Cold light suddenly vanished in midair, and the black-robed figure landed lightly four to five meters away.
"Release Sylvia immediately!" That slightly hoarse voice contained anxiety and anger.
The black-robed figure didn't hesitate, turning to the few guards standing dumbfounded at the scene and ordered: "You few, go bring out those two Gold-ranked knights, tell them they can leave."
"Yes, Master..." The guards came to their senses, looking reluctantly at Princess Sylvia held hostage by Lorist, acknowledged and turned running into the Grand Duke's mansion.
Lorist sheathed his sword, his figure flickered, and he had already released Princess Sylvia, retreating straight back about three meters.
Princess Sylvia suddenly gaining freedom, couldn't help but stare blankly, turning her head to look at Lorist strangely...
The black-robed figure, upon seeing Lorist release Princess Sylvia, hurriedly flashed to the princess's side, while Lorist retreated straight back another four meters, maintaining a distance of nearly seven meters from the black-robed figure.
"Your senses are truly sharp, but you just released the princess like that, aren't you afraid I'll go back on my word?" The black-robed figure's tone carried admiration.
Lorist shrugged indifferently: "Can't be helped, Senior is a Great Swordmaster, the pressure you give me is simply too great. Only by maintaining this distance do I have confidence in reacting if Senior launches a sneak attack. If Senior feels that being a Great Swordmaster means you can go back on your word, then I have no choice but to accept my bad luck."
"Very good..." The black-robed figure held Princess Sylvia in his embrace: "I can let those two Gold-ranked Knights go, but you won't be leaving."
"Doesn't matter." Lorist replied: "I also wanted to test Senior's swordsmanship..."
Princess Sylvia had already recovered; she revealed her face from the black-robed figure's embrace: "Um, Count
This was a bit rude, but Lorist still answered: "Norton Lorist. Your Highness, my name is Norton Lorist."
Princess Sylvia nodded with a stiff face: "Setting aside our noble identities, as a swordsman. Lorist, I will definitely wash away the shame of being captured just now, I will definitely defeat you..."
Lorist couldn't help but laugh wryly — truly a little girl's temperament. Already this old yet still so willful and unwilling to admit defeat.
"Your Highness, you are a Gold Swordmaster; is there a need to be so competitive with me, a mere Iron rank?" Lorist asked with a smile.
"I don't believe you're Iron rank, you must be hiding your true strength..." Princess Sylvia pouted.
"In fact, dealing with your guards and capturing you, I used nothing but technique — haven't used
Princess Sylvia thought it over carefully and froze, because Lorist was right — he truly hadn't used Combat Force.
"Heh heh..." the black-robed figure laughed. "Sylvia, he's misleading you. He indeed didn't use Combat Force, but he's employing another power we don't yet understand — a power more concealed and more explosive than Combat Force. It's stored inside his body, so his reactions and movements are faster and stronger than yours, his senses sharper. That's why he detected me hiding nearby. You're no match for him as you are now; in a moment I'll test his true depth."
Lorist broke into a cold sweat. A Great Swordmaster truly lived up to the title — he'd spotted the anomaly from the exchange with the guards and Princess Sylvia so quickly, and could even sense the flow of internal energy within Lorist's body. His perception was simply astonishing.
At that moment, Knights Hennard and Tabeck emerged from the Grand Duke's mansion. Hennard was overjoyed to see Lorist, but his expression turned grave the instant he spotted the black-robed figure and Princess Sylvia.
"Any certainty?" Knight Hennard asked.
"Hard to say — fifty-fifty at best. You two leave first; then I'll have nothing holding me back and can fight without reserve," Lorist murmured.
"Why don't we stay and back you up?"
"No need. Go, quickly. The opponent is a woman, and women are the most likely to go back on their word. If you leave, even if I lose I'll have a way to escape. If you stay and I lose, neither of us gets out — this trip will have been for nothing..." Lorist said rapidly in a low voice.
"Very well, we'll go first. Be careful..." Knight Hennard nodded, hesitated no longer, and left through the main gate with Knight Tabeck in tow.
"Hmph, women go back on their word? Seems you hold quite a prejudice against us women, that whatever Count. Honestly, I'm tempted to go back on my word right now — but since you're so confident, I'll decide after I've caught you..."
Even though Lorist and Knight Hennard spoke in low voices, they still couldn't hide it from the black-robed figure's ears.
While maintaining his full concentration and guard, Lorist smiled and said: "Your reaction just proves what I said..."
"Uh..." The black-robed figure hadn't expected Lorist to be waiting for her here, and was momentarily at a loss for words.
"Sylvia, step back and watch carefully how I teach this arrogant bastard a lesson!" Anger erupted from the hoarse voice.
"Mm, Godmother, be careful..." Princess Sylvia obediently stepped aside.
The sky seemed to be torn into shreds by countless blades of light; Lorist's heart trembled — so this is the power of a Great Swordmaster's strike? It truly makes one feel an inescapable despair and powerlessness.
He bit his tongue hard, the pain snapping him awake from the dazzling blade-light; facing the countless streaks of cold light assaulting him, Lorist let out a loud shout: "Come on then..."
Not retreating but advancing instead, man and sword as one, he counter-charged into the heart of the incoming sword-storm...
"Clang clang clang clang clang..."
Like a violent storm of sword strikes, a continuous series of explosive rings sounded; faintly, sparks could be seen scattering from each clash. The figures separated — the black-robed figure drifting down lightly like a startled swan, while Lorist "thud thud thud..." stumbled back four or five steps before steadying himself...
"No wonder you're so arrogant. With swordsmanship like this, it's no wonder you're so conceited..." The black-robed figure's tone was remarkably calm this time, all the initial anger completely gone.
"Likewise. I've finally experienced the might of a Great Swordmaster for myself." Lorist's forehead was covered in sweat, and his clothes bore several sword slashes. Though none had wounded his flesh, the torn fabric testified to how perilous and desperate the clash had been. Yet Lorist's expression was remarkably relaxed; he knew the measure of things. The exchange had taught him that while defeating this black-robed Great Swordmaster might be difficult, withdrawing unscathed would be easy.
Come to think of it, this was the first time Lorist had formally crossed blades with a Great Swordmaster, though two had already died indirectly by his hand. There was no need to mention Great Swordmaster Ruinisi—that old man had simply been unlucky, courting his own death. The other was further back, when Lorist had just set out with the Northbound Caravan and ran into a slave-catching band in the Duchy of Rulm, led by some Great Swordmaster whose name started with "Si" or something. Relying on a Great Swordmaster's backing to run roughshod, they'd clashed with Lorist's caravan and been wiped out to a man.
That Great Swordmaster—whose name Lorist had long since forgotten—had barely disembarked before Lorist led four hundred-plus heavy crossbowmen in a volley, supplemented by seventy-two of his own internal-energy-infused throwing spears. The man died a stifling death beneath the spears without ever getting a chance to display his swordsmanship.
Lorist had always kept Instructor Krud's advice close to heart—Krud, who had advanced to Great Swordmaster at
Lorist had always done exactly that before, but this was his first time trading blows at close quarters with a Great Swordmaster, and he finally understood their strength. Compared to a Gold-ranked Swordsman, a Great Swordmaster was clearly a cut above. Lorist could now defeat Gold-ranked Swordsmen and Gold-ranked Knights with ease—one might say he seized the initiative from the very start of a bout. Yet the exchange with the black-robed figure had given him the feeling of a mouse trying to bite a turtle—nowhere to sink his teeth.
Perhaps because the black-robed figure was a woman, her swordsmanship followed a path of agility and speed. Her sword struck like lightning, each blow flowing into the next, creating the illusion of an unstoppable onslaught. But in terms of raw power, Lorist felt it differed little from a Gold-ranked Swordsman's strikes—it posed no real threat to him.
The black-robed figure's sword speed was simply too fast. Had Lorist not possessed the gift of dynamic vision, he truly couldn't have weathered that mountain-crushing, sea-overturning storm of blades. A Great Swordmaster's control within their sensory range was no empty boast—one sword barely blocked, the second would flow with the momentum and change, attacking from an utterly unexpected angle. It forced Lorist into a desperate defense with no opening for an effective counterattack.
If the black-robed figure hadn't run out of steam after a fierce assault and used the clash of two swords to blast them apart, Lorist couldn't have guaranteed he'd keep holding on without a mistake. At this moment, drenched in sweat himself, he was sure the black-robed figure wasn't faring much better—the robe simply hid it from view.
Lorist planted his feet wide in a solid horse stance—neither pigeon-toed nor splay-footed—gripped his sword with both hands and held it diagonally overhead, his expression stern and immovable as a mountain: "Senior, please..."
"Hah! Take my sword!" The black-robed figure let out a sharp cry and lunged again, this time changing tactics. His form fluttered like a black butterfly, dancing and diving around Lorist in ceaseless motion, cold light flashing blindingly from time to time.
Lorist, by contrast, held his sword with both hands as though it weighed a thousand jun—his movements appeared slow, yet each met the incoming cold gleams with uncanny precision. He remained purely on the defensive, refusing to strike rashly.
*Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang...* The sound of clashing steel rang out once more, but this time it lacked the previous crisp ring, carrying instead a dull, muted quality...
In even less time than their first exchange, the black-robed figure flipped backward in a midair somersault to his original spot—only to stagger on landing, unable to steady himself.
"Good... brat, you..." The black-robed figure was equal parts shocked and furious.
"Senior, courtesy demands a return gift—take my sword!" Lorist laughed aloud, his foot sliding as he closed the distance in a heartbeat, his longsword slashing down in a fierce diagonal...
In this moment Lorist became a battlefield war-god: his moves wide-opening and wide-closing, every strike a mutual-kill, die-together exchange, yet his body moved with the slippery, unpredictable agility of a leopard. Now it was he who circled the black-robed figure, hacking and cleaving horizontally and vertically, forcing the latter into a desperate, all-out defense...
*Clatter.* A longsword hit the ground. The tip of Lorist's own sword now rested against the black-robed figure's chest.
Dead silence. No one had expected Lorist to actually defeat a Great Swordmaster. Even the black-robed figure couldn't believe the result, staring fixedly at the blade before his chest, his entire frame trembling uncontrollably.
"I concede, Senior." Lorist sheathed his sword and turned to leave.
"Wait... can you tell me what this power inside your body is called?" That hoarse voice came from behind again.
Lorist's steps paused: "I wouldn't dare claim perfection. This is a cultivation method different from Combat Force; I call it internal force."
"Internal force? Power within the body? Truly simple and clear... this power seems similar to the legendary cultivation method of martial monks..." The black-robed figure's muttering voice came from behind again, as if he didn't care at all about being defeated by Lorist.
"My Lord, My Lord..."
Only then did Lorist discover that at some unknown time, Els, Reidy,
"Don't speak. Leave first. Whatever it is, we'll discuss it when we get back..." Lorist ordered in a low voice.
Everyone obeyed, filing out one after another. Patt even attentively closed the Grand Duke's mansion's main gate.
Just a few meters from the Grand Duke's mansion, Lorist's figure swayed, and his whole body collapsed onto Els, giving everyone a huge fright.
"Don't panic, I'm not injured. I'm just exhausted. I truly have no strength left to walk. Carry me back. Reidy, get some hot water for me to soak in, then let me rest and sleep properly and I'll recover. No need to worry..." Lorist said with the last of his strength.
Josk said, "Listen to milord — take him back first. Look..."
Everyone lowered their heads. Josk was pointing at the few footprints Lorist had left on the ground — every one soaked dark with sweat...
Lorist was running on fumes this time, the internal energy in his dantian completely exhausted. The hour-long duel with the Great Swordmaster was the most perilous fight he had ever faced. If not for a sudden flash of insight during the second exchange — infusing internal energy into his longsword and driving it into the black-robed figure's body the moment the blades clashed, shattering their Combat Force and dealing them a hidden, crippling blow — then seizing the opening to launch a ferocious offensive that left the black-robed figure unable to recover and forced onto pure defense — he might well have lost.
The key to victory had been using internal energy to suppress the black-robed figure's Combat Force, just like that final explosive burst of inch-force that made the figure's fingers fail and sent their longsword clattering from their grip. Now Lorist didn't have a shred of usable internal energy left, so he quit while he was ahead, not even bothering with a few parting pleasantries before turning to leave — because he truly felt he could barely stay on his feet, and staying any longer meant he'd collapse first. Sure enough, the moment Josk and the others arrived to meet him, the tension drained away and he slumped unconscious across Els's back...
...(To be continued.)