Chapter 52: Nexar’s Return
Screeeell..
My boots skidded across the rocky floor, the echo bouncing off the walls of the cave.
My grip tightened around the wooden sword still pointed toward Quinn. My arms ached, my shoulders burned, but I forced myself back into stance.
As expected, she didn’t give me even a second to rest.
Her large frame blurred forward, her wooden sword slicing horizontally through the air. I threw myself backward just in time. The blade cut so close to my abdomen that I could feel the air split against my skin.
I retaliated instantly. My sword darted toward her lowered head. But Quinn’s reflexes were absurd. Her body jerked sideways, and my blade stabbed nothing but air.
Instinct screamed again. I barely managed to pull my right arm back, adding my left on top of it and bringing them both beside my neck, just as her leg came crashing down.
Thwump!
The impact cracked through my arms, a wave of pain spreading up to my shoulders. My body tilted sideways from the sheer force of it.
Orcs were already monsters of raw strength, but Quinn wasn’t just any orc. Decades of battle, countless scars, muscle hardened from surviving more wars than some seasoned knights.
She was easily ten times stronger than me interms of raw strength.
Not good. Blocking against her is suicide. I need to dodge, not tank.
Her leg bounced off my guard, and before I could fully regain my balance, she twisted her body around that momentum, arm extended, blade sweeping toward my neck.
I ducked low, the strike missing me by inches. I actually heard the "whoosh" as it carved through the space above my head.
The fuck miss hulk! If that connected, I’d be dead.
I backstepped fast, feeling gravel crunch under my boots. My arms throbbed, but I didn’t drop my sword.
Quinn was breathing evenly, not even a hint of fatigue on her face. A 3rd-circle mana user, wood attribute, intermediate-level aura wielder.
But even that description didn’t do her justice.
Her aura output had already surpassed the intermediate stage, it was almost at master(V) level. The only thing holding her back was her mastery, it was still at intermediate.
Of course, we weren’t even using mana or aura right now. This was pure physical sparring. Just skill and movement.
I was the one who’d asked her for this match after my morning exercise.
I’d planned to warm up with 500 pushups but tapped out at 117. I wanted to run a few laps around the settlement, but the farthest I managed was past a couple of smaller caves before my lungs gave up. My stamina was pitiful.
Still, a part of me couldn’t resist this spar. Fighting someone like Quinn, someone who pushed you to the edge every second, was addicting.
I tightened my grip on the wooden sword and decided to attack.
For the first time since we started, Quinn’s grin widened.
She saw the shift in my stance, the weight on my toes, the faint glint in my eyes. I was done playing defense.
She came at me first, blade rising in a powerful upward arc.
I spun my wrist, the wooden sword twirling smoothly in my hand as my body slid to the side.
My steps flowed in rhythm with hers. Each movement was measured, controlled. My boots barely scraped the floor as I danced around her strike.
Her eyes widened in that split second. She expected me to dodge backwards, not sideways.
The moment she committed to that upward slash, she left a gap at her side. I pushed forward, aiming to exploit it.
My sword was already poised for a stabbing thrust, my momentum fully behind it.
I saw her muscles tighten along her ribs, preparing to absorb the blow. I almost smiled.
Rookie mistake.
When you brace to tank a hit, your focus locks on that one point. The rest of your body becomes open. What was once a small hole in her defense had now turned into a gaping weakness.
My feet flowed across the ground, each step precise, gliding into the next. It wasn’t random motion. It was rhythm. Flow. Like a dance.
Before she could react, I’d already passed her side and slipped behind her. My blade swung down in a clean vertical arc toward her shoulder.
TWAK!
The sound cracked through the cave like a whip.
Then.
Snap.
A splintered piece of my sword flew past my face. My weapon had shattered on impact.
"Ah..." I blinked in disbelief. "What the!"
A vein bulged on Quinn’s temple. She turned her head, irritation flickering across her face. Her body tensed as she spun, leg pulling back for a counter that would have shattered my ribs if it connected.
"Wai, wai, wai!!!" I shouted, half stumbling, half panicking. "My sword broke!"
I threw my hands up, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the blow that never came.
"Haaaah..." Quinn exhaled deeply.
I peeked one eye open. She was walking past me, placing her wooden sword back in the rack.
She patted my shoulder as she went by. "It’s your win," she said simply.
I let out a shaky breath.
Technically, she was right. If the weapon had been real steel, that hit would’ve won me the fight. But if she had followed through on her last strike, I’d be in pieces.
So, yeah... let’s call it even.
She turned toward me again, one brow raised. "What kind of footwork was that? I didn’t sense any specific technique, but it had a rhythm. Flow. Almost natural."
I smirked. "Are you sure you don’t feel any similarity?"
Her eyes widened a little as realization dawned. "No way... is that.. is that the Beast King’s.."
"Yep," I replied. "Though with my current body, I can’t execute it perfectly. Still, it served its purpose."
Her jaw dropped slightly. "How many footwork techniques do you even know?"
I scratched my cheek, thinking for a second. "A little more than twenty, I guess?"
That earned me a long, stunned stare. "You realize it takes most warriors decades to master even one, right?"
I chuckled softly. "Yeah. But that’s just how it was. You can’t rely on a single footwork style forever. Every sword technique demands a different flow, you have to adapt."
Quinn crossed her arms, still frowning in disbelief. "I think no other being knows that many..."
"No other being except the Sword King," I corrected, smirking. "He knows a little over thirty footwork techniques. Though I doubt he can still use them now. He’s old."
"I see.." Quinn said, re-evaluating her opinion on her expertise in footwork techniques.
Quinn’s a beast, no doubt. She mastered about five footwork techniques, before her fifties. A feat anywhere else.
Back when Cass and I were tested in the Time God’s Trial, in my past life, I fought the Sword King in his prime, along with Sera’s mother.
Two-on-one. Cass and I together.
We had some trouble with Lirien’s ego... but the real trouble was when we fought sword king’s ego.
The battle with the sword king’s prime is the toughest battle I ever fought alongside Cass.
I paused, remembering that fight. The clash of blades that felt like thunder itself, Cass’s laughter in the face of death, the Sword King’s calm eyes that read every motion before it even happened.
Even now, I could still feel the pressure from that day. I had mastery about master(III) then and was expected to withstand sword king’s Sovereign(II). The difference was like heaven and eath.
Of course, it was Cass Sovereign(IV) who pulled most of the weight but... I still believe we won at at his mercy.
Quinn’s thinking expression softened, her eyes drifting past me. I turned to see what caught her attention... and there she was.
Sera.
The moment our eyes met, she let out a tiny gasp and hid her face behind her hands. Her cheeks were bright red, glowing even in the dim cave light. I blinked, then scratched the back of my head awkwardly, a small, helpless smile creeping up my face.
"Hmmm~," Quinn hummed, that teasing tone clear as day.
"What?" I asked.
"Something’s off~," she said again, drawing out the words like she already knew the answer.
"Nothing’s off!" I protested quickly.
But she didn’t even bother replying. She just smirked, walking past me with that massive orc stride, throwing a side glance that said more than words ever could.
Sera hid even deeper behind her, like a kid avoiding trouble.
"Ha-ha-ha..." I let out a dry laugh, rubbing my neck. The air was thick with awkwardness. At least for me.
When I woke up earlier this morning, Sera was still sleeping, curled up beside me, breathing softly. I didn’t want to wake her, so I covered her with a blanket and slipped out quietly. The thought of that peaceful moment made me smile a bit now.
Just then.
[Yo! I’m back!]
A familiar flicker of blue light sparked beside me.
[Services of Nexar—the Warlord’s Carnal System resumed.]
[You missed me?] he asked.
’Yeah, right,’ I replied through thought. ’You left.’
[I know those words were meant to hurt me... but I’m letting you know they didn’t.]
’Yeah, yeah. I missed you from the bottom of my kidneys.’
[You ungrateful bas—]
he stopped mid-sentence. Then his tone changed completely.[Wait. What the fuck did you do?!]
’Huh?’ I frowned. ’What’s with that panic?’
[Why is Sera’s affection towards you at ninety-one?!]
I scratched my head, feeling a sudden chill in his voice.
’Well... it’s... uh... nothing,’ I said. ’Why are you panicking?’
[RUNE!] he must have shouted that.
’What?’
[The region from ninety-one to a hundred... it’s.. it’s.. umm.. not good!]
’Dude.. Explain properly!’ I demanded.
[The normal max limit for human love is ninety. Anything beyond that... isn’t love.]
I blinked. ’What do you mean "isn’t love"? Then what is it?’
[That’s just it! I don’t know! There’s no word for it in any language! It’s something else!]
Surely.. It can’t be anything dangerous right..?
I looked at Sera still peeking from behind Quinn, her face red from Quinn’s teasing, half hidden. Quinn was clearly trying not to laugh.
’Whatever,’ I said. ’So? What happened with your little experiment?’ I asked, remembering the reason he left.
Immediately, his panic disappeared, replaced by his usual smugness.
[Hehe~ you really want to know?]
’Can I still say "forget it"?’
[You can, but you’re still going to listen.]
’I knew it...’
[After all..] he paused dramatically.
[I ate Elowen.]
"...Huh?"
[Hehe~]