Liona remained standing at the edge of the field, the basket in her hands trembling slightly. The dust hadn't even settled when the second TRANK... exploded through the air.

Lucas attacked again—this time with a lower, faster, and far more deliberate swing. His elbows no longer flared out; he followed the pattern Silvara had demonstrated earlier: a small twist of the right wrist, a steady push from the left arm. The Hoe's blade vibrated, reflecting a faint sheen of mana gathering at its tip.

Silvara did not move until the very moment before impact.

When the distance narrowed to a single step, she seemed to vanish.

Not literally vanish—but her movement was too smooth, too efficient for ordinary eyes to follow. Her sword lifted just slightly, barely half an inch, just enough to slip into the Hoe's trajectory.

CRAK!

The third clash diverted Lucas's swing and sent his balance wavering, but this time Lucas didn't fall. He twisted the Hoe's handle to the left, lightening it, then stepped back twice to reset his stance.

Liona's eyes widened.

She had seen the knights sent from House Rosevelt train when she was younger. They had looked impressive, but the way Silvara moved… was something else entirely. No wasted motion, no excess force. Every line was clean, as if her strikes were drawn into the air beforehand.

And Lucas—though still clearly rough—was genuinely trying to match that rhythm.

"Don't drop your shoulder," Silvara called without looking back, her voice steady despite the intensity. "When your shoulder dips, your swing slows by half a second."

Lucas groaned, lifting his right shoulder slightly. "I—hah—I didn't even realize I was doing that."

"Because you're not thinking," Silvara replied flatly. "Control your breath. Again."

Lucas inhaled through his nose, held it for a second, then moved.

The fourth swing was faster. Liona barely saw Lucas's wind-up—suddenly the Hoe was already coming down. Silvara parried again, but this time her foot slid back half a step.

Only half a step.

But it was enough to make Lucas's eyes widen, startled and elated.

"I made you move back!" he said, breathless but thrilled.

"No," Silvara answered dryly. "I was adjusting so I wouldn't step on a rock."

Lucas hissed in frustration. "You can't let me celebrate just a little?"

"No."

Lucas raised the Hoe again. "Alright! Round two—"

"That was round seven," Silvara cut in.

"Round eight, then!"

He lunged. Dust lifted again as the arc of his swing sliced through the air. Liona didn't realize her mouth had slightly opened. What she saw wasn't a master–apprentice spar… but someone genuinely forcing himself past his limits with a learning speed that was almost frightening.

Lucas shifted sideways, twisting the handle—mana surged into the Hoe's tip. The swing traced a faint blue afterimage through the air.

Silvara parried—twice, within a single motion.

BANG—TING—

One heavy deflection, one light redirection.

Lucas staggered back, blown by the force of Silvara's counter, but he remained standing.

Liona finally realized she'd been holding her breath.

"T-To last this long… That man can fight this much…?"

This training was no longer just training.

It looked like a real duel—an overwhelming difference in strength, but with Lucas's determination pushing against it bit by bit.

In her eyes, Lucas no longer looked like a man doomed to fail with his Hoe.

He looked like someone truly fighting for his life… even if all he had was a dirty hoe everyone looked down on.

Liona didn't move from her spot. She clutched her basket so tightly her fingers turned white, yet her eyes couldn't pull away from the fight. Dust swirled around Lucas and Silvara, but the two of them kept moving like intersecting lines cutting through the air.

Lucas swung again—this time using the momentum of the Hoe's heavy mode. A tiny twist of his right wrist made the blade instantly weighty, then—click—he spun it back to light, using the shift in weight to accelerate the next strike.

Silvara watched him closely.

This man… he absorbs things I explain far too quickly.

Did he live under harsh discipline in his previous world? Or… did he train in something before?

She matched his rhythm with her sword, but in her heart, she had to admit one thing:

Lucas learned faster than ordinary people.

Lucas himself nearly forgot to breathe. His body burned, his muscles tightened, and his breaths came rough. But behind all that, one thought filled his head—

This is fun.

Swing, pull, twist—heavy and light momentum crashed through his hands. Every clash against Silvara's blade, every vibration running up his arm, made him feel alive.

Fighting with a Hoe?

Seriously… this is fun?

He even let out a short laugh between strikes.

Behind that look in his eyes, something flickered inside him—

a feeling that once sparked alive in him, a raw thrill from the days before debt, lies, and hardship crushed it out of him.

Ah… hell.

Don't tell me I'm actually getting excited.

Silvara caught the shift in his rhythm and blocked his swing with a single precise motion. A sharp thud rippled through the air.

"Don't enjoy it too much," she said flatly, though her eyes narrowed slightly—not sure whether she should be annoyed or impressed.

But Lucas only grinned.

"Too late."

At the edge of the field, Liona let out a small gasp.

"…He… smiled…?"

She exhaled, then sat under a nearby tree, preparing a mat for Lucas to rest on.

"That evil-looking face actually smiles when he works hard? So strange." She chuckled softly.

I really need to apologize for my stupidity yesterday, she thought.

A calm breeze swept across the field, but the battle between the two continued—eager, relentless, and full of life.

In the middle of his rising excitement, Lucas suddenly felt his heartbeat slam against his ribs—

hard, sharp, and unnaturally loud.

He staggered half a step, eyes widening.

"What the—?"

Silvara didn't lower her sword. Instead, her gaze sharpened, as if she had been waiting for exactly this moment.

"As I expected," she said calmly.

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