CH125 Duel Between Brothers III
The sound of metal crashing against stone rang out across the arena.
Just as Kurt’s Zweihander came down to finish the duel, Alex’s eyes—seemingly clenched shut from pain—snapped open.
At the very last second, he twisted his battered body and narrowly evaded the blow.
Kurt’s sword slammed into the ground, sparks flying. But by then, Alex was already on his feet.
And then—he vanished.
A blur flickered past the corner of Kurt’s eyes.
The seven-foot warrior turned sharply, expecting an attack. But instead, he found Alex pulling further away, calmly widening the distance between them again.
The crowd murmured in confusion. Most hadn’t understood what just happened.
But high in the VIP gallery, a faint light flashed in Earl Drake’s eyes. His lips almost curled into a smile. He was the one person who understood what just happened.
’He used the feint and misdirection principles of the Ghost step to evade Kurt’s sights and get away.’ A smile almost tugged at his lips. ’As usual, he is a clever kid.’
Indeed, Alex had mixed the mechanics of the First Step of the Abyssal Conqueror’s Steps—Ghost Step—into his own martial movements. Though not a full Ghost Step, it was enough to slip past Kurt’s perception, especially when Kurt had been bracing for a head-on strike.
Alex stood tall on the far end of the duelling ground, facing Kurt. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
’I have everything I need...’
’...It’s time to end this farce.’
Suddenly, his entire atmosphere shifted.
Kurt felt the change in the air. His instincts screamed. He came to a stop, alert.
Alex calmly stabbed his metal rod into the earth, then rotated his shoulders, rolled his wrists, and cracked his neck to both sides.
"That’s much better," he said with a relaxed smile.
Then he looked directly at Kurt.
"Did you enjoy your five minutes of spotlight?"
Kurt’s frown deepened.
Something was wrong. Incredibly wrong.
Alex’s composure wasn’t arrogance—it was assurance. Cold and measured.
"In that case," Alex said, "let this older brother teach you some manners."
He gripped the rod backhanded, yanked it from the ground—and charged.
Kurt growled, slashing his sword in a wide arc across the arena, using the force of his Internal Energy to project the attack through the air.
The compressed air blade howled toward Alex.
But Alex sidestepped. Casually.
It looked close—barely avoided—but it wasn’t.
Between Battle Instinct and his Truth-Seeker Eyes, Alex had long since read the angle of the attack. His movements were precise and efficient.
As soon as he cleared the air slash, he lunged.
Alex’s rod stabbed forward like a spear, aiming for Kurt’s chest.
Kurt responded instantly. One hand gripped the lower hilt of his Zweihander, the other pressed the mid-grip. Using leverage and technique, he parried the rod to the side.
Kurt twisted into a horizontal slash, using the follow-through for momentum.
But Alex had already anticipated it.
He dropped his stance, sliding low under the sword’s arc. The tip of Kurt’s greatsword cut through empty air, inches above Alex’s head.
And at the same time—
Alex’s rod swept across the ground, aiming for Kurt’s legs.
But Kurt, despite his size, reacted quickly. He raised his foot, avoiding the sweep, and twisted again, changing his momentum into a downward overhead chop.
The blade came down like a guillotine.
Alex rolled swiftly to the side, narrowly avoiding the sharp rock shrapnel hurled into the air by Kurt’s last heavy strike.
Kurt immediately pressed the advantage, lunging in to repeat the flurry of attacks that had overwhelmed Alex earlier in the fight.
At first glance, it seemed like a repeat of the earlier exchange. Alex was on the defensive again, constantly retreating under a barrage of heavy, fast strikes.
But something was different this time.
’Yes, yes... Your flurry gives you momentum to wear down your opponent,’ Alex thought as he moved, deflecting yet another blow. ’But unfortunately for you, Kurt... I trained for days with someone who does this far better than you ever could.’
’Since there’s no longer any need to hold back...’
The way he angled his rod changed, subtly but decisively.
Now, instead of meeting each blow head-on or attempting to absorb the force, Alex began redirecting the attacks. Using the enhanced precision of his Truth-Seeker Eyes and the reflexes granted by Battle Instincts, he timed every parry so that Kurt’s sword glided across the rod, sending slight tremors back up Kurt’s arms and shifting his balance.
Each redirection chipped away at Kurt’s footing, one step at a time.
Slowly, Alex slipped out of the storm.
Kurt, finally realising what was happening, growled and shouted:
Channelling more power into his swing, he slammed his greatsword into Alex again—this time with a rising arc that launched Alex into the air.
That thought rippled through the crowd, echoed in the gasps from the stands.
With Alex suspended midair, unable to block or evade, Kurt had the perfect opportunity to end it. His stance was set, his sword raised.
Down below, at the edge of the arena, Fen whined anxiously.
But Alex wasn’t done.
’Look at this, brat.’
A concentrated burst of Mana erupted from Alex’s feet, firing him downwards like a missile before gravity could complete its work.
A shockwave exploded from the centre of the arena as Alex’s rod came down faster than Kurt could reposition his blade.
A cloud of smoke swallowed them both.
Kurt flew out from the cloud, landing with a heavy thud as the audience erupted into a stunned uproar.
The dust slowly cleared, revealing Alex standing in the centre of the arena, his metal rod slung casually over his shoulder.
He didn’t even acknowledge the thunderous cheers echoing around the coliseum. His attention was fixed squarely on Kurt.
"Come on. Get up, brat," he said coolly. "I know that strike didn’t hit you properly."
Kurt groaned and pushed himself up, shaking his head as the ringing in his ears subsided.
He stared at Alex—not with rage, but with growing caution.
’That Mana burst... it wasn’t a spell.’
Kurt had never heard of a mage being able to eject Mana from their body like that. It was something only warriors typically did. It defied logic.
"I’m tired of watching your appalling swordsmanship," Alex said, finally breaking the silence.
"All I see is brute strength. No finesse. No technique."
He lowered his rod from his shoulder and held it with both hands—but this time, his grip shifted to the middle, his posture changed.
A proper sword stance.
"You’ve lived your whole life believing you’re the strongest among your peers because you overpower everyone with your ridiculous physical prowess.
"And in doing so... you stopped learning."
The crowd watched, frozen.
Alex raised the rod as if it were a fine blade. His tone became cold.
"As much as I dislike the romanticisation of swords, I can’t allow such disgraceful swordsmanship to continue in front of me."
He flicked his wrist. The rod seemed to shimmer under the sunlight.
"Let this elder brother show you what proper swordsmanship looks like... before sending you off."