How to Live as a Swordmaster of the Enemy Nation

Martial Arts Tournament (2)

"Hiyaaaah!"

The opponent brought down his sword with overwhelming force. Since they had already greeted each other, the battle had begun. However, the opponent didn't even bother with a battle of nerves.

Gregory calmly stared at his opponent. Why was that? Even against such a fierce sword strike, Gregory paid it no mind, gazing at his opponent without the slightest hesitation.

He held his ground without dodging until the very end—just when his opponent was certain of victory.

Only then did Gregory turn his head and effortlessly evade the blade. Minimal movement. One of those special techniques considered a mark of a true master.

The other nobles, witnessing this, thought that Gregory had turned his head at the very instant he was frightened, causing the force in his body to falter, and only because of that did the opponent's sword miss.

But that was merely how it looked through the eyes of those lacking any real skill.

Radian, watching this, wore a sly smile. The opponent too believed he had simply made a mistake, so his face twisted in anger.

The strikes kept coming. Gregory stared down each blow to the very end, evading them just the same.

"Is that all?"

Gregory's lips twitched into motion. Dodging each simple, predictable sword strike, his habitual trait leaked out—a coach's advice. It was a habit Gregory could never break.

At those words, the opponent jumped at him in agitation. While easily evading his attacks, Gregory asked back in a calm, even tone.

"I'm asking you—is that your best?"

"......"

At that, the opponent's arms trembled uncontrollably, and he could no longer attack. A crushing pressure, as if he were suffocating with fear. He looked at Gregory with a sick, pained expression.

Gregory let out a hollow laugh as he observed the abysmal standard of this martial arts tournament. To think that with such pitiful skills, these so-called nobles indulged themselves at banquets.

And it was even more comical that someone like that dared to look down on him.

One who insults others without being even a little prepared himself is all the less deserving. Seeing the opponent frozen with fear and unable to say a word, Gregory judged that ending the match quickly wouldn't be strange.

Accordingly, he struck the opponent's solar plexus with his wooden sword, knocking him down.

Those with a keen eye for swordsmanship may have noticed this precise motion. After all, it was not hard to understand that minimal movement can open up an opportunity to attack your opponent.

Or perhaps, since this was in a time even earlier than when he had learned swordsmanship in his previous life, he was overestimating them.

The moment the match ended, some people stared blankly and replayed Gregory's sword techniques, while the supporters of the defeated opponent clicked their tongues and filed out.

'Who told someone with skills that pathetic to even show up here?'

There was no doubt about the massive gap in ability between Gregory and his opponent, but letting someone that unprepared participate in a sacred martial arts tournament was an undeniable misjudgment.

Everything else was so dull and simple that it seemed hardly worth watching. Even the nobles who flanked his opponent looked so lost that it was almost pitiable.

Soon enough, the tournament proceeded in rapid succession. The sun was already setting. At this pace, what was expected to take several days might actually finish even sooner.

Nobles eliminated from the matches left the stadium immediately and began their return journeys. They might have felt empty. After all, it wasn't just one or two kingdoms that entered, and the road home would be long and winding.

Gregory, seeking to clear his mind and body, soaked himself in a warm bath and then returned to his room.

Crash—

A loud noise sounded from his room. He had no companions, and, to be careful, he'd tightly closed his door before leaving to prevent intruders. That meant no one should be inside.

'Surely, someone has deliberately broken into my lodgings. If so, who...?'

Gregory cautiously opened the door and surveyed the interior. Without a doubt, a girl he had never seen before was sitting there. She looked about the same age as him.

Sky-blue, long hair, braided into two pigtails on either side. Bright, sparkling eyes—a girl with a lively gaze. No matter how hard he tried to recall, she was not a participant in the martial arts tournament.

"Eeek! You scared me!"

The mysterious girl jumped in surprise when she noticed Gregory quietly approaching from behind. Without being questioned, she hurriedly stammered out even more suspicious excuses.

"I-I just came to the wrong room. Th-that's all!!"

She dashed off in a hurry. Normally, he would have followed to scold her and figure out what was going on, but oddly, Gregory just watched her go. Maybe he was just too dumbfounded by the ridiculous situation.

Thus far, there was no one who should've borne a grudge against him. At most, the only candidates were the noble he'd defeated or a group of nobles envious of Gregory's sword skills.

Suspicious, he searched the room carefully for any tricks, but nothing seemed amiss.

No matter how thoroughly he checked or deeply he considered, if there was no problem, then it likely meant there was no major incident. If it was some elaborate ploy, they wouldn't have carried it out so sloppily.

For now, the exhaustion of watching that tiresome swordsmanship all day weighed down on him, and drowsiness washed over him.

'To think I'll have to keep watching those sword techniques... I want to overhaul every single one of them.'

***

The next day, Gregory woke up early and began training. Even if it was the day of the tournament, there was no reason to neglect practice.

Even as he trained, Gregory was somewhat worried about the Dawn Order knights. He felt confident he could blaze his way through, adding a winning record at the martial arts tournament to his name, but his fellow knights would be suffering through the pains of growth.

'Just a bit longer, and I'll be able to stop the war.'

Recharged with renewed confidence, he saw nobles leaving one after another. Perhaps they couldn't accept their defeat, or perhaps they regretted not trying harder and had spent the night tossing and turning.

After just one day, half the tournament participants were already headed home.

As is the nature of a tournament pyramid, as you ascend, the number of participants dwindles, and it was inevitable that Gregory would eventually face the remaining few. There was much to gain from carefully analyzing their skills, so he paid special attention to their matches.

The flow of the tournament continued, and before long, the quarterfinals began.

The seven nobles Gregory had been watching advanced as he expected, and together with Gregory, a total of eight participants entered the quarterfinals.

The matches proceeded in order, and fierce duels unfolded. These were not ordinary nobles, but prodigies from the most renowned swordsmanship families of each kingdom.

'Did he always look so handsome? I remember him as a rough, rugged uncle...'

He had seen, and even crossed swords with, some of these figures in the past. Perhaps because they were so well-respected, their swordsmanship was impressively refined. Their habits and weaknesses were the same as before, and if Ernest had been here, it might not have been so easy for Gregory to win.

If so, then he already had the upper hand in this timeline. If things continued as they were, he might really be able to prevent the war.

As the number of competitors left in the vast stadium decreased, so too did the number of spectators, making the space feel increasingly empty and desolate. As a result, it became easier for everyone to focus on each remaining contestant.

Now, the real competition was beginning.

The further things progressed, the more the audience started to speculate: would Gregory win, or would that other noble? That was what most people were focused on.

The reason was simple—of the eight remaining, six looked like ordinary knights sparring, whereas both Gregory's and that other noble's swordsmanship immediately struck everyone as unusual.

Whispers about Gregory and the other noble spread quickly and quietly.

Time flew by, and soon enough it was already the finals. The martial arts tournament had proceeded even faster than scheduled, and after everyone else had been eliminated, only Gregory and that smirking noble were left standing.

Gregory had watched every remaining match until the end, learning everything there was to learn, and he had even picked up on ways the knights could improve. It occurred to him that this analysis might prove useful when reinforcing the strength of the Dawn Order.

Just then, that noble cheerily approached Gregory in a childish manner and whispered quietly.

"You must have some skill, making it this far, huh?"

"Idiot, don't get ahead of yourself."

"This is fun. My name is Versophi."

"Shut up. I couldn't care less about your name."

Versophi, as the boy called himself—Gregory had never heard the name, nor seen his face. He was certain he would have remembered anyone who acted with such impudence.

"Are you confident? Didn't you watch my skills as you climbed this far?"

Versophi brushed his forehead with a hand, brimming with confidence as he met Gregory's gaze. Gregory wasn't denying his skill. For a youth, this level of ability almost guaranteed victory.

Yet only one question haunted Gregory. If he kept advancing at this rate, someday he'd be famed as a great knight. Surely, that was his fate.

Moreover, the insignia on his formal attire. Compared to the other kingdoms, the Blandi Kingdom always engraved their insignia on their dress uniform. That meant this boy must have been a knight even in Gregory's previous life.

Why couldn't Gregory recognize him? Had he died for some reason long ago, or had he lived his life in obscurity?

He didn't think Versophi would have been thrown immediately into war—surely there was more to the story.

But he had no way of knowing the details. In the end, he would never know exactly who this person once was.

The only thing clear to Gregory now was this:
From the moment I possessed this body, the past has already begun to change, and unpredictable people like this will suddenly start appearing in my life.

Gregory, face grave, stared at Versophi, whose own expression betrayed no emotion.

Radian's representative, sensing Gregory and Versophi were ready, started the match.

"Attention! Salute to each other!"

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
Not gonna lie... This tournament kinda feels like a filler arc...
Probably because there's not much competition...
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】