Having accepted the need to fight, Achilles patiently waited for his opponent's answer.
To be honest, he had not given this battle much thought and was not afraid to take responsibility for the words he had spoken long ago.
Achilles had expected anything from Grey.
That he would try to joke his way out of it. That he would shamelessly abuse his position, show off his audacity and sense of humor, and simply refuse. That he would come up with some kind of trial that could replace the duel...
But not this...
"Will we be using our weapons, or will we limit ourselves to hand-to-hand combat?" Grey asked again, looking completely confident.
It seemed like a very simple question, yet Achilles was able to draw far too many conclusions from those seemingly simple words.
First of all, Grey was confident in his own strength. Otherwise, he simply could not have agreed to the duel. Not because he was a coward, but because he could not afford to lose on the very first day of the Void's Order, which he had announced with such solemnity.
That confidence irritated Achilles, who surpassed him by a full three levels.
And yet, no matter how arrogant Achilles was, he had seen Grey with his own eyes on the battlefield and had to give him credit. Grey had every right to carry himself with confidence and could pose a threat even to a fighter at the Centurion level.
Achilles refused to underestimate his opponent and firmly decided to give it his all.
Secondly, Achilles understood that Grey had not given him a choice for no reason.
If they decided to compete in swordsmanship, he would feel freer while also being more restricted.
How had he come to that conclusion?
It was very simple. Grey's weapons were simply too high-quality. The gladius and dagger in his hands were at least Gold-rank. If they clashed with Achilles' own sword, which could only barely be considered Silver-rank, the outcome would be quite predictable. It would either quickly become useless and lose its edge, or break apart after the very first clash.
Achilles involuntarily frowned, unsure which choice to make.
He did not consider Grey's advantage unfair. After all, a weapon was considered just as much an inseparable part of any fighter's strength as their own cultivation.
Such was the law of Eridania. Such was the morality of this world. Such were the established foundations of society.
Could you blame your opponent for having more money and more opportunities in a battle where life and death were at stake? Even in theory, such questions sounded utterly ridiculous. Complaining about such unfairness was no different from blaming your opponent for being born more talented. Wasn't that nonsense?
But at the same time, using Gold-rank weapons gave Achilles freedom as well.
He could use his own mana without any guilt. He could use every skill he possessed as a Centurion. And no one, not even Achilles himself, would dare call it dishonorable or mockery of a cripple.
Hand-to-hand combat...
No.
Achilles did not consider himself a model of virtue and nobility, but he would not have been able to bring himself to use mana against a cripple, against a person he sincerely respected. Which meant he would have to restrain himself greatly...
He raised his head and met Grey's gaze.
Grey patiently waited for his answer, just as Achilles himself had waited a minute ago. Without rushing him... Without impatience...
"This will be a sword fight," Achilles said decisively.
At that moment, his face took on a calm, focused expression.
"It was like a scene from a movie, overflowing with drama. Two blue-eyed beauties. One, a curly-haired blond, every girl's dream. The other, a charismatic dark-haired man with short hair. One, a fallen aristocrat raised under the watchful care of powerful elders. The other, a true warrior who had faced a sea of hardships and forged himself on the battlefield. Both were unwillingly dragged into a duel neither of them wanted.
How will this battle end? Will Grey be able to defend his honor? Or will Achilles become the new protagonist and take all the glory? We'll find out after a short commercial break... Don't go anywhere..."
"Shut up," Junior roared at Senior, barely holding back his laughter.
But no matter how hard he tried to control himself, at some point, he simply could not hold it in anymore and burst out laughing... Madly, uncontrollably, filled with genuine joy and anticipation...
"Damn it, because of his antics, I'm acting like a madman again... What will happen to my reputation?" Junior helplessly cursed his other personality as he rushed into battle.
"Here it comes!" Kai commented excitedly.
"Damn, this is even more exciting than I imagined. Just look at Grey. He seems to have been looking forward to this battle. You'd never guess he was against it."
"And Achilles? Look at that concentration! He's not underestimating our commander at all. That's exactly how a true expert should act. Even a lion gives it his all when hunting a rabbit."
"Who did you just call a rabbit, idiot? Our boss? Have you completely lost your mind from all that training?"
"That's not true! It was the boss himself who taught us these profound truths. I just didn't express myself properly. Why are you picking on me?"
"Is Sir Grey going to use that dagger and sword? They're insanely sharp!"
"Anyone taking bets?! I'm putting my dinner tomorrow on Achilles."
"Quiet!" Reus roared.
"And step back unless you want to lose your arms!" Sunny added, pulling the sisters farther away.
Achilles moved first. Streams of mana began circulating through his meridians, enhancing his physical abilities.
Although Achilles did not consider Grey a worthy opponent, he genuinely admired the philosophy of battle that Grey taught his subordinates. And right now, Achilles was acting according to those very teachings.
He immediately went all out, using his full strength to defeat his opponent as quickly as possible.
His muscles bulged. A distinct imprint was left in the hard ground beneath his feet. The distance between the two fighters closed rapidly.
His sword traced a wide, sweeping arc, aimed straight at Grey's throat. The strike seemed so fast that some of the teenagers who had only recently begun training failed to even see the blade. They caught only a brief flash.
Clang!
Grey's gladius met the attack at a perfect angle.
He did not try to stop the force of the blow. He knew he couldn't. He simply redirected it slightly as his body slipped to the side. Even so, a distinct notch appeared on Achilles' sword.
"Tch," Achilles clicked his tongue in disappointment.
This was exactly what he had feared. Grey's weapons were far superior to his own. Even when he used mana to strengthen his sword, the result remained disappointing.
Grey gave him no time to think and immediately thrust his dagger forward, trying to use Achilles' own momentum against him.
Achilles' eyes widened in surprise. Grey's move was too precise and too fast.
He dodged by redirecting the flow of mana. This simple action required far more effort than he had expected. If he had hesitated for even a second, he could have lost in the very first exchange.
He read the trajectory and immediately came up with an effective counter?
Achilles shifted his stance and unleashed a series of sharp strikes at Grey, like an endless storm.
However, this time he approached things differently.
He avoided direct clashes with Grey's weapons and stopped or redirected his own strikes whenever he realized that a block was unavoidable.
He could use this method because he was faster and physically stronger than his opponent. If Grey could match him in those aspects, he would have easily caught Achilles during the brief pause between movements and turned his own tactics against him.
But Grey was weaker and slower...
At that moment, he had to calculate every possible outcome, assess Achilles' movements, and predict where his next strike would land.
In fact, Grey did not consider these calculations particularly difficult. This was exactly how he always fought against Grace during their sparring sessions.
The number of possible moves in swordsmanship at the Mortal stage was quite limited, and switching from one to another was not easy.
"This is just basic biomechanics," Senior commented. He was in the best position to understand Junior's reasoning, since he had a front-row seat to everything happening.
"A person simply can't bend their elbow backward. So, to change the direction of a strike, they first have to pull their arm back. You watch them and predict their next move based on where exactly they draw their arm to prepare for the next swing."
Achilles continued his relentless series of attacks.
One strike. A second. A third. A thrust. A feint.
But every time, Grey began moving first. Before Achilles could even complete his swing, Grey's sword was already waiting at the perfect spot to block it.
From an observer's perspective, it seemed as though Grey could predict his opponent's every move. As if he could see the future but simply lacked the strength and agility to take advantage of that ability.
And that was exactly what was happening.
Every time Grey tried to strike back, Achilles easily dodged and continued his assault.
Achilles could not be considered an experienced veteran, but neither was he a novice.
Although his technique and movements were far from perfect, and Grey was clearly superior in skill, there were not many opportunities to attack. Even when such opportunities occasionally appeared, they could only disrupt Achilles' rhythm, not deliver a checkmate.
But Grey did not despair.
In fact, he remained calm and even somewhat relaxed.
Yes, Achilles was stronger, faster, and heavier.
But...
"Grace was worse. No, better. Much better," he concluded.
Even before that bitch called Fate had separated them a year ago, his sister had already reached the Centurion level and was preparing to break through to the Saint rank. If Achilles and Lily could be considered genuine geniuses, then Grace was a monster.
It was no wonder Apollo had shown such a keen interest in her.
Her talent was simply beyond reason. Add excellent teachers, whom Achilles could only dream of having, grueling training from early childhood, tremendous dedication driven by her desire to cure her brother, and an intellect carefully nurtured by Catherine that rivaled his own, and it was easy to imagine just how dangerous an opponent Grace had been.
She was simply on another level.
If not for her desire to strengthen her foundation as much as possible and gain the greatest benefits from the Mortal levels, Grace could have become a Saint at just eight years old.
That was how absurdly powerful her Legendary-rank core and talents were.
And Grey had fought such a monster not just once or twice, all while using the body of a cripple.
Grace had never gone easy on him, because Grey himself found it insulting and infuriating. Every time, she mercilessly beat him with a wooden sword until he had perfected his technique to the point where he could finally fight back.
Compared to the pressure his sister had put on him, Achilles seemed almost ridiculously straightforward.
Clang!
Achilles failed to keep his blade in check, and their weapons clashed once again.
This time, Grey did not rush to counterattack.
He suddenly swung his dagger, aiming not at Achilles' body, but directly at his sword.
That was right.
He intended to disarm his opponent.
Achilles read his intentions and quickly pulled his blade back, leaning away at the same time. He was spending an insane amount of mana on these movements, but he simply could not afford to act otherwise.
He understood that if he allowed one more unfavorable clash, even one tiny mistake... his weapon would turn into a pile of useless fragments in an instant.
He understood Grey's tactics and considered them the most sensible approach.
But that didn't mean this shameless tactic wasn't irritating.
It was. Incredibly irritating.
"Fight properly!" Achilles growled.
"I am fighting properly," Grey replied calmly, as if he genuinely didn't understand the point of the complaint.
Achilles wanted to curse.
That bastard is doing this on purpose!
What irritated him wasn't Grey's intentions, but the realization that Grey was actually capable of carrying them out.
Was he really just playing with him? Just how much better was Grey's combat sense than his own?
Although Achilles had no intention of losing anytime soon, he felt as if his hands and feet were tied.
He was forced to constantly change his attack trajectories, interrupt his strikes, avoid hard blocks, and retreat precisely when he should have been pressing forward. And every time he thought he had finally cornered Grey, that damned blade appeared right in front of his eyes again.
The initiative was slipping away. His rhythm was falling apart. And his mana wasn't getting any fuller.
...
P.S.
You know, I had a really exhausting shift at my main job today, and by the time I got home, I was completely worn out. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and read novels by other authors to unwind.
But then I saw a comment from one of my longtime readers who was eagerly waiting for the next chapter. (Thank you, typsypower!)
And you know what? I just couldn't let him down. So I pulled myself together and sat down at my computer, even though all I wanted was to forget about everything and relax.
Thank you so much for your support and activity. It's your engagement that keeps me going and pushes me to pursue my dream: writing my own novel and proving that I'm just as capable as other popular authors, despite all the difficulties along the way.