Lucas let out a short breath.

"Still running?" he muttered, glancing briefly at the time counter.

He tightened his grip.

Without waiting for any signal, Lucas stepped forward.

This time—more aggressive.

TRANK—!

The Hoe swung up from below, its angle tighter than before. Silvara raised her sword with minimal movement, blocking without any visible difficulty. The clash of metal rang dryly.

Lucas immediately followed with a second strike.

The rhythm picked up. No hesitation. No pause to think.

Yet—

Silvara was still standing in the exact same spot.

She hadn't even taken a single step back.

Her sword moved briefly, efficiently. Every one of Lucas's swings was stopped as if it were mere formality.

"Still too slow," Silvara said flatly.

Lucas let out a low groan. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," she replied without expression. "Your speed has improved, but it's still not enough to apply pressure."

Lucas pulled his Hoe back, his shoulders rising and falling.

"Then… how?" he asked. "What, should I jump? Spin? Or scream first?"

Silvara glanced at him briefly.

"Focus a bit of mana on your footing."

Lucas frowned. "My feet?"

"Yes," Silvara answered. "Not much. Don't be stupid. Just half the sole when you step."

Lucas fell silent.

Mana… in his feet.

Not into the swing. Not into the Hoe's blade.

He nodded slowly.

"Alright."

Lucas closed his eyes for a split second. Took a breath. This time, the flow of mana wasn't gathered at the Hoe's edge—

but redirected to the sole of his front foot.

Just a little.

Almost like a thin layer.

He stepped forward.

And—

His body felt lighter.

"—Oh."

Lucas attacked.

TRANK—!!

The impact sounded sharper.

This time, Silvara was pushed half a step back.

Just a little.

But clearly.

Lucas's eyes widened.

"Whoa—"

He followed up with another attack. His steps were faster now. His weight transfer cleaner. The Hoe swung without that awkward pause.

Silvara blocked, but her eyebrow lifted slightly.

Lucas grinned widely without realizing it.

In his head, only one stupid thought surfaced.

Damn… I'm like a ninja.

"Come on, kid," Silvara said coldly. "That's nothing."

Lucas paused for a moment, still smiling, his breathing a bit heavy.

He turned, grinning crookedly.

"Stop belittling my small happiness."

His smile was wide. Satisfied.

Silvara let out a quiet snort.

"…Silly."

But this time—

her sword was raised slightly higher than before.

Lucas didn't stop.

He kept pressing forward, making full use of the Hoe's shifting weight—light when pulled back, heavy when brought down. Each step grew faster, each swing chained without long pauses. The momentum was maintained. Not forced, but never released.

The ground beneath his feet was being dug deeper with every step.

Silvara blocked everything.

Her expression remained unchanged. Flat. Calm. No sign of surprise—let alone admiration. Her sword moved steadily, its angles precise, as if it were reading the direction of Lucas's swings before they truly came.

But beneath that—

…if it's like this, Silvara thought.

Just a little more.

With this rhythm, with this level of control…

I'm starting to believe he can actually win.

Without realizing it, the corner of her lips lifted slightly.

Lucas noticed.

"Heh," he said while still swinging. "Why are you smiling?"

TRANK!

"You're surprised, aren't you? By my skills."

Silvara snorted.

"Kid," she said coldly, "you joke too much."

And then—

CLANG—!

Instead of blocking straight on, Silvara twisted her wrist. Her sword caught the side of the Hoe and dragged it sideways with a crossing force.

The movement was short. Rough. Efficient.

Lucas's balance was gone instantly.

"—Wha—!"

BRUGGHH!

His body pitched forward, knees and hands slamming into the ground. He ended up bent over, his face nearly kissing the dirt.

"Damn—!" the curse slipped out of Lucas instinctively.

Silvara lowered her sword slightly, looking down at him.

"So?" she said flatly, with a faintly mocking tone.

"Still want to continue?"

Lucas let out a low growl and pushed himself back up.

Dirt and dust clung to his knees and palms, but he didn't care. He brushed one hand off, then gripped the Hoe tightly once more.

"Of course," he answered shortly.

He drew in a breath.

But this time, Lucas didn't attack right away.

…If I keep swinging, it'll be predictable, he thought.

The Hoe's weight was too obvious. The pattern was easy to read.

He lowered his stance slightly. His grip shifted—longer, one hand sliding closer to the end of the handle. His posture changed, no longer like a farmer swinging a tool, but like a polearm user.

Lucas stepped forward.

Not a slash.

A straight thrust.

The tip of the Hoe shot forward—fast, low, making full use of the handle's reach.

Silvara reflexively raised her sword—then her eyes widened just a little.

"—!"

CLANG!

The clash happened at a distance farther than a normal cutting range.

Lucas immediately pulled the Hoe back, twisted his wrist, then swept sideways—not with the blade, but with the shaft, aiming to break her balance.

Silvara retreated half a step, for the first time since the fight began.

"Hm," she murmured.

Lucas attacked again, a mix of push and pull, short and long. Crude. Unrefined. But not easy to read.

Silvara blocked, though this time she wasn't completely relaxed.

The corner of her eyes narrowed.

After several exchanges, Silvara began to read his patterns.

Lucas's movements—both the straight thrusts and the sweeping shaft attacks—gradually lost their element of surprise. Silvara's sword moved with greater precision, its angles closing off the attack lines before the Hoe could truly come in.

Lucas started to pant.

His breathing grew ragged. His shoulders rose and fell faster. His legs felt heavy, even though a thin flow of mana was still running through his footing.

Yet he didn't stop.

He forced his body to keep moving—combining two modes at once.

Light, polearm-style thrusts—fast, pulling away.

Then suddenly—heavy.

A momentum-filled Hoe swing, driven from shoulder to waist.

Light. Heavy.

Short. Long.

Messy.

But constantly changing.

Silvara blocked everything, though her brows now knit slightly.

At the edge of Lucas's vision—

[HOEMANSHIP – 00:00:03]

A thin smile appeared on his lips.

…three seconds.

"One," he muttered inwardly.

A step forward.

"Two."

His grip tightened.

"Three."

Lucas raised the Hoe high—an all-too-familiar motion.

An overhead slash.

A classic swing. Heavy. Predictable.

Silvara clicked her tongue.

"This again?"

Her sword rose to block—

TRANKK—!!

The sound was far too loud.

Far too deep.

Silvara's eyes went wide.

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