flickering in her eyes. Juron muttered a soft curse, shaking sweat from his hair.

* * *

No time for extended breaks. The lieutenants allowed a brief water sip. Then they signaled the final, decisive round. Each team had one victory apiece. The atmosphere was electric—observers crowded closer, eager to see which squad would triumph.

Klaus addressed Team 55 in hushed urgency. "They changed tactics. We lost formation control. This time, we maintain a mid-range stance—don't cluster too tightly, but don't spread out so far that we can't assist each other. Watch for flanks, and do not chase if they feint."

His teammates nodded. The tension in their posture was palpable.

Team 19 lined up, the short-spear leader conferring with her crew. Then, with a curt nod, they moved in. They tried a variation of their second-round approach—encircling with small aura surges. Klaus kept his defenders in a wide oval, ensuring that no single side was left vulnerable.

The clash began more methodically. Blows exchanged in short bursts, neither side fully committing. Klaus saw the attackers attempt to isolate one of his rearguards, but Juron and Alexandra swiftly shifted to cover. A frustrated attacker retreated, cursing under his breath.

Suddenly, one attacker feigned a misstep, luring a Team 55 defender out of position. Klaus realized the trap in time, shouting "Wait!" but the eager defender lunged, only to be ambushed by a second attacker. Alexandra darted in, saving him from a crippling strike. The synergy held, albeit barely.

The short-spear leader cursed, apparently expecting an easier isolation. Sensing the stalemate, she orchestrated a mass aura surge—her entire squad braced, channeling green energy around their weapons. Then they lunged in unison, hitting Team 55's line with punishing force.

Team 55 reeled. Klaus's sword arm trembled under the impact. The lean swordsman staggered back, teeth clenched. Another fighter let out a cry as he was knocked down. For a split second, Team 19 looked poised to overwhelm them again.

Yet Klaus had been waiting for exactly that big push. He gave the pre-arranged signal—a single sharp whistle—and Team 55 pivoted. Alexandra and Juron angled their defense to absorb part of the surge. Another pair circled from behind, creating a pincer. The attackers found themselves suddenly compressed, aura strikes hitting multiple defenders but also leaving them overextended.

One by one, Team 19's fighters encountered close-quarters counters. Klaus disarmed an overly aggressive spearman with a deft twist. Alexandra knocked another's blade aside, delivering a body strike that forced him to yield. Even Juron, bearing the brunt, managed to trip a flanker who was unbalanced by his aura-laced rush.

The short-spear leader fought valiantly, her eyes fierce, aura swirling around her. She clashed with Klaus and Alexandra simultaneously, but she was alone—her squad mates were already conceding or knocked out of position. With a final grunt of resignation, she relinquished the fight.

The lieutenant's voice rang out, "Round Three and the match go to Team 55!"

A thunderous mix of applause, cheers, and surprised murmurs swept across the field. Team 55 took a moment to grasp it: they'd won. Alexandra lowered her rapier, chest heaving, but a small smile tugged her lips. Juron blinked in relief, exhaling a shaky laugh. The lean swordsman clapped a comrade on the shoulder.

Team 19 members looked disappointed but still maintained a measure of respect, exchanging handshakes with Team 55. The short-spear leader forced a tight smile, acknowledging Klaus. "Well played. You adjusted quickly."

Klaus inclined his head. "Thank you."

As they parted ways, the onlookers buzzed—some squads stared at Team 55 with newfound respect, others looked a bit unsettled. A few approached to offer congratulations or to ask about potential future matches. Klaus fielded them politely but kept it short, focusing on regrouping his team.

In a quiet corner of the field, Team 55 huddled, exhausted but elated. Alexandra shook her head in disbelief. "We actually beat them."

"We did," Klaus said quietly. "Because we stuck to synergy and adapted."

Juron let out a rare grin. "Damn, that was intense. But I'm proud of us."

The rest echoed similar sentiments, a mixture of disbelief and excitement. They'd done far more than hold their own—they'd proven to the fortress that they were no longer the underdogs. A wave of relief washed over the entire squad.

"Let's rest," Klaus said, noticing their fatigue. "Then we can talk about what went right and what we still need to improve. But you've earned a break."

They meandered back toward their barracks, some sporting fresh bruises, all wearing satisfied smiles. This victory didn't guarantee they'd shoot up the ranks overnight, but it marked a turning point. Word would spread that Team 55, once inconsistent, now had the synergy and calm leadership to prevail under pressure.

And Klaus knew this was just the beginning. More squads might challenge them, hungry to test the lion's new roar. He welcomed it—each challenge would refine Team 55 further. For now, though, he allowed himself a moment of pride in their victory, a testament to perseverance and unity.

They were no longer just a ragtag squad. They were becoming a team in the truest sense of the word.