The training ground felt quieter now, even though the elites were still whispering among themselves.

Her body had already relaxed, her sword resting at her side once again, but her mind was still stuck on that single moment.

At least, she understood it in theory.

It was something she had heard about some years back, when she was still climbing her way up through the ranks.

It was always described as something bordering on fantasy, a technique so difficult that most dismissed it as exaggerated nonsense.

Sword intent manipulation.

Not the basic kind, where one simply infused their strikes with killing intent or pressure. This was something far more refined, and dangerous. A skill that basically blurred the line between perception and reality.

Bliss had always believed it couldn't be used practically, and especially not in a fight against someone experienced.

The theory was sound, yes, but the execution demanded too much focus, power and even control.

And yet, Stanley had done it.

He had used his sword intent to create a false strike from behind her.

For a fraction of a second, her instincts had screamed at her, warning her of a lethal attack coming from her blind spot.

That sensation had not been imagined, and was real enough that it made her body react before her mind could catch up.

That was the terrifying part.

Sword intent was not something you simply saw. It was something you felt.

To project it so clearly that it mimicked an actual attack meant his intent had reached a level where it could deceive even someone like her.

And while her attention had been pulled toward that false threat, his real attack had already been moving.

A clean, precise strike aimed straight for her neck.

On paper, the technique sounded simple.

Create a distraction. Mask your true intent. Strike while your opponent reacts.

In reality, it was anything but simple.

To pull it off, one needed an extremely powerful sword intent, strong enough to manifest clearly without a physical strike backing it up.

Most swordsmen could barely project their intent beyond their own bodies.

Even fewer could shape it deliberately, directing it in a specific way without letting it scatter.

And power alone wasn't enough.

Control mattered just as much.

Sword intent was volatile by nature. Too much emotion, and it leaked uncontrollably. Too little focus, and it lost its edge.

To compress it, mold it, and then release it in a precise direction required an absurd level of mastery.

The kind that usually came only after decades of combat and life-or-death battles.

Then there was speed.

Even if someone could project a false intent, it meant nothing if it lingered too long.

The deception only worked because it happened fast enough to bypass conscious thought.

The opponent had to react instinctively, without time to analyze whether the threat was real or not.

That meant the false strike and the real attack had to be executed almost simultaneously.

The timing had to be perfect.

Too slow, and the illusion collapsed. Too fast, and the intent wouldn't register properly.

Bliss exhaled slowly.

Those two requirements alone were enough to make most swordsmen abandon the idea entirely.

And yet, Stanley had done it.

He wasn't even in his prime yet, and was still just a teenager.

And yet, despite that recklessness, he had already achieved something that many knights never would.

Even she herself doubted she could project her sword intent in such a refined way.

The realization unsettled her more than she liked to admit.

She had trained for years. Her sword intent was sharp, dangerous, honed through survival.

And yet, when it came to that specific application, she wasn't confident she could replicate what Stanley had done.

That was what made it so impressive.

Not just the technique itself, but the fact that someone his age had reached that level already.

Her thoughts drifted, unavoidably, to the title she had heard whispered earlier.

Sword Goddess.

Bliss had never met the woman who carried that name.

However, she had heard stories from the few who had.

Even the rumors Bliss had heard about the Sword Goddess had always been terrifying.

Stories passed down among knights spoke of a woman whose blade could cut through armies, whose presence alone could make veteran warriors hesitate.

Some claimed she could kill without swinging her sword, that her intent alone was enough to break weaker foes.

Others spoke of techniques so refined they bordered on the impossible.

Bliss had never truly believed them.

She had always regarded those stories as exaggerations, the kind that grew larger with each retelling.

Fear had a way of distorting reality, and legends were rarely accurate. In her experience, even the strongest warriors were still human.

But after seeing Stanley's skills firsthand, after feeling that sword intent brush past her neck like the edge of death itself, she found herself questioning everything she thought she knew.

If this was the level of mastery Stanley had already reached, then maybe those stories were not exaggerated after all.

The thought sent another chill through her spine.

Bliss straightened slightly, her expression returning to its calm, professional mask.

Whatever thoughts lingered in her mind, she pushed them aside for now. This was not the time to dwell on legends or possibilities.

But one thing was clear to her.

Stanley was dangerous.

'If only he learned to put his arrogance aside.' she thought.

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Stanley as he returned to the group of elites.

The other elite students kept staring at him, some openly, some pretending not to, but all of them were aware of his presence in a way they hadn't been before.

He had lost.

That much was clear to everyone.

But none of them blamed him for it.

In fact, the loss barely mattered.

What mattered was how he had fought. What mattered was that he had forced Bliss to use her weapon. That single moment outweighed everything else in their eyes.

To them, that alone was proof of his strength. Proof that he stood far above most of them.

For many of the elites, that was something they had never even come close to achieving.

Among the gathered students, a beautiful girl with long blonde hair watched Stanley closely.

Her posture was relaxed, her expression composed, but her eyes told a different story.

They narrowed slightly as she studied him.

Her name was Bella.

She was the current elite vice president.

A third-year student, and even though she only managed to get to her position due to her noble background, she was still very talented.

She had come here specifically to witness the skill level of the two new elite students for herself.

Normally, the elite president would have handled something like this personally.

But Stella couldn't come.

So Bella had been sent instead.

And she would have to report back.

As she observed Stanley, replaying the fight in her mind, she found herself genuinely impressed.

Not just by the technique itself, but by the fact that he had managed to execute it under pressure, against an instructor, and without relying on his class abilities.

That was not something that could be dismissed.

A faint smirk formed on her lips.

She stepped forward, weaving easily through the other elites until she reached him.

Stanley had just come to a stop, his expression still tight with frustration, his earlier humiliation lingering beneath the surface. He hadn't yet recovered his composure fully.

Bella reached out and wrapped her hand around his arm, her touch deliberate.

Leaning in close, she whispered into his ear, her voice low and amused, "Wow… you're so strong."

The effect was immediate.

Stanley's downcast expression vanished almost instantly, replaced by the familiar smug look he wore so naturally.

His posture straightened, his confidence flooding back as if it had never left him. The praise settled into him like fuel, erasing the sting of defeat and reigniting the fire in his chest.

"Of course," he replied lightly, a soft chuckle slipping out after. "Hehe."

Bella felt her cheeks warm slightly at the sight of him up close.

It wasn't just his face, though that alone was enough to draw attention.

There was something about the way he carried himself, the confidence that seemed to radiate outward, wrapping around him like an invisible presence.

Even now, after being defeated, he looked every bit like someone who belonged at the center.

She caught herself staring for a fraction too long.

'He's actually… charming,' she thought, surprised at how easily the idea formed in her mind.

Her gaze shifted without her meaning it to, drifting past Stanley for just a moment. It landed on Damien.

Her breath caught before she even realized it.

For a brief second, everything else faded.

Her heart skipped a beat as she took him in properly for the first time. He wasn't doing anything special, neither was he showing off or just trying to get attention.

And yet, there was something about him that pulled her eyes back again and again.

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