Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 43: Who is the better Swordsman

[1. Aegisflow]

• Effect: Enhances reflexes and agility when dodging or parrying. Successfully evading an attack within a split second grants a brief speed boost, making the next counterattack 20% faster.

’This seems perfect.’

He thought as he examined the skills carefully.

[2. Sunforged Resilience]

• Effect: Increases endurance and grants minor regeneration when exposed to sunlight. Also provides slight resistance to fire-based damage.

[3. Echoing Bladewill]

• Effect: Repeatedly striking the same point on an enemy increases damage dealt with each consecutive hit. The effect resets if attacks are interrupted for more than three seconds.

[4. Verdant Pulse]

• Effect: While standing on natural terrain (grass, soil, stone), stamina consumption is reduced by 15%, and mana regeneration slightly increases.

This content is taken from freёnovelkiss.com.

’Not bad at all.’

Lindarion stretched lazily on the bed as he scanned through the skills again.

’Which one’s the most useful though.’

He read each one carefully. None of them were game-breaking, but they were solid enough.

’Aegisflow it is.’

[Passive skill chosen!]

With a small sigh, Lindarion confirmed his choice and sat up. His limbs felt normal again, moving without issue. His arms, once stiff and aching, now obeyed him without protest.

’Like hell I’m staying in bed all day. I feel like I’m reaching new heights for myself.’

Swinging his legs over the side, he stood up—only to realize just how underdressed he was.

’…I’ll pretend I didn’t notice that.’

He grabbed the fresh set of clothes left for him.

’The old ones were probably shredded in the explosion.’

The fabric was smooth, the scent crisp and clean as he pulled on the simple black outfit. It fit comfortably, the material light against his skin. The simple number one was on his outfit again.

With his mind now focused, he stepped out of the room.

’Alright, let’s see what’s happening.’

The hallway stretched endlessly before him as he made his way toward the training grounds.

By the time he arrived, the trainees were already mid-workout, running laps under Magnus’s watchful eye.

The moment Lindarion stepped in, heads turned. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"That’s the dungeon squad captain…"

"They say he soloed the monsters."

Lindarion ignored the murmurs. They were insignificant.

His chest rose and fell steadily as he took in the sight of the trainees. The sun bathed the field in golden light, stretching shadows across the ground.

Magnus, having sensed his arrival, glanced over. With slow, deliberate steps, Lindarion approached.

"You’re already up, trainee? I know the healers patched you up, but isn’t this a little fast?"

Truthfully, Lindarion didn’t need more rest. Only his arms had been injured. He just overexerted his mana core.

"Everything’s fine, Instructor Magnus," Lindarion replied, flashing a grin.

Something about that grin unsettled Magnus.

The trainees, still stealing glances at him, kept their eyes glued to his every move. After what happened in the dungeon, the rumors had turned him into something of a spectacle.

Magnus exhaled through his nose, as if debating whether to send him back to rest. Instead, he simply waved him over.

"Get in line then, Trainee One."

Lindarion nodded and took his place at the front.

The other trainees followed suit, though their gazes lingered on him. Moving to his position, he heard Magnus’s voice cut through the field, clear and commanding.

"Begin sparring! No affinities allowed!"

Silence.

Lindarion stood alone.

After all the rumors, no one wanted to fight him.

Except one.

A familiar figure stepped forward.

"Round two?"

Trainee Twelve.

His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, flowing like the waves of an endless ocean.

"So are you up for a rematch, Squad Captain?"

His tone was flat, but excitement flickered beneath the surface. But in truth he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

"Sure, not like there’s a long line," Lindarion replied, his smile sharpening.

Twelve’s face paled. The hairs on his arms stood on end at the sight of Lindarion’s creepy ass smile.

Each picked up a wooden training sword. Lindarion gripped the handle, feeling its weight trying to settle into his palm.

He made a couple of slashes and stabs but the weight of the sword felt off, for his style of fighting at least. He placed the sword back and tried another one.

This one settled in his hand perfectly as he gripped the wooden handle.

’Perfect fit.’

He gave it a few test swings, the blade whistling softly through the air.

Twelve tightened his grip on his own sword at the sight.

Both took their stances.

Lindarion rolled his shoulders, exhaling.

’This won’t take long.’

"Begin!"

The moment the word left his lips, Twelve moved.

Lindarion’s gaze followed Twelve’s every movement, tracking even the slightest shift in posture.

’At least he doesn’t hesitate. Not bad still.’

Twelve struck without warning, his wooden sword slicing through the air—yet Lindarion remained completely still.

Then, at the very last second, he moved.

Effortlessly sidestepping the attack, his body surged forward, his leg already lashing out toward Twelve’s midsection.

’That’s game.’

Twelve barely registered what happened before the impact sent him staggering backward, his breath escaping in a sharp gasp.

A full meter. That’s how far he flew.

Yet, to his credit, he pushed himself back up almost immediately, his grip tightening on his sword as he charged again.

’Oh?’

Lindarion’s grin stretched wider.

He danced around Twelve’s attacks with practiced ease, weaving through each strike like a seasoned performer—except instead of an elegant waltz, it felt more like a cat toying with a mouse.

Or an adult dangling candy just out of reach from a child.

The clash of wood against wood echoed through the training grounds as they moved, their weapons colliding in rapid succession.

Lindarion held back.

There was no point in going all out—if he did, Twelve wouldn’t last more than a few seconds. This wasn’t about raw strength.

It was about skill.

Who was the better swordsman?

Twelve or Lindarion?

Their eyes met as another exchange began. A few trainees who had finished their drills turned to watch, murmuring among themselves.

Magnus was among them.

There was a barely noticeable curve to his lips—a smile so faint that if you weren’t standing half a step away, you’d miss it entirely.

’He’s not bad, really.’

Lindarion mused as he sidestepped yet another swing, his footwork precise, controlled.

Then he struck.

Fast.

Blindingly so.

’Time to end this.’

Twelve’s eyes widened as Lindarion’s sword became a blur.

Before he could react, his fingers instinctively flinched—his weapon was already gone, knocked clean from his grasp.

Lindarion followed through, his sword stopping just short of Twelve’s throat.

"At least you didn’t look away this time."

His voice was light, almost teasing, as he offered a small smile.

"No… but you still won."

Twelve exhaled, shaking his head in acceptance.

Around them, a few trainees stared, eyes wide as they witnessed Lindarion claim yet another victory.