Chapter 79: The Training Ground Spar

Today, the Guardian training ground was quite crowded.

Most of those present had come to witness a rumored spar between a Spirit User from outside and Stan.

It seemed all off-duty Guardians were there, and a considerable number of others had arrived either before or after their shifts.

Illiyan, the very person who had instigated the spar between Hay and Stan, was conspicuously absent. Jiwena was also nowhere to be found, suggesting she was likely on duty, and Illiyan probably was as well.

Hay warmed up, jogging a light lap around the training ground.

To one side, ten Guardians were sparring, their swords clashing in rhythmic succession. An elderly swordsman was instructing them.

Hay had once had the opportunity to spar with the swordsman, whose skill was comparable to that of an A-class mercenary.

Though he possessed no aura, he was undeniably formidable. Yet, those learning under him were merely mediocre.

Without magic, they would scarcely rank above C or B class, even at their best. Still, for skills learned as a contingency against magic failure, their proficiency was quite respectable.

Returning to his spot, Hay calmed his slightly ragged breathing and continued his warm-up. Just then, someone approached and spoke to him.

“Hello, Styles. I heard you’re sparring with Inquisitor Demonic today.”

The speaker, a 5th-class mage named Dennis, greeted him with an easy familiarity despite only having met a few times.

They had sparred four times previously, with Hay winning three matches. This record was largely due to Dennis’s limited practical combat experience as a mage.

“It seems so.”

“How did you two end up sparring? I heard Guardian Salam instigated it.”

“Just happened, I guess.”

Hay replied indifferently, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“I want to loosen up a bit. Care for a quick spar before Stan arrives?”

Hay proposed. Dennis, however, chuckled and waved a dismissive hand.

“I’d like to, but I’m on duty soon, so I can’t. How about the afternoon two days from now instead? I’ll be off then. I’ve been researching ways to knock you out, so let’s fight then.”

“Suit yourself.”

Hay nodded absently. His gaze swept around, searching for another willing sparring partner, when he spotted Stan entering the training ground.

Stan took in the unusually large number of Guardians and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“These aren’t here to train; they’re here to gawk.”

Some Guardians, not recognizing Stan, began to murmur, wondering who he was. Stan, meanwhile, walked directly toward Hay and Dennis.

Dennis bowed to Stan, then gave Hay a ‘good luck’ gesture. Hay chuckled, waving him off quickly.

“Looks like you’ve made some friends during training.”

“Friends? Hardly.”

Hay shrugged. Just because they’d exchanged pleasantries didn’t make them friends.

“Have you warmed up?”

“Have you, Stan?”

“I took down an enraged bull on the way here. That was warm-up enough.”

“An enraged bull?”

“There was some lunatic who looked like a bull, causing a ruckus on the streets, drinking heavily in broad daylight. I had to subdue him and hand him over to the guards.”

Even in peaceful Arkaviya, troublemakers were inevitable. Hay shrugged and surveyed the training ground.

It seemed someone had been injured during sword practice. A scream echoed, and one individual was now rolling on the ground as the sword instructor angrily chided them.

Turning back, Hay noticed someone collecting money to one side. Overhearing bits of conversation, it seemed betting had already erupted, even before the match had begun.

“Guardian Salam isn’t here.”

“It seems they’re on duty today. Guardian Rerickton isn’t here either, nor are any of the Guardians from that division.”

“Really?”

Stan shrugged. Just then, a boy timidly entered the training ground.

It was Renki. He held a newly borrowed book in his hands, apparently returning from the library.

“Renki!”

Hay waved to Renki. People’s gazes shifted from Hay to the boy. Renki, seemingly intimidated, hunched his shoulders as he approached.

“Straighten your shoulders, kid.”

Stan slapped Renki sharply on the back.

“Is the spar already over?”

Renki asked. Hay shook his head.

“It hasn’t even started yet.”

“Renki, be honest. Who are you rooting for? Your master? Or me?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Renki answered Stan’s question. Stan’s expression showed a fair bit of shock.

“Of course I’ll be cheering for my master.”

“Wow, that’s harsh. I at least expected you to say, ‘I’ll cheer for both of you!'”

‘That would have been the textbook answer, wouldn’t it?’

“Good luck to you too, Master.”

Renki said, his face beaming with a cheerful smile. Stan shook his head, lamenting that there was no one he could truly trust.

“If Lorelai were here, she would definitely be cheering for you, Master.”

At Renki’s additional remark, Hay raised a hand.

“No. Lorelai said she’d be cheering for me.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Hey, don’t lie just because Lorelai isn’t here.”

“It’s true. If you don’t believe me, go ask her yourself.”

Hay shrugged nonchalantly. Stan narrowed his eyes, then gestured with his chin.

“No need for further talk. Let’s start right away.”

“Before that, it’ll be boring if we just fight. How about the winner gets to make a wish?”

“You want to do something so childish? I don’t have any wishes to ask of you.”

Stan scoffed.

“You refuse?”

“Suit yourself. Well, there’s no harm in it. If I win, I’ll work you all day long.”

“Try it.”

Hay shrugged. Renki remained quiet, not intervening between them. Stan walked first to the center of the training ground.

“Sit down.”

“Don’t get hurt.”

Renki said. ‘As if wishing not to get hurt would prevent it,’ Hay mused. ‘Someone is bound to get injured when blows are exchanged.’

“But who’s going to officiate?”

“Since Guardian Salam isn’t here, let’s have Dennis do it.”

“Dennis!”

Called by Stan, Dennis startled and turned their way.

“You be the referee!”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Before Dennis could respond, Stan turned away. As he stood in the center of the ground, other Guardians training nearby began to clear out, taking their places to watch.

“No ranged magic, just body and weapons. Right?”

Stan asked. Hay nodded dismissively.

“Will you be using weapons?”

“Of course. You?”

Hay raised his staff. Stan, however, was empty-handed. A moment later, two small portals materialized in the air.

Stan reached into them, pulling out a small knife in each hand.

“Is that some kind of spatial magic?”

“No, I just pulled them out from home. If you know the exact location, you can retrieve anything.”

“That sounds like perfect magic for thievery.”

“It’s not a magic just anyone can use.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Hay idly twirled his staff in the air. Stan simply gripped his knives in a reverse hold.

“Shall we begin?”

“Dennis! Give the signal!”

Stan shouted. Dennis immediately yelled back.

“Begin!”

‘That bastard.’

Without a countdown, the spar began instantly. Hay immediately lunged forward, darting under Stan and swinging his staff.

Stan deftly retreated, evading the blow. He then launched a kick aimed at Hay’s face.

Hay raised his arm to block, then countered by wrapping his leg around Stan’s.

He rose, attempting to trip Stan, but Stan quickly pushed Hay’s chest with his free leg and swung a punch.

The punch missed, but Hay narrowly avoided having his nose sliced by the tip of the knife Stan held in a reverse grip.

As Hay reeled his head back, Stan seized the opening, pushing him away with both feet. He then rolled backward, springing up to lunge at Hay once more.

This time, Hay stumbled backward, losing his grip on his staff. Stan, his face grim, swung a punch.

Hay caught both the fist and the blade with his bare hands.

Normally, his hands would have been sliced and bleeding from the blade, but Hay’s hands had transformed, becoming as hard as rock.

He had overlaid them with the power of earth.

Stan tried to pull his hands back, but they wouldn’t budge. Hay then conjured in his palms.

At that instant, a small explosion erupted from Stan’s palms. Hay’s hands were flung back, and Stan swiftly retreated.

The dissipated into the air, leaving a faint scratch on Stan’s knife.

Rolling to regain his footing, Hay glanced sideways, locating his dropped staff. It was too far away.

Stan paced in place, adjusting his grip on the knives to a standard hold.

He swung a knife through the air, and to Hay’s surprise, crimson mana coalesced into a long blade.

It looked precisely like a lightsaber.

“You know swordsmanship too?”

“I learned from that sly Yefisnon.”

“The Duke?”

Stan held one sword forward and let the other hang low.

Being no swordsman himself, Hay couldn’t tell if the stance was good or bad. He worried his staff might break if he tried to block with it.

Hay braced himself on the ground and slowly rose. slowly surged, following his hand.

As he gripped the spear and imbued it with spirit energy, the color of turned as black as Nora’s fur.

“And you know spear-fighting?”

“No.”

Hay shrugged. All he knew how to do was swing it.

Stan shrugged, then stared intently at Hay. Unlike before, Hay did not charge first.

The surroundings were silent. Despite expecting a clamor from the spectators, the Guardians were all tight-lipped, focusing entirely on Stan and Hay’s spar.

This time, Stan moved first. He seemed to charge head-on, then vanished from sight.

[“――”]

The spirit whispered.

Almost simultaneously, Hay twisted his body to the right, angling his spear.

*Clang!*

A sharp metallic screech echoed.

It sounded exactly like a baseball hitting a metal bat perfectly.

Hay used to propel himself backward. The tip of Stan’s crimson mana blade barely grazed the spot where Hay’s neck had been.

A sensation of intense heat also lingered. Stan, after all, was a mage with a strong fire affinity.

Stan did not allow Hay to escape. He pursued relentlessly, refusing to let him get away.

His lips were set in a firm, straight line, his olive eyes wide and intense.

Suddenly, Hay recalled how he had attacked Jiwena yesterday with the intent to kill. Stan seemed to be attacking him with the same lethal intent.

There was no hesitation whatsoever in his aim for Hay’s neck and heart.

“Hey, how far do you plan to run?”

Hay had been pushed almost to the very end of the training ground. He caught his breath, splitting his spear in half and holding a piece in each hand.

“I’m not running anymore.”

Hay adjusted his stance.

Stan’s sword surged forward again.

Hay blocked the first sword, then blocked the second that aimed for his flank.

Stan’s swordsmanship was excellent, but he had one unfortunate flaw.

Even with no knowledge of swords, Hay could tell that Stan’s technique was ‘honest.’

Perhaps it was because he learned from a noble. Though skilled, he likely had little to no practical combat experience with a sword. Hay, however, was different.

Hay swung the two divided staves, no longer spears, their ends scattering a cloud of dirt into Stan’s face.

Stan screamed and recoiled. This was the key difference between Stan and Hay.

Hay had worked as a mercenary to survive. And to live, he would not shy away from underhanded tactics.

If throwing dirt in someone’s eyes counted as underhanded, that is.

Seizing the opening, Hay immediately struck Stan’s wrists with both staves.

Stan lost his grip on his swords. The blades, once they hit the ground and their mana supply was cut, reverted to ordinary knives.

Hay spun, putting his full weight into the motion, and struck Stan directly on the head. There was a sharp crack.

Under normal circumstances, Stan’s skull might have shattered.

Stan collapsed sideways.

The entire sequence of events unfolded in an instant.