Warlord Brontagar and Warlord Aerenya watched in utter shock as their eyes tracked Anthony and Raelithâs movements.
Although they werenât swordmasters, neither of them used the blade, they werenât totally clueless either. Their enemies often wielded swords. Raelith, their companion, used one every single day.
They had seen enough swordplay over the millennia to know the basics. They understood what made a good swordsman, what made a great one, and what made monsters.
But what was happening in front of them made them question reality itself.
They had come here with a bet in mind. A wager born out of confidence. Absolute, unshakable confidence. A bet that seemed guaranteed from the very beginning, one that they didnât even think could go wrong.
Even the seal the Supreme Monarch had placed to balance the fight didnât worry Warlord Aerenya and Warlord Brontagar. Because in their eyes, the true essence of this battle wasnât power, it was experience. Battle experience.
By every measure of time, by age, by era, by sheer existence, Raelith was supposed to be superior. He was over two thousand years old. A warrior who stood just below the Supreme Monarchs themselves, armed with nothing but his katana and his body.
Across all nine military bases of humanity, how many humans had even made it to the military rank of Warlord?
Raelith wasnât just one of them.
He was one of the best.
He was supposed to be the better one, the supreme one. He was supposed to suppress this junior warrior with ease, crushing him beneath the sheer weight of millennia of battle-hardened experience.
After all, they had read Anthonyâs file. He was only turning twenty this year. Fresh from the Omni Peak Academy. Recently finished with the Starborn Tournament.
He simply hadnât existed long enough to match Raelith with the katana, or in any other form of combat.
Even if Anthony had been on battlefields since the age of ten, it shouldnât have been possible. It was never supposed to be possible. And yet, they watched him erase the fine, fragile line between genius and madness with every slash of his blade.
Physically, he kept up. In both speed and strength, which wasnât entirely surprising considering the Supreme Monarchâs seal. But what truly defied all sense of logic and battle comprehension... was that he matched Raelith in experience.
He moved with absolute certainty. With no hesitation. No guessing. No doubt.
They watched his footwork. Watched the way he clashed and slashed. Watched as their weapons collided in a storm of sparks and exploded outward in a kiss of steel and fury.
Their expressions twisted, riddled with disbelief and pure astonishment.
This... this wasnât what genius was supposed to look like. Genius didnât birth something like this. No, even the universe itself shouldnât be capable of creating something like this.
But they kept watching.
Because who was Raelith?
He was a katana obsessed freak. A man who breathed the blade.
They believed in him.
Even if they couldnât believe what they were seeing right now, Anthony doing the impossible, it didnât matter. They knew Raelith. He would come out on top. Eventually. He had to.
The thunderous clashes of steel rang in their ears with increasing frequency. It became a rhythm, a tempo that beat against their skulls. But it didnât distract them. Their eyes remained locked on the spar. Glued, like Sellotape, unbending and unblinking.
âWhat a monster,â they both couldnât help but think at the same time.
Anthony parried attacks aimed directly at his vital organs without the slightest hint of fear. He smiled with his eyes as he moved into another blur of motion.
Then their gazes shifted, to the Supreme Monarch herself.
Surely, she must be dissatisfied, they thought. After all, Raelith was attacking her sonâs vital points without mercy. But then their eyes froze.
They saw it.
A smile.
A smile on the face of a Supreme Monarch.
It was the first time they had ever seen one smile. Usually, they wore neutral expressions, empty, emotionless. That sight alone was enough to shake Warlord Aerenya and Warlord Brontagar.
But at the same time, it made perfect sense.
After all, their Supreme Monarch... was a mother.
Which mother? Which father? Which parent wouldnât smile at their childâs greatness?
Mitchelle didnât care to hide her smile. She watched her son with pride as he matched a Warlord in calm breath and composure. Even though Anthony had once injured a Supreme Monarch in the past due to his broken abilities, this was different.
This was pure katana skill. This was will and control. And watching him keep up like this made pride explode in her chest.
She saw the silhouette of her husband in Anthony.
They both loved the blade.
They both fought with it like madmen.
They both relished it. Hungered for it.
âHe would love this scene if he were here,â Mitchelle thought to herself as her gaze followed every motion.
She already had plans to show this Katanamanship spar to Michael.
She knew her husband had always wanted to spar with their son, but Anthony never agreed. He always dodged or declined. But now, now he was here, doing this.
âItâll rile him up,â she smiled. That alone would be fun.
Even so, she knew Michael couldnât come now. Not with the war against the demons still brewing. Not with his responsibilities.
Her gaze didnât waver for a second. She tracked every motion Anthony and Raelith made, without blinking, without breathing.
She was ready to interfere at any moment.
Just in case.
âMaybe I should give Anthony a little sister,â Mitchelle couldnât help but think, grinning softly to herself. âWe could have our own fun, magic casting times, mother and daughter.â
âI hope my daughter-in-law is a mage. Or at least specializes in magic. I could show her a few things. No need to worry about affinity. Iâve mastered most of them,â Mitchelleâs thoughts drifted.
Her mind returned to earlier, when she asked Anthony if he would win. His confident answer still echoed in her memory.
âCâmon, son. Itâs almost midday. Make Mom proud. You can win this,â Mitchelle cheered internally as she watched the intensifying flurry of strikes.
She wanted her son to win.
But she also knew Raelith too well.
Then it happened.
With a massive boom, their blades met again. A supersonic detonation followed, accompanied by a wave of pressure that swept across the battlefield. The speed was insane. Incomprehensible.
Flashes of silver filled the air like new strands of oxygen. They lit up the field with their brilliance.
Thunder crackled above the sky for no reason at all, as though the heavens themselves now officiated this Katanamanship spar, not the Supreme Monarch.