Tyrus fidgeted where he stood, clutching a practice sword in his shivering hands.


    A biting wind nipped at his exposed face. A puff of white mist, which was carried away in the breeze, accompanied every breath he let out. In the middle of the stone platform, Igneal stood nearby, a practice sword resting on his arm. Sir Wayne stood between the two, seemingly unbothered by the cold.


    "Don''t get cold feet now, Tyrus. I''ve been looking forward to our rematch for a while now."


    "I''m not afraid," Tyrus said, trying his best to stop his trembling hands. "Just a little cold."


    "Aren''t you a black tiger? The cold shouldn''t be a problem for you."


    "I''m not a fully black tiger. Remember, I''m a Demi-human. Plus, I don''t have fur all over my body for protection from the—"


    "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Igneal interrupted. He yawned and rubbed his chin. "Let''s get this sparring session started already. We''ll be using the same rules as last time, but this time with another rule added. No using magic or mana, only our physical abilities."


    "That''s fine with me," Tyrus said, though slightly disappointed. His enchanted coat offered some resistance against the grueling winds, but it gave him an unfair advantage.


    With a heavy heart, Tyrus shed his coat and stored it inside his ring, letting the icy-cold winds wrap around his body. A fresh wave of chills swept through his body, but he endured it.


    Sir Wayne cleared his throat, his voice booming. "May the sparring session begin!"


    Igneal dashed forward without hesitation, his sword held high. Tyrus, who was caught off guard by Igneal''s sudden attack, barely managed to raise his sword in time to block. The impact of the blow forced Tyrus to step back. However, by the time Tyrus received the blow head on, Igneal was already two steps ahead.


    Pain flared into his body as Igneal kicked him square in the gut, sending him falling onto his back. The air in his lungs rushed out in a gust, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to stand back up.


    "I told you I wouldn''t go easy on you," Igneal said. "Underestimating you was a mistake I have learned from. We might be part of the Great Lineages, but I cannot allow myself to be beaten so easily by someone younger than me."


    Tyrus glared daggers at the noble. "I never expected you to go easy on me. I can''t get better if you do. Besides, you should be the one worried, not me."


    "I guess you have a point," Igneal replied, watching Tyrus get into a stance. "You are a Demi-human, especially one born from the Great Lineages. Your strength and reflexes are better than mine, I''ll grant you that."


    "Wow, thanks for the compliment," Tyrus grumbled.


    Since they were only fighting with swords, nothing else, Tyrus was at a severe disadvantage. Obviously, Igneal was more skilled than he was, so he probably knew all the in''s and outs of taking advantage of an inexperienced fighter. He was fighting Sir Wayne, a knight, one-on-one, and held his own. Expecting to beat Igneal again would be a dumb idea.


    But that kind of mentality was how weaklings think, and Tyrus wanted nothing to do with them.


    With a grunt, Tyrus shot forward, closing the gap between them. Igneal shifted his feet and leveled his sword. Tyrus swung his sword in a vertical motion, mimicking Igneal''s movements. A flash of surprise appeared on the Lockhart''s face, and instead of blocking, he sidestepped the incoming blade.


    Igneal slashed low, striking Tyrus right on his left thigh. He yelped and instinctively covered reached down to cover the wounded area. He realized too late his mistake and caught a swift strike to his right arm. Another shot of pain raced along his body, and his weapon clattered to the ground.


    "Ow!" Tyrus cried, rubbing his wound. He could already feel bruises forming.


    "You are full of openings," Igneal remarked. "And you dropped your weapon from a bit of pain. I was taught to never drop your weapon. What''s the point of having it in the first place if you drop it the moment you receive a blow?"


    Sir Wayne nodded. "You are right, young master. The Demi-human is too focused on the offensive, subjecting him to a series of counterattacks. His attacks are predictable, and his movements are not as smooth as his opponent''s. His stance and grip are also not firm enough, making him susceptible to being disarmed. He should divert more of his attention to your movements."


    Tyrus remained silent while he flexed his hand, quickly retrieving the weapon that had been dropped. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and tightened his grip on his sword.


    In this instance, he made the decision to adopt a more measured approach, avoiding any unnecessary aggressiveness. He knew that if he focused too much on attacking, he would have to lower his intensity and concentrate on minimizing vulnerabilities. Despite not being real, these swords still hurt a lot, and that pain increased in the cold. Walking around with lumps the size of melons would make him look stupid.


    This time around, Tyrus didn''t charge. Instead, he kept his distance and observed his opponent. Igneal happily obliged in attacking first. He dashed forward with a quick stab aimed at the abdomen. Tyrus swatted it away with his sword, but his opponent quickly retracted and countered with a slash to the shoulder. Tyrus jumped away from the swing and got into a defensive stance again.


    "Now you''re using your head," Igneal said.


    Igneal swung his sword in a circular motion, resembling a wheel, as he cautiously advanced. When he reached a close enough distance, he launched an overhead slash. However, Tyrus expected the attack and positioned himself to block it, only to be taken aback by Igneal''s smirk. In a sudden twist, Igneal pulled back at the last moment, redirecting his strike and piercing Tyrus directly in the stomach. Despite emitting a groan, Tyrus mustered the strength to weakly swing his sword at Igneal. The movement was sluggish, allowing Lockhart to effortlessly evade it.


    Darn, I thought I had him there!


    "I didn''t expect you to counterattack as soon as you were hit. If this were a real fight, you''d be bleeding out—or dead."


    Once the pain passed, Tyrus shook his head. "No, I would have augmentation and my coat protecting me."


    Igneal rolled his eyes. "Your enchanted coat only has a few uses, and you don''t have unlimited mana coursing through your mana heart. An Augmentation Sorcerer''s defenses can be pierced. Whether it be from a fist or sword coated with mana, or even a spell capable of sapping their strength. There are so many ways to counter the augmentation ability as long as you have a brain."


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    Tyrus contemplated his words and said, "Are you telling me to not get too comfortable with augmentation?"


    "I''m glad you aren''t stupid," Igneal muttered. "Now, stop talking and start moving your feet."


    They faced each other, the wind howling in their ears as it blew around them, sending a fresh cold draft to dull their senses. It was weird how Igneal wasn''t shivering from the cold now that Tyrus thought about bit. Maybe all this movement helped keep the cold at bay.


    Throughout continuous breaks and hours, their sparring session lasted from morning to late afternoon. The sun had already passed its peak and was dipping its rays below the horizon.


    Tyrus was covered in sweat and bruises, his breathing shallow. His muscles screamed for relief as he lay slumped over the platform''s edge, trying his best to keep his eyes open. Every breath sent white-hot pangs that raced along his chest, making it impossible for him to get a full breath.


    Meanwhile, Sir Wayne and Igneal stood next to him, breathing heavily as sweat dripped onto the platform.


    "I''ve worked up a sweat fighting you," Igneal said cheerfully. "We''ll be doing the same thing tomorrow, same time, same rules. Right now, a bath and a meal await."


    With an irritatingly wide smile stretched across his face, Igneal left Tyrus in his wake and made his way towards the grand manor. Sir Wayne hesitated for a brief moment, his gaze shifting towards Tyrus.


    "You may have your uses, Demi-human," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of condescension. "Remember where you stand."


    Tyrus, exhausted, couldn''t summon the strength to deliver a sharp retort. Instead, he weakly waved the knight away, watching as he departed. As his breathing steadied, Tyrus felt a tingling sensation in his hand, hovering over a knot. With focused determination, he began the soothing incantation of Healing Touch, the faint hum of magic filling the air.


    ***


    try to land a blow."


    , Tyrus thought.


    That makes sense. He probably wanted to answer some questions that his people had. It was a pretty big fire, and it sounded like it wasn''t all that common.