The Author's Playground-Chapter 35: You have no talent (2)

Chapter 35: You have no talent (2)

Year 1019, January 9.

Saturday.

As a gentle breeze brushed through the trees, it was just another morning. Yet Victoria remained out of focus, kept her steps very slow.

"You seemed distracted," Lucian noted, glancing at her.

"Oh-... I..."

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a sudden commotion caught their attention. A growing murmur spread through the students, all of them gravitating toward the same spot.

Victoria furrowed her brows. "What's going on?"

Lucian, slightly taller, tried to peer over the heads of the crowd. "Isn't that..."

"Elijah?" Lucian asked.

Curiosity piqued, and the two pushed their way through.

At the center of the crowd stood two figures.

One is Elijah,

And the other is Varden.

Victoria furrowed her brows. "What's going on?"

But soon that question was answered when Victoria took notice of the drawn in the swords in their hands.

A duel.

*****

"I hope you're ready," Varden spoke as he positioned his sword.

"My, I didn't know you cared more about me getting dropped out rather than you losing a finger!" Elijah replied, holding his sword with both hands.

The tension was suffocating. The crowd stood frozen, eyes locked onto the two figures at the center of the courtyard.

It was then Elijah noted Varden's hands.

Injured palm, with signs of callouses, the sword was also dull and used.

'He must have practiced a lot' Elijah mused.

"Interesting..."

Elijah noted as he gripped his sword tightly.

He was serious.

"That swordsmanship... what was it called?" Varden asked.

"Well, I'm not sure if you even know about 'Kendo.'"

"Kendo?"

"Haha, who am I kidding? Of course not."

"Come on," Elijah taunted, tilting his head. "Let's see if all that digging made you stronger."

Varden didn't need more provocation. He lunged forward.

Elijah grinned.

He aimed for Elijah's side, a well-blow thrust—only for Elijah to casually step back, just enough to let the blade pass him by a hair's breadth.

"Not bad," Elijah murmured. "But..."

Before Varden could react, Elijah twisted his body and countered with a sharp flick of his wrist, his blade sliced through the air toward Varden's exposed ribs.

Varden barely managed to parry, but the impact rattled his bones.

"You're too stiff," Elijah commented, tilting his head. "That's why I can read you like an open book."

Varden gritted his teeth without saying anything.

He surged forward again, this time opting for a rapid flurry of slashes, each one aimed at Elijah's vitals. He made sure to put his weight behind every attack, forcing Elijah to actually move rather than just dodge lazily.

Yet, even as he defended, Elijah's lips curled into an amused smirk.

"You leave your left side open when you transition between strikes," he pointed out mid-parry. "And when you overextend like that—"

Varden realized too late.

Elijah twisted his blade under Varden's, catching it in a lock.

"—your balance is compromised."

With a sudden pull, Elijah yanked Varden's sword downward while simultaneously stepping forward, planting his knee right into Varden's gut.

A choked gasp left Varden's lips as he stumbled backward, coughing.

The crowd murmured.

"What the hell is he doing?" Victoria whispered as she watched the fight unfold. "Is he... teaching him?"

She truly can't understand Elijah at all.

Well, that seems to go the same in Varden's thought. Annoyed as he can be, but this guy surely did well pointing out his mistakes.

Varden wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, glaring.

'I have to win'

'I can't lose to him!'

'I can't lose to anyone, especially him!'

"What? Do you feel mad?" Elijah asked obviously taunting.

Varden's grip tightened around his sword. His breathing was uneven, but his mind was starting to catch up. He wasn't just fighting Elijah.

He was learning.

The moment Elijah made his next move, Varden's body reacted differently.

He didn't just counter—he adapted.

This time, Elijah's smirk widened.

"Oh?"

When Varden dodged, he didn't leave his left side open. When he attacked, he didn't overextend.

He was adjusting mid-fight.

For the first time in the match, Elijah laughed.

A genuine, delighted, almost psychotic laugh.

"Nice! You're getting it now!"

Varden didn't reply further.

He lunged again, faster, sharper.

Finally, Elijah actually had to block.

And for the first time in the fight, Elijah took a step back.

The moment Varden forced Elijah to step back, a flicker of triumph crossed his face.

He pressed forward, swinging his blade aimlessly. His strikes were more sharper, his footwork was more refined.

He was adapting, learning—improving with every exchange.

And even the crowd buzzed with excitement.

"Go!"

"Please win!"

"Yeah, we hate that guy anyway!" (Okay now that's personal dear random student.)

But then—

Elijah sighed.

As if he had simply been humoring Varden this entire time.

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As if he had been waiting for something.

And he was disappointed.

Varden swung again, a decisive slash aimed straight at Elijah's chest—only to hit nothing but air.

Elijah had vanished from his sight.

Then something touches his neck.

A flash of silver.

A cold press of steel against his throat.

And just like that—it was over.

Varden gasped, his entire body frozen as Elijah's blade hovered just inches from slicing his neck. The fight had ended before he even realized it.

Silence fell over the crowd.

"You don't have talent for this."

'Well I didn't really mean when I said to cut his finger...' Elijah thought to himself contradicting his previous sentence. 'I'm rather impressed, he did better than I expected.'