Chapter 111: Calm That Kills
The entire arena went silent for a moment.
Every student turned.
"Damn... isn’t that the adventurer Sword God, Michael?"
"He’s here?!"
Whispers spread across the stands.
Michael walked calmly toward the teacher and leaned in, whispering something to her.
"What did he say?" some students muttered.
Without another word, he moved to an empty spot in the stands and sat down, crossing his arms as he prepared to watch.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
Toward Rowan.
That kid is here...
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I still can’t forget the aura he released yesterday.
Just what kind of monster is this kid...?
His father was talented, sure... but this?
And his blessing... it should be Sword Saint. Normally, Sword Saint aura glows green...
But his was blue.
Calm... yet terrifying.
Michael exhaled slowly.
Let’s see what you’re hiding...
He shifted his attention back to the arena.
Neville and Jolly had already stepped forward, standing opposite each other.
Both raised their swords.
The next match was about to begin.
Neville inhaled deeply.
"Honestly... my heart is pounding," he muttered under his breath. "Damn it... I’m nervous."
He looked at Jolly standing in front of him.
I wanted to spar with Rowan... but Velqira already picked him.
And besides... Jolly shouldn’t be that tough.
I just have to stay composed.
Neville tightened his grip on his sword.
"Are you both ready?" the teacher asked.
They nodded.
"Begin!"
Neville’s aura burst out—
A pale white glow surrounded his body.
He smiled slightly.
I can finally release my aura...
Jolly smiled as well, his own white aura flaring up.
Then—
He dashed forward.
Clang!
Their swords collided.
They began exchanging blows rapidly.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Neville swung toward Jolly—
But Jolly parried smoothly.
Then—
Thud!
Jolly spun and delivered a back kick straight into Neville’s stomach.
"Ugh—!"
Neville was sent flying backward, his feet dragging across the ground before he barely regained balance.
He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tighter.
I’m not losing...
He dashed forward again.
Jolly met him head-on.
Clang!
Their blades crashed once more.
I’m not going to lose this time.
Nicholas... I’m one of the weakest.
Rowan is a Sword Saint like me... yet he went toe-to-toe with Daryl, a Sword God...
And I’m struggling against a Swordman?
Neville’s expression hardened.
He began swinging harder—
Faster—
Putting all his strength into each strike.
In the stands, Michael watched calmly.
"They’re both good," he said quietly. "But that kid..."
His eyes stayed on Neville.
"He’s filled with rage. No control. He’s only relying on brute strength."
He shook his head slightly.
"This match is already decided."
Back in the arena—
Clang! Clang!
Neville pressed forward aggressively, forcing Jolly backward.
"This time... I’m going to win!" Neville shouted.
He raised his sword and swung down with full force—
But—
Jolly smiled.
In a single smooth motion, he sidestepped the attack.
Neville’s blade cut through empty air.
Before Neville could react—
Jolly closed the distance.
He grabbed Neville’s wrist—
Twisted—
And in the next second—
His sword was already at Neville’s neck.
Neville’s eyes widened.
What... just happened?
"Winner—Jolly," the teacher announced.
"Damn... how did I lose just now? It was only one point... I don’t understand," Neville muttered, frustrated.
Jolly didn’t move forward; he just smiled.
"Well, good match. But still... it was striking how you left yourself wide open. That made it easy for me to win. Next time, your strength is solid, but work on striking while making sure you don’t leave even a single opening," Jolly advised Neville.
Neville nodded.
As both of them walked toward the stand, Neville glanced around, still catching his breath.
"How was I?" he asked quietly.
"Good," Rowan replied. "You’re truly outstanding. But tell me—since when were you able to release your aura? I didn’t know."
Neville smiled.
"I’ve been training in secret in my room," he said casually.
The teacher called for order. "Everyone, maintain decorum," she instructed, and the stands fell silent.
"Now, for the next participants..." she continued, scanning the students. "This match... is unusual. But we’ll begin."
Rowan verse velqira she announced.
Rowan rose from his seat, eyes fixed on the arena.
"Are you going to be alright?" Neville asked.
"I’ll be fine," Rowan replied, walking forward toward the arena. His gaze met Michael’s, who was observing quietly, and then Velqira descended as well.
The teacher’s voice carried through the hall. "This... is an unusual match. A Sword Saint versus a Sword God—and, at most, the
Rowan smirked slightly.
"I didn’t want to do this... she insisted," he muttered under his breath.
"Well, never mind," the teacher said. "Are both of you ready?"
They both nodded.
Silence fell over the stands as the students watched.
Daryl’s eyes were fixed on the arena. He remembered clearly his last fight against Rowan. Even though Rowan had pretended to lose, Daryl had realized just how strong he really was. Now, watching Rowan face Velqira—who shared a similar blessing—Daryl’s curiosity and respect grew.
This is going to be interesting, he thought.
"Start," the teacher said.
Velqira released her aura, and in an instant, her speed surged as she moved toward Rowan.
Rowan didn’t budge. He stood perfectly still, calm as ever.
Well... what now? Should I let her win this match? Or should I actually fight back? he thought. No... I’ll hold back as much as I can. She asked to spar with me to test her progress. I shouldn’t just let her lose immediately. At least... let me give her what she wants to see.
Velqira closed the distance, her sword swinging in a sharp slash.
Rowan didn’t release his aura—not even a hint. He simply raised his sword and blocked her attack.
In less than a second, the strike was stopped.
Velqira’s eyes widened with a smile. She hadn’t expected him to react so quickly.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
From the stands, Michael’s eyes narrowed, and the other students froze.
What the hell... that speed... and he hasn’t even released his aura? Michael thought, his voice lost in astonishment.