Chapter 15: The Successor of the Sword Saint (5)
Stone-Eye.
As the name implied, an artifact that could turn a target to stone.
The genuine article’s performance was of a considerable level; those with low anti-magic values would be petrified for at least five minutes, so the effect was strong.
Unfortunately, even the genuine article was ineffective against mana beasts, and replicas could hardly maintain the effect for three seconds, so it wasn’t a particularly popular artifact.
But if the match was decided within those three seconds, in a life-or-death instant—
Stone-Eye could be the optimal means.
Eric strapped the artifact on in one motion and rushed at Francia.
Since she still couldn’t make proper use of her right arm—just as before—the weak spot remained the right rear.
The vital points like the solar plexus, temple, philtrum, and jaw were obviously vulnerable as well.
She was covering those targets now with switching and fluid posture changes, but only up to a point.
‘This isn’t slow—it’s petrification.’
Even if I knew exactly what she would do, if I couldn’t move, I couldn’t counter.
Eric spun his body and swung his sword toward her right flank.
An honest diagonal cut from low to high.
Even when thinking about an opponent’s trick, once the attack came the body instinctively took a stance.
A habit Francia Brida had from years of unceasing training.
It was a strategy she couldn’t have chosen without knowing her opponent well.
Just before their blades met, Stone-Eye poured out blue mana.
The mana flooded the upper body.
Every exposed part that the artifact’s mana touched froze instantly and did not move at all.
At once Eric carelessly dropped his sword.
In a split-second skirmish like this, a long-reach sword only got in the way.
Instead, he thrust his torso in and dove inside Francia’s defensive line.
‘Even you would pass out if I hit your jaw properly…!’
The sword clanged and fell to the floor.
At the same moment, his fist slammed into Francia’s jaw.
‘If a cadet is knocked unconscious or suffers injuries equivalent to unconsciousness, the supervising instructor may forcibly stop the sparring.’
Even if I’d lost points to judgments across the board, if I could just render her unconscious, my victory was set.
A moment passed.
The match’s conclusion was decided.
“Gyaaaaah!!”
Eric Halenber clutched his right hand and backed away in haste.
Unlike the previous contest—obscured by dust and left as a mystery—this time everyone could witness the whole truth.
Francia, freed from petrification, murmured softly.
“…Illusion Swordsmanship, 2-second form, Barrier Blade.”
From her dantian to her philtrum, a thin translucent wall cut across her upper body.
Only then did Eric realize what he had struck earlier.
His fist had not hit Francia’s jaw but a solid barrier.
Surrounded by the broken, aching right hand, he sighed.
“I thought you were hopeless at defense… but you had a trick like that hidden…!”
He could not use one hand, and he had discarded his sword himself. He could no longer hope even for a victory by judgment.
Watching Francia stride forward, Eric pressed his lips tightly shut.
It would be right to give up here.
There was no way to win, after all.
“…….”
And yet, for some reason, he could not bring himself to speak.
It was a strange phenomenon even Eric himself could not understand.
As Eric kept silent, Francia nodded as if steeling herself.
“…All right. Fine.”
She closed the distance at once and began swinging her sword with all her might.
“Ugh!”
At first Eric managed to evade somehow, but as the attack patterns multiplied exponentially, he hunched and had no choice but to concentrate on defense.
The more the assault continued, the more force Francia put into each stroke.
Like a train gaining momentum, there was no sign of it stopping.
The hot fury at the tip of her blade swallowed violence and rose into ever greater intensity.
With stances and attack methods she had practiced tens of thousands of times, she literally swung without end.
In just three minutes Eric was reduced to tatters and collapsed limply to the floor.
He was drenched in blood to the point it showed through his uniform.
Yet Francia’s sword did not stop.
If anything, she seemed exhilarated and continued to draw sweeping arcs.
“…….”
The cadets in the stands could not hold back their mouths at the unspeakably horrific scene.
This was no longer sparring or battle.
Regret, loss, helplessness, thirst for revenge, resentment, fury.
A reckless mix of those dreadful emotions, piled up and hurled out—this was a cathartic expulsion.
That was all it was.
“…….”
Eric’s consciousness was already half gone.
He managed to rise, planted one knee, and raised his guard.
He could have just lain down and been done.
Why did he try this hard?
He received no answer even if he asked.
Francia took a few steps back and adjusted her grip on her sword.
“…I’ll finish this now.”
Just as she took a step to assume a charging stance—
A familiar voice drifted to her ear.
“That’s enough, Francia Brida.”
A man who had rushed down from the stands stepped between them.
“…Instructor.”
It was Eugene Carter—the third instructor for Practical Tactics and the supervising instructor of Class 2-3.
Just before Francia struck the final blow, my body had leapt forward instinctively.
Having watched their deaths for ten years, I could tell.
‘This is a danger signal.’
Every death had a trigger.
Because someone did this, they died; because someone didn’t do that, they died.
In this world, at least, there was no death without a reason.
Among those, there were choices that must never be made.
This must be the branching point for Francia.
It had to be cut off here.
If I failed to stop it now, her choice would revert to the worst possible outcome.
‘I can’t let one of MAGA’s five heroines fall to a mere midday avenger.’
Startled for only a moment by my intervention, Francia soon gathered her resolve and shouted.
“Please step aside, Instructor. I have to finish this fight.”
“This sparring is already your victory, cadet. You should know that well enough.”
“That’s…”
“You didn’t just win, either. It was an overwhelming, absolute victory. Isn’t that enough?”
But Francia’s stance remained firm.
“No. Not yet. This isn’t enough.”
“If you go any further, it’ll sound like you mean to kill him.”
“…If necessary.”
“What will change if you kill this pathetic boy?”
“…Please, move aside.”
“Too afraid to take on an entire family, so you’re taking your anger out on an easy target?”
“…Move.”
“Is that what you call true revenge?”
“I said move!!”
At that moment—
A massive surge of mana began to gather around her sword.
The blood-red turbulence of mana radiated killing intent.
I picked up Eric’s sword that had been rolling on the ground.
“Borrowing this for a second.”
Then I squeezed every drop of mana from my body and poured it into the blade.
It was a stance meant solely to receive this one strike. There would be no next.
The distance—eight meters.
The sword held high from above, my body tilted slightly, ready to shift into an offensive thrust at any instant.
‘…So that’s why it felt familiar.’
It was exactly the same stance as when we first crossed swords in the training hall.
Francia charged at me without a trace of hesitation.
In response, I closed my eyes without hesitation.
If I saw and reacted, it would be too late.
That time I predicted her sword path and blocked it—was purely by luck.
It had worked because it was training, not real combat.
Rather than rely on luck, it was better to trust statistics and experience.
The more cornered you were, the more your judgment faltered, and the more you reverted to the attack you knew best.
And I was the only one in this world who knew what that attack was.
‘If it’s not an exact match, it won’t cancel out.’
The angle of the arm, the shape of the hand, the height of the sword, the force of the swing, the position of the feet, the curve of the waist, the timing of the slash—everything had to align perfectly.
I clenched my teeth and swung the sword exactly one second later.
KWA-A-A-AANG!
The violent shock tilted my body backward for a moment.
“Kh…!”
Focusing every nerve on the sensation at the tips of my feet, I barely managed to hold my stance.
The pain that shook my whole body lasted only briefly.
When the impact subsided, the lingering mana and dust that had surrounded us quickly dissipated.
With our blades locked, Francia murmured softly.
“This is…”
Our postures were perfectly mirrored.
The very same motion I had seen countless times before—and would see countless times again—her distinct trajectory.
It was just a single strike, but I had succeeded in completely reproducing it.
“……”
“……”
The silence that seemed it would stretch on ended abruptly, almost absurdly so.
CRACK!
The training sword Francia held split cleanly in half.
Its blade was smeared with her opponent’s blood.
‘A sparring sword with durability better than most live blades… shattered like that.’
Was it because she could no longer fight, or because she had already poured out her anger earlier?
There was no trace of hostility left on her face.
Francia let the broken sword fall from her hand.
Then she looked at Eric Halenber.
He was kneeling on both knees, his head bowed low—as if in apology.
Naturally, he had long since lost consciousness.
Pointing toward him, I asked coldly,
“Is this worthless brat your revenge, Francia Brida?”
She said nothing—neither affirming nor denying. Her lips stayed tightly shut.
Two streams of tears ran down her flushed cheeks.
Looking directly at her, I said firmly,
“If this is where your revenge ends, I will not stop you.”
Then I handed her the sparring sword that had originally belonged to Eric.
“……”
After a long pause, she silently accepted it.
Staring briefly at the collapsed Eric, Francia suddenly threw the sword straight down.
Then she picked up her own half-broken blade from the floor and gripped it tightly with both hands.
Right then—
Before my eyes, a miracle unfolded.
Beyond the broken blade—
A crimson sword of mana extended high and straight.
At the awe-inspiring sight, I couldn’t help but let out a sigh.
“…Aura Blade.”
She effortlessly sliced through the falling sword as if cutting pudding.
The blade, having served its purpose, vanished without a trace.
No intact sword remained on the stage.
Without looking back once, Francia turned and walked off the stage.
I stood there dazed, watching her back—until a sudden notification appeared before my eyes.
※ [Francia Brida] has obtained a new title: [Heir of the Sword Saint].
※ A new ability has been acquired: [Copy Slot].