Razeil
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Chapter 22: The Frog Swordsman
🕑 Added 2026-01-17 20:32:44 +0000 UTC"Alright, you're done here."
Luke waved a hand, ignoring the attendant, and started wandering around on his own.
The attendant gave a slight bow without a word and went back into the corridor.
Luke looked left and right. He still didn't see that figure again, but he was sure of one thing—she had come in here.
And since she'd only just arrived, she wouldn't have left so soon.
Might as well look around.
"Hey, kid. First time here?"
A warm, enthusiastic voice rang out.
Luke lifted his head and saw a burly man wearing a bear mask, standing on a ring and looking at him.
He nodded.
"Haha! Want to come up and trade a few moves?"
The bear mask laughed twice. Even though the mask muffled his voice, it couldn't hide how rough and booming it was.
"Sure."
Luke was actually pretty interested. Ever since he'd obtained the Way of the Wind swordsmanship, he hadn't tested it out.
And now that he was here, this was a perfect chance.
"Then get up here. What kind of sword do you want? I'll have my buddy get one for you."
The bear mask reached down and yanked Luke up onto the ring in one pull.
The guy was strong.
Still, strength alone didn't prove how good he was.
"A long-handled curved sword."
Luke thought for a moment and picked a type.
In a world that leaned this heavily Western, there didn't seem to be a strict difference between sabers and swords. To them, a blade was a sword, and a sword was a blade.
Yasuo's wind blade looked exactly like a long saber.
But people still insisted it was a sword—what could you do?
The curved blade Luke asked for was basically the same kind of weapon.
"Got it."
The bear mask gave a look to someone below the ring, then turned back with a chuckle. "Hang on a sec. But while we wait, I need you to do me a quick favor."
"What favor?" Luke asked.
"Rabbit! Over here!"
The bear mask shouted. Not long after, an attendant walked over, holding a sheet of paper.
The attendant asked, "Confirm registration?"
"Confirm." The bear mask nodded, then looked at Luke. "Kid, think up a name for yourself and register it. That way our match will be recorded."
"What's the point of that?" Luke asked, surprised.
Before the bear mask could answer, a few people showed up below the ring to watch.
"Haha, Bear Mask is bullying rookies again!"
"How does he always catch them? Every time someone new comes in, he has to farm points off them."
"He looks like a brute, but he's pretty crafty."
"Haha, rookie killer."
"Kid, be careful. If you lose, you drop points."
Some people laughed out loud; others kindly warned Luke.
"Get outta here! How is this bullying? I'm teaching him the rules!"
Bear Mask got annoyed and waved at them, trying to shoo them away. "Stop running your mouths."
"Points? What do you mean?" Luke asked, curiosity kicking in.
A helpful spectator pointed into the distance. A whole bunch of placards hung there, with numbers displayed behind them.
"See that? Those are points. In every recorded match, the winner takes a certain amount of points from the loser. If your score is high enough, it shows up over there, on that board. If you make the board, you're a famous swordsman in this training camp—and the camp gives rewards, too."
Luke studied it for a moment. At the top of the board was someone named:
"I'm Not Fiora."
Not a bad name.
He thought for a second, then asked, "But I don't have any points."
"Who says you don't?" someone replied. "Didn't you pay the entry fee before coming in?"
Meaning the money spent on the mask.
Luke understood, but another question popped up—what happened if you lost all your points?
Couldn't someone exploit that to maliciously farm points?
"Don't overthink it," the same guy said, as if he'd read Luke's mind. "The camp rules are strict. If you lose all your points, you have to top up again. And as for malicious farming… the big shot behind this place isn't someone we can afford to offend."
With that, Luke got it. So there really was someone backing this whole operation.
He couldn't help looking at the bear mask across from him, who suddenly seemed a bit sheepish.
So this guy was trying to stomp newcomers.
A rookie comes in, doesn't know the rules, signs a name without thinking—loses—and gets a chunk of points siphoned away.
Alright then. Before that, he needed a decent name.
"Then I'll be Frog Swordsman."
Luke thought for a moment, then said to the rabbit-masked attendant.
Seeing that Luke still intended to fight Bear Mask, the crowd stopped talking and settled in to watch.
Bear Mask started grinning like an idiot. Looking at Luke's lean frame, he felt like he'd just found free points.
The rabbit-masked attendant wrote down both names, then confirmed, "Bear Mask and Frog Swordsman—do you confirm the match?"
"Confirmed," Bear Mask answered first.
"Confirmed," Luke echoed.
"Alright. Registered. Begin."
The rabbit-masked attendant scribbled a few more lines, then stood to the side with the sheet, waiting.
At that moment, Bear Mask's buddy came back and handed Luke his curved blade, along with some protective gear.
"Kid, put the gear on. Wouldn't want me to hurt you later," Bear Mask even reminded him kindly.
Bear Mask himself was wearing protective gear, covering a few vital areas.
Luke checked the weapon. It wasn't metal, but it was tougher than wood—and it had no edge, basically no lethal cutting power.
Still, if someone really knew how to use a sword, even a blunt weapon could injure you.
That was why armor mattered.
Luke obediently put the gear on. He wasn't that strong yet.
Late trainee level—Demacia had trainees everywhere.
"Bear Mask is bullying a rookie again! Come watch!"
Someone below seized the moment and shouted, instantly drawing in even more spectators.
The two of them walked to opposite sides of the ring and faced each other. Bear Mask said, "In a moment, Rabbit will ring the bell. Listen carefully. The instant it rings, the fight starts."
His weapon was a greatsword—huge, wide, and rough-looking. Exactly the kind of thing a lot of Demacians loved.
"Got it."
Luke nodded, took a deep breath, and gripped his blade one-handed, focusing his mind.
This was the first step of the Way of the Wind swordsmanship: gathering Wind Intent.
At Level 3, he could already gather a small amount. If he concentrated, he could feel an extremely faint breeze swirling around him.
That was Wind Intent. It had many uses.
It could boost the cutting power of the blade, or be used to protect the body. Once the Way of the Wind reached higher levels, it could even be unleashed outward.
Bear Mask suddenly felt something off about this kid's presence, and instinctively got serious.
Ding-ling!
The bell rang.
Bear Mask charged forward at once. The greatsword in his hands looked fierce and powerful, and as he swung it, you could faintly hear the air compressing with a low hum.
"Ha!"
He grabbed the sword with both hands and, without hesitation, brought it down in a vertical overhead cleave.
The attack covered a wide range, while still leaving room to defend—this was one of the greatsword's advantages.
Luke didn't panic. His blade slid past the edge of the greatsword by a hair, and he twisted aside with nimble footwork. In the same motion, he snapped a slash out.
Bear Mask lifted his greatsword upward, blocking the strike, but immediately felt a surprisingly strong force transmit through the blades. He didn't even have time to be shocked—he retreated a step and raised his greatsword diagonally into guard.
But another slash came in right away. The lifted greatsword barely managed to catch it.
At the same time, the defensive stance he'd just set up was knocked out of alignment.
