Free Web Novel"This kid is dead for sure."
This was the thought of most people in the surrounding crowd.
A male student in the front row of the crowd pushed up his glasses, clutching a notebook filled with data.
He was a second-year data analyst. Although he didn't fight on the battlefield, his assessment of combat power was highly professional.
The man in the arena was the Iron Cross Society's new star, Julian von Weber.
Though arrogant, his 'Cross Fencing' was perfected, with a sword drawing speed reaching three strikes per second.
And the woman, the Dawn Brigade's "Wildcat" Katya.
Though a commoner, her two daggers seemed to be extensions of her hands, cunning and vicious, specifically targeting the lower body and joints.
These two were the top performers in their respective societies, and they hadn't been able to determine a winner even after ten minutes of fighting.
And now, these two murderous individuals were actually going to team up to deal with a...
Little Red Riding Hood who seemed to have lost her way?
The silver-haired girl hadn't even drawn a weapon.
She just stood there, her skirt still stained with dust from when she fell, her hands naturally hanging down, her posture as relaxed as if she were strolling in her own backyard.
"Is that adopted daughter of the Schwartz Family... scared silly?" a nearby student whispered.
The bespectacled student remained silent.
He narrowed his eyes, staring at the girl's pale gray pupils.
Something was wrong.
She was too calm.
Facing two armed individuals about to pounce, there wasn't a trace of tension in her eyes, not even the instinctive muscle tightening one would have when facing danger.
She looked at the two of them as if watching two naughty children playing with wooden sticks.
"Look, it's starting!"
Someone shouted, or perhaps it was a tacit understanding between the two.
Julian moved first.
His longsword drew a silver arc, aiming straight for the girl's right shoulder.
Although this strike wasn't lethal, it was enough to incapacitate someone.
Immediately after, Katya slid across the ground like a gray shadow, her two daggers, one left and one right, like the fangs of a venomous snake, striking at the girl's knees.
One high, one low, perfectly coordinated.
Even third-year seniors would have to retreat in a flurry when faced with such a pincer attack.
The bespectacled student held his breath.
However, the girl merely took a small step to the side.
Just one small step, yet it was as if she had stepped on some invisible node.
Julian's longsword missed, almost grazing her nose.
And the moment the longsword missed, the girl's left hand, as if swatting a fly, casually tapped Julian's wrist.
"Snap."
A crisp sound.
Julian's sword momentum was instantly broken, and he stumbled forward a step due to inertia.
At the same time, the girl's right foot lifted gently, not kicking, but accurately stepping on Katya's outstretched right wrist, like extinguishing a cigarette butt.
"Crack."
The movement was incredibly light, not even lifting her skirt too high.
Everything happened in a flash.
Their combined attack, like a delicate glass bottle, was instantly shattered by the girl's casual tap and step.
"Your coordination is too stiff."
The girl's voice echoed in the arena, her tone gentle, with an infuriating patience.
"Your sword path is too straight, your intention too obvious. As for this one below—"
She looked down at Katya, who was trying to pull her wrist back, "Sliding close to the ground is a good idea, but your center of gravity is too low. Once you're restrained, you can't change direction at all."
Katya's face flushed crimson.
She suddenly exerted force, trying to stab the girl's calf with the dagger in her left hand.
But the girl merely tilted her ankle slightly, lightly grinding her heel on Katya's hand.
"Oh dear, don't squirm. I'm explaining things."
That tone was like soothing a disobedient kitten.
Julian had already regained his balance, and shame mixed with anger made him lose his reason.
He roared, gripping his sword with both hands, and a powerful downward chop fell directly on her head.
"Shut up!"
This sword strike carried the sound of wind, clearly indicating he was serious.
The onlookers gasped.
The bespectacled student's pen tip left a long mark on the paper.
It's over, Julian has probably lost his mind.
Although the sword wasn't sharpened, it was genuine metal.
If this sword strike landed, the girl's head would be split open.
But the next second, everyone's jaws dropped.
The girl didn't dodge.
She merely raised her right hand, extended two fingers—index and middle—and lightly pinched the longsword's descending trajectory.
"Clang—"
That training longsword, forged from fine steel, was actually clamped between her two fingers!
The blade was less than five centimeters from her forehead.
Julian's face was flushed, veins bulging on his arms, as he desperately tried to push the sword down or pull it back.
But the sword seemed to be cast into the girl's fingers, unmoving.
"Good strength, but your point of exertion is wrong."
The girl maintained her lecturing tone, even tilting her head slightly as if observing an interesting toy.
"You're using your shoulders to exert force, not your core. While it looks fierce, it lacks stamina later on, and—"
She flicked her wrist gently.
A strange vibration transmitted along the sword.
Julian felt a numbness in his tiger's mouth, and he could no longer hold the sword, which flew out of his hand.
The girl smoothly caught the hilt and then twirled it in a beautiful sword flourish. freewebnσvel.cѳm
"This is how a sword is used."
She held the sword in a reverse grip and lightly tapped Julian's knee pit with the flat of the blade.
Julian felt his legs go weak and he knelt on the ground with a "thud."
"And you."
The girl looked down at Katya, who was still struggling.
She released her foot from Katya's wrist, but the moment Katya tried to spring up, the tip of the sword was already at her throat.
"Daggers are assassin's weapons; they emphasize a single, fatal strike. Were all those flashy moves you just made dancing?"
The entire arena was silent.
From start to finish, it had been less than twenty seconds.
Two of the academy's elites, one kneeling and one prone, were completely subdued.
The bespectacled student's pen, with a "snap," had its tip unconsciously broken off.
At that moment, as a recorder who prided himself on data and rationality, his mind went blank.
All formulas for calculating strength, speed, and angle collapsed in that instant.
In their place was a shiver almost religious in nature.
He looked at the girl.
At this moment, the [N O V E L I G H T] afternoon sun happened to penetrate the massive hole in the roof, forming a murky yet dazzling pillar of light that directly enveloped the center of the dueling ground.
Dust motes danced wildly in the light pillar, like countless golden particles on a pilgrimage.
The girl stood at the center of that light and dust.
Her dark red dress, against the somewhat dim background of the ruins, was a breathtaking crimson.
Her silver hair glowed with a hazy halo in the backlight, her strands floating lightly, as if even gravity ceased to exist before her.
She didn't look at the two once-arrogant elites on the ground, nor at the longsword in her hand.
She merely raised her head slightly, looking at the sunlight pouring down from above.
There was no victor's joy, no mockery of the weak, not even human emotional fluctuations.
Only a condescending, absolute indifference.
Like a young tyrant, standing before her throne, watching the noisy, foolish subjects below, squabbling for trivial reasons.
At that moment, the ruins were no longer ruins.
The broken walls became her palace, the scattered stones her red carpet, and the two "strong" individuals on the ground were merely offerings kneeling before the queen.
The girl casually thrust the longsword into the ground beside her.
She lightly patted the dust from her skirt, her movements slow and unhurried.
Then, she held up the sides of her skirt with both hands, took half a step back with her right foot, bent her knees slightly, and straightened her back.
In the ravaged battlefield, under the gaze of hundreds of eyes filled with fear and reverence, she performed a flawlessly standard curtsy.
"Well then, I'll be going now." fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
Her voice was soft, as if the person who had just held a sword to someone's throat wasn't her.
The girl turned around, her black round-toed leather shoes making rhythmic "crunching" sounds on the gravel.
One step, two steps.
She walked towards the exit.
The area was originally crowded with students watching the commotion, including nobles from the Iron Cross and commoners from the Dawn Brigade.
They had just been shoving, cursing, and wishing they could tear each other apart.
But now, no one spoke.
No one even dared to breathe loudly.
As the girl approached, that invisible, suffocating aura surged like a tide.
The bespectacled student saw that the usually arrogant senior students retreated with pale faces; those unruly special admissions students instinctively lowered their heads, avoiding her gaze.
Fear is instinct.
And in the face of absolute power, retreat is also instinct.
No need for words to drive them away, no need for military intimidation.
The crowd parted a path for her.
Just as Moses parted the Red Sea.
