Invincible
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#140
🕑 Added 2024-10-30 12:34:10 +0000 UTCOh, Erucel (2)
The grass beneath the soles of the shoes was crushed.
They were Erucel's shoes.
Mircel glared at him with a gaze full of displeasure and spoke.
"You were told you'd be hit harder if you took your feet off the dirt."
The ground was shaped into a rectangle, replicating the size of the training arena.
Going beyond it meant you were out of bounds.
Erucel trembled as he stepped forward.
"Yeah, I know that."
Donatan let out a sigh.
'Compared to when he was fighting the undead, this is pathetic. His body is way too stiff. His footwork resembles a grasshopper.'
'Can he really manage this within two days?'
'His stamina is higher than expected. It'll take some time to push him to his limit.'
While Erucel stood idly holding his sword, Mircel leapt forward. Even though it was a pure sparring match without any aura, Mircel’s jump was high enough to almost resemble a dunk.
Mircel unleashed a diagonal slash, putting the weight of his fall into it.
"Ugh!"
Erucel, with a pale face, rolled away to dodge the attack. Unhappy with that, Mircel grumbled.
"You could've dealt with that if you had just used the swordsmanship that Grandpa taught you. Why aren't you using it?"
Erucel responded in a deflated tone, looking ashamed.
"...For some reason, I can't do it properly."
"Did you forget how? Fine, then. How about you attack me? I'll show you Grandpa's swordsmanship. This time, you can use your aura too."
Mircel lowered his sword and beckoned Erucel to come at him.
Erucel furrowed his brows and assumed a stance. His younger brother’s relaxed posture, not even bothering to defend, must have been humiliating to him.
With a flash in his eyes, Erucel charged like a wild boar, aiming his strike at Mircel's side. However, Mircel effortlessly deflected it with his lightly held wooden sword.
The recoil sent Erucel's arms flailing.
"Controlling the recoil is the basic principle of the Rock Sword technique."
With that, Mircel smacked Erucel’s ankle with his wooden sword.
"Aaah!"
"What’s the point of packing that much aura if you’re just going to bounce back like that?"
Erucel stood on one leg, cradling his injured ankle with both hands.
"Y-You used aura too."
"Of course, it’s the Rock Sword technique. And besides, I barely used any aura. You used four times as much."
Mircel then struck Erucel's other ankle. Losing support from his only remaining leg, Erucel collapsed clumsily.
Curious about Mircel’s words, I asked Donatan.
'Is it theoretically possible to reflect four times the aura?'
'It is. If you can fully control the recoil and direct the aura properly, you can return it with significant force, just like that.'
I was a bit surprised.
Things like Bellen setting her sword on fire, or Aol emitting electricity, are techniques beyond high-level aura control.
Even for Mircel, isn't that too much?
'He’s already learned that?'
When I asked, Donatan replied.
'It’s still just at a basic level. If someone is talented, you sometimes see hints of it at a young age. But using it in real combat requires a clear gap between you and your opponent. It demands intense concentration, so it's not easy to pull off.'
Hearing that, I felt a bit more convinced.
Leana, who was trained by Bellen, also managed to ignite flames by the end of her first year.
‘Still, it’s impressive. Despite being a novice, he’s already eyeing the threshold of the strong.’
Judging by Donatan’s amazement, this seems to be far beyond the realm of ordinary.
‘Really?’
Yet, even Erucel has reached at least the basic level…
I stood up and approached the two of them.
“Mircel, it’s your turn to switch. I brought some snacks over there, so take a break and enjoy.”
“Really? Thanks, brother.”
Mircel began eating the snacks from the basket. I turned my gaze away from him and pointed my wooden sword at Erucel.
“Raise your sword, Erucel.”
This was training, so no aura would be used. The only reason Mircel had used it earlier was because I allowed it, but the condition was to stick to pure swordsmanship. As for that, I could leave it to Donatan, so it wouldn't be too hard.
***
Before he knew it, it was almost sunset.
His legs were trembling, and his body no longer moved as he wanted it to. It was all because of the man in front of him.
Erucel, sweating profusely, glared at Hersel.
‘What is with this guy…?’
Even Mircel’s sword skills had improved so much since he last saw him, and it was shocking.
But the man in front of him, casually scratching his back with a wooden sword, was on a completely different level.
He had only heard stories before, but seeing it with his own eyes and experiencing it firsthand, he realized how outmatched he was.
“Apologies. My back was itchy. Now, it’s time for you to be hit again.”
No matter how much distance he created with long strides, he closed the gap. Even if he rolled his body in random directions, so much so that he didn’t know where he was going, his sword would be there, waiting.
‘Does he have some kind of foresight ability…?’
When it came to not using aura, he had better physical abilities than Mircel, so he could dodge. But against the man in front of him, it was impossible.
He couldn’t even think of a way to evade him in his head.
Thud, thud.
As Hersel approached, Erucel unconsciously took a step back. At that moment, Hersel lowered his sword and looked at him with disdain.
“If you enjoy running away so much, why don’t you keep doing it?”
“What, what do you mean?”
“Isn’t it a decent option? You could live the rest of your life as an ordinary noble, always afraid, abandoning your sword.”
Erucel shook his head. Those words implied giving up everything he had worked for up to now.
“I-I’ve been told I have talent…”
“Then why is your attitude like this?”
“That’s…”
As Erucel hesitated, Hersel closed the distance between them.
“Are you trying to say it's because of me?”
His words pierced like a dagger.
Looking back, it was all because of this man. He would hit him whenever he felt like it and never backed off until he was reduced to a laughingstock.
“That’s right! It’s because of you that I—!!”
“Then why are you only angry with words? If I were you, I’d strike back, no matter how messy it got.”
“Do you know why?”
Hersel whispered softly into his ear.
“If you don’t resist, you’ll lose everything. Your money, your pride, your honor, and even your woman.”
At the mention of a woman, Erucel flared up. The Amelda he had always seen was a kind-hearted person.
There was no way he could ever allow such a despicable man to defile her.
“Don’t make me laugh! You filthy bastard!!”
He launched a full-force attack, even unintentionally channeling aura into it. But with a loud crack, the wooden sword snapped in two.
And it wasn’t because of Hersel’s raised sword—it broke against his casually extended finger.
“My turn now.”
Hersel’s wooden sword struck Erucel’s body with a dull thud—his neck, shoulders, thighs, and side—all in one fluid motion.
“Ugh!”
Erucel tried to hold onto his trembling legs, but he soon lost strength and collapsed onto the ground.
Thud.
Hersel approached, carrying a bag and a magic staff.
“These are a fatigue recovery potion and a healing potion from the alchemy club. Open your mouth.”
When he unscrewed the potion cap, Erucel clenched his mouth shut and turned his head.
“Mmph.”
“So stubborn.”
Hersel forcibly pressed Erucel’s cheeks, making him open his mouth, and poured the potions in.
Afterward, he cast a recovery spell, one typical of those born with unique talents.
This process would repeat countless times tomorrow as well.
By the next evening, Erucel’s mind had already dried up. With hollow eyes, he stared at Hersel, who grinned at him mockingly.
"Your condition is terrible. Fine, this time, I'll slow down even more for you."
He had already been thoroughly beaten, even at what Hersel considered a slow speed. Without time to decide whether to be grateful or not, Hersel approached.
"How about this? The speed of a worm crawling."
Indeed, Hersel's sword was a little slower than before. Erucel could already sense that his shoulder would soon ache. Even a lazy swing hurt terribly, so this wouldn't be much different.
But strangely, the pain didn't come. He wondered if he had unconsciously backed off too much, but the distance between him and Hersel hadn't widened. This time, the sword swung toward his neck. His vision dipped, but surprisingly, there was no pain.
Erucel realized that he was moving on his own. Just now, he had dodged by lowering his head. Yet his mind was already muddled, filled with simpler thoughts.
‘It doesn’t hurt, so this is nice. But how long do I have to keep this up?’
Erucel shook his head. Honestly, it didn’t matter. If this pain-free moment could continue, that was good enough.
While he pondered, several more strikes came his way. Unconsciously, a smile tugged at his lips, and Hersel’s voice rang out.
“There you go! You’re finally dodging!!”
It was a satisfied voice. Hersel was smiling wickedly, as if something was making him genuinely happy.
‘Huh?’
The moment Erucel’s smile disappeared, seeing Hersel's grin made him feel a sharp, scraping sensation inside.
‘When you think about it, isn't everything because of this guy? The reason I'm in this state, all of it. And how can he smile like that?’
No human should be able to do that. Even a beast without any conscience wouldn't behave this way. Yet this man was doing it effortlessly.
‘Ah...’
Anger surged to the top of Erucel's head. If he held it in any longer, it felt like his insides would explode. Erucel's face twisted in rage.
"You bastard! Why the hell are you smiling like that, you lunatic?!"
He had to kill him.
The happiness he felt earlier was just another one of this man's tricks. Whether it was pain or joy, it was all part of this devil's game.
"I'm not your toy to be played with, you filthy bastard!!"
Erucel shouted, gripping his sword tightly. Hersel moved, and strangely, Erucel could predict the path of his next strike.
‘A vertical slash!’
He had been hit so many times that he had learned it. Erucel easily twisted his body to dodge, then smoothly swung his sword, aiming for Hersel's neck.
"Raaagh!"
His wooden sword struck Hersel's body with a roar, but Erucel wasn’t satisfied.
‘No, that old man’s swordsmanship didn’t end like this!’
He felt the recoil in his hands. He needed to hold onto it and focus all his strength into slicing through. It was the same sensation as when he had shattered Luon’s statue with his wooden sword.
‘Push through and cut! I’ll split this bastard's upper body from his lower body!!’
He swung with all the aura he had.
Crack!
But all that happened was that his wooden sword snapped in two. The last thing Erucel saw was Hersel looking down at him before he lost consciousness.
Thud.
Hersel looked down at the unconscious Erucel, a twisted smile on his face.
"Heh heh."
Then he asked Donatan.
'That worked, right? That thing where the subconscious ignores the commands of the conscious?'
'It did… up to a point…'
Hersel's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected answer.
'Up to a point?'
'The final strike he just delivered wasn’t driven by his subconscious. That was a choice made by his own will. You could see it in his eyes.'
Donatan paused for a moment before speaking again.
'He’s overcome it. He’s turned his fear of you into anger.'
It was the moment a phoenix chick started pecking at its egg to see the world beyond.
***
A Ten Elites challenge was underway, but compared to before, there were fewer people.
That was only natural. Back then, half the crowd was there just to see Dorosian’s skills.
Erucel, his face marked by deep dark circles, stepped onto the stairs of the sparring arena. Then, he saw a familiar face—Amelda.
Though she couldn’t openly support him due to her position, the fact that she had come this close to watch the match meant she was rooting for him in her own way.
‘She really is a kind-hearted woman.’
Erucel smiled weakly but then widened his eyes. A blonde man approached Amelda from behind. His outstretched arm seemed like it was about to rest on her shoulder, but at the last moment, he switched course and stretched, making it look like a mere stretch.
It was an obvious threat. A clear message: if you lose, I won’t leave this woman alone.
Hersel, standing nearby, shot a sneaky smile in Erucel's direction.
‘This hateful man…’
But a calmer Erucel wasn’t foolish enough to believe Hersel would actually do it. If he were the same wild dog from before, he would’ve already been chasing after women left and right.
Moreover, Hersel had thrown down the challenge of defeating Meldon of the Seven seat. Anyone could see it was bait.
"But... he's a bit less annoying than before."
Erucel didn’t want to admit it, but he had to acknowledge that Hersel had changed—if only by a tiny bit.
"To your positions," called out the professor. This time it wasn’t Rockefeller, but Professor Gomon who was acting as the referee. It seemed he didn’t expect a situation as dangerous as the one with Dorosian.
Erucel glanced back and forth between Professor Gomon and Hersel.
‘Come to think of it, didn’t that guy tip off Professor Gomon?’
Word was, even if someone was half-dead, unless they uttered the words "I forfeit," the match would continue.
Erucel snorted.
‘That’s ridiculous. Honestly, how am I supposed to win against a Seventh seat? Even Riamon struggled against Bernthal, the Eighth Seat.’
The two days of training had yielded no results. It was a constant cycle of getting hit, passing out, and waking up. Even when he managed to land an attack, that guy didn’t so much as blink.
Erucel had planned to lose quickly and tell them to come up with another plan.
Thud, thud.
As he approached the designated position, the man smiled confidently.
Meldon, the Seventh Seat.
He furrowed his brows and curled his lips into a sneer.
“Is this the first time you’re seeing me in person? You really do look as dumb as the rumors say.”
Erucel clenched his teeth as Professor Gomon announced the start of the match.
“Begin!”
Meldon drew his wooden sword, and Erucel, enraged by his words, pointed his own sword at him. With so many watching, he didn’t want to appear cowardly.
‘I have to look at least somewhat less pathetic.’
Meldon charged in with a sinister smile, and Erucel instinctively prepared to leap back. But his body hesitated—his right foot, which was supposed to pull back, moved on its own.
Tap.
His left foot, which had been horizontal, stepped back and placed itself vertically on the ground. His body had turned 90 degrees. Meldon's vertical slash whizzed past, brushing Erucel’s hair.
Erucel’s eyes widened in thought.
‘What was that just now…?’
The speed of Meldon’s sword, enhanced by aura, had been incredibly fast, yet Erucel had dodged it. He was surprised at himself.
There wasn’t much time to think before Meldon thrust his sword toward him again. This time, it was a stab.
Erucel felt a slight sting on his neck and instinctively tilted his body. Meldon's sword whizzed past his right shoulder.
Ping!
The speed of the sword was undoubtedly quick. But he had moved first, somehow sensing that Meldon would aim for his neck.
‘Is this just my imagination?’
As Meldon prepared for another attack, Erucel’s thigh suddenly ached, even though he hadn’t been hit yet. He quickly stepped to the right.
Thud!
Once again, Meldon’s sword hit nothing but air.
Erucel’s instincts sharpened into certainty.
‘I can read him. Wait... why am I...?’
Suddenly, Erucel realized that he was remaining calm even in the face of a powerful opponent. His usual habit was to retreat and create distance as soon as he sensed an attack. But in this moment, he wasn’t backing away, only dodging with minimal movement.
He looked at Meldon with a puzzled expression.
“This guy…”
The furrowed wrinkles on Meldon’s nose made it clear that his attacks had been serious, not playful.
Without realizing it, Erucel muttered to himself.
“...Ten Elites.”
“What’s that? You’re suddenly mumbling in the middle of a duel.”
Meldon asked irritably, and Erucel replied in a calm voice.
“You’re not as high up as I thought.”
