The Genius Mage Was Reincarnated Into A Swordsman Family-Chapter 179: A Measure Of Growth (3)

The western forest training ground was nothing like the manicured combat arenas of the White Lion fortress. Dense foliage surrounded a rough clearing, the ground uneven and unpredictable. Ancient trees towered overhead, their canopy filtering the morning light into dappled patterns that shifted with the wind. This natural unpredictability was exactly what Klaus needed.

For three days, Team 55 had pushed themselves to their absolute limits. They trained in darkness, in rain, in exhaustion—adapting to conditions that would break lesser fighters. Klaus's regimen had been merciless, designed to strip away their dependence on familiar patterns and force improvisation.

"Again," Klaus commanded, standing at the center of the clearing as dawn broke on their final day of preparation.

The squad moved without hesitation, their bodies weary but their resolve unbroken. They had been practicing a modified version of their combat formations—one that appeared identical to their usual patterns at first glance but diverged in crucial moments.

Alexandra circled to Klaus's left, her movements fluid and precise. The breakthrough to a high-tier cyan core had sharpened her control, allowing her to modulate her aura with surgical precision. She feinted right before shifting into an unexpected stance—one that looked like the opening for the Lion's Roar Formation but flowed into something entirely different.

Juron, usually the vanguard, dropped back instead of pressing forward. Finn and Darius crossed paths where they would normally maintain parallel positions. Nolan, typically defensive, assumed an aggressive posture.

Every movement was designed to trigger the wrong response from an opponent who believed they understood Team 55's tactics.

"Hold," Klaus called, studying their positioning with critical eyes. "That's better. The transition is smoother now."

He approached Alexandra, adjusting her blade angle slightly. "Your aura flares just before you shift. Control it. Make it look like you're committing to the Lion's Roar until the last possible moment."

She nodded, face grim with concentration. "And if they don't take the bait?"

"Then we adapt," Klaus replied simply. "The goal isn't to trick them with a single feint. It's to make them question everything they think they know about us."

He turned to address the entire team. "Team 13 has studied our patterns. They believe they can predict our moves, counter our strengths, exploit our weaknesses. But they've studied a version of us that no longer exists."

Finn wiped sweat from his brow. "Do you think it'll be enough? They've never lost a ranking match."

"Neither have we," Juron interjected, rolling his shoulders with a confident grin.

"The difference," Klaus said, "is that they believe victory is inevitable. We don't. And that makes us dangerous."

He drew his sword, the blade catching the early morning light. "One more drill. Full intensity. Show me what Team 13 will face tomorrow."

The squad moved into position, a familiar formation that suddenly twisted into something unexpected. Their auras flared in unison—but not in the pattern of the Lion's Roar. Instead, they formed a different configuration altogether, one they had developed over the past three days.

The Phoenix Wing.

Where the Lion's Roar concentrated power into a single devastating strike, the Phoenix Wing dispersed energy across multiple points, designed to fragment an opponent's unified defense. It was the perfect counter to a team expecting to face the Lion's Roar—and the perfect response to whatever counter Team 13 had prepared.

As they executed the new formation, Klaus watched with calculated satisfaction. They weren't perfect yet—perfection would require months, not days—but they had achieved something more valuable: unpredictability.

By midday, Klaus called an end to their training. "Rest," he ordered. "Tomorrow will test everything we've built. You need your strength."

As the squad dispersed to their makeshift camp, Klaus remained in the clearing, practicing Phantom Step in solitude. The technique had become an extension of himself, allowing him to vanish and reappear with such speed that even trained eyes struggled to track him.

"You never stop, do you?"

Klaus paused, finding Alexandra leaning against a nearby tree. Her cyan aura had settled into a steady glow, evidence of her growing mastery.

"Neither do you," he replied, noticing the fatigue lines around her eyes that spoke of private training beyond what he had assigned.

She approached, studying him with unexpected intensity. "The others don't see it, but I do."

Klaus raised an eyebrow. "See what?"

"You're holding back." She crossed her arms. "In sparring, in demonstrations, even in the ranking matches. You're never fighting at your full capacity."

Klaus's expression remained neutral, but inwardly, he acknowledged her perception. Few had ever noticed the restraint he maintained, the careful limits he placed on his abilities.

"Is that a problem?" he asked.

"It might be," she said, eyes narrowing. "Against Team 34 or Team 27, you could afford to hold back. Team 13 is different. If you don't fight with everything you have..."

"I'll fight as needed," Klaus interrupted, his tone making it clear the subject was closed.

Alexandra held his gaze for a moment before nodding slowly. "Just don't underestimate them. Varis didn't become commander of Team 13 by accident."

"I know exactly what Varis is," Klaus said, a coldness entering his voice. "A competent tactician who believes his experience makes him untouchable."

"And you plan to prove him wrong."

It wasn't a question.

Klaus returned to his practice, his movements revealing nothing of his thoughts. "Get some rest, Alexandra. Tomorrow will come soon enough."

The day of the ranking match arrived with an atmosphere of tense anticipation. Word had spread throughout White Lion about the confrontation between the rising Team 55 and the undefeated Team 13. By the time Klaus led his squad into Arena One—the largest combat ground in the fortress—spectators had already filled the observation platforms.

Team 13 waited on the opposite side of the arena, five disciplined fighters arranged in perfect formation behind their leader. Varis Dawnreaver stood with quiet confidence, his silver-trimmed uniform immaculate, his posture relaxed yet alert. His eyes tracked Klaus with predatory focus as Team 55 approached the center of the field.

Captain Kalix stood between the teams, his expression stern. "This ranking match will be conducted under full-contact rules," he announced, his voice carrying across the arena. "Victory is achieved when all members of the opposing team are incapacitated or forced to surrender. Lethal strikes are forbidden, but all other techniques are permitted."

He looked between both team leaders. "Any final words before we begin?"

Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.

Varis stepped forward, his lips curving into a slight smile. "May the best team win," he said, though his tone suggested he had no doubt which team that would be.

Klaus merely nodded, his blue eyes revealing nothing.

As Kalix stepped back, the tension in the arena thickened. A silence fell over the crowd, anticipation building as both teams took their positions.

Klaus surveyed Team 13 with a calculated assessment. Varis stood at their center, flanked by two fighters whose stance and aura marked them as mid-tier cyan cores. Behind them were three more, positioned in a defensive formation that would allow them to adapt to multiple attack vectors.

A flexible, responsive configuration—exactly what Klaus would expect from a team that had studied their opponents thoroughly.

He gave Team 55 a subtle nod, and they shifted into their standard opening stance—the one Team 13 would have seen countless times during their observations.

The signal was given.

The match began.