Seeing Volkman's reaction, Najin was certain his plan had worked.

'Looks like the plan worked.'

-Looks that way.

Immediately after accepting Volkman's commission, Najin had researched the Order of the Sword. He had consulted Merlin's knowledge, rumors about the Order, and even relevant books. Information about the Order of the Sword had been relatively easy to find, since it was an open organization rather than a closed one.

Putting that information together, Najin had reached one conclusion before beginning the commission.

'It's safe to show some of my talent.'

Of course, Najin knew his talent could be regarded as a threat. He also knew that if he recklessly stole a noble house's secret swordsmanship and reproduced it right before their eyes, things would become very complicated.

Even so, he had revealed his talent to Volkman because he was certain he could do so—at least with the Order of the Sword.

「Ha ha. Quite an enthusiastic young man.」

「Watch all you like. Just don't come too close. It could be dangerous.」

His earlier conversation with Volkman had confirmed that the information he had found about the Order was correct.

'The Order of the Sword doesn't hide its swordsmanship.'

They devoted a dozen years or more, sometimes their entire lives, to improving their swordsmanship, yet they were not particularly reluctant to let outsiders see their swords in action.

Even if someone stole the Order's swordsmanship and developed it in their own way, the Order would applaud and celebrate the achievement. A new path had opened in swordsmanship, and that alone satisfied them.

-I told you. It's a gathering of weirdos, Merlin said.

-They're lunatics who think advancing swordsmanship is enough in itself. Their whole way of thinking is a little different.

The priests of the Order of the Sword valued the advancement of swordsmanship and the training of swordsmen above all else. Mulling that over, Najin recalled the Order's precepts, which he had read in a book.

He had succeeded in attracting Volkman's interest. All that remained was to use those precepts to draw him in. Recalling the plan he had prepared, Najin ran his hand over his sword's hilt.

'If I'm lucky...'

He would be able to copy an even greater variety of sword techniques.

Watching Volkman swing his sword with his back to him, Najin smacked his lips. He had no intention of learning a few simple techniques and going home. Volkman still seemed to have plenty of techniques hidden away.

'Since I've decided to steal from him...'

Najin smiled.

'I might as well clean him out.'

2.

Having finished off the remaining orcs, Volkman let out a long breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breathing was ragged. Even for a Sword Expert, fighting orcs without sword aura was no easy task.

But that was precisely what made it good training.

Relying on sword aura's exceptional cutting power would dull the sharpness of the sword itself. Whenever training like this allowed Volkman to affirm the sharpness of the swordsmanship he had honed for so many years, he felt a sense of pleasure.

Normally, he would have been smiling happily now, too, but...

"..."

Volkman could not smile.

He silently looked back. Something was bothering him. There stood a young man putting the heads of the orcs Volkman had cut down into sacks—the young man who had introduced himself as Ivan.

Before the orc hunt began, the young man had asked whether he could watch his swordsmanship up close, and Volkman had readily agreed. He seemed diligent in his training, and Volkman liked his eagerness to learn.

'That's why I gave him permission to watch.'

Volkman's eyes narrowed.

The young man's movements from moments earlier lingered in his mind. He had moved before Volkman could shout a warning, as though he had sensed the goblins charging from his blind spot.

That much could be explained away as good instincts. The problem was the swordsmanship he had used afterward.

The linked, cycling stances. The flow that united attack and defense through that cycle. It was the swordsmanship Volkman had shown him, the foundation of the Order of the Sword's techniques.

Of course, the swordsmanship itself was not rare. The Order's techniques were widely known, and its four basic stances were even covered in readily available swordsmanship manuals.

'But...'

Volkman pressed firmly between his brows.

The Order did not mind revealing its swordsmanship because not just anyone could reproduce it. Its swordsmanship was perfected through long years of training and repetition.

Every tiny movement was refined, and the same motions were repeated for years to master a single stance. The precision of a stance perfected that way was the very essence of the Order's swordsmanship.

'Swordsmanship that can only be perfected through effort and time.'

It was not something one could imitate merely by watching. Even if someone stole the techniques, they could not steal the time spent honing them.

'That should certainly be true.'

Then what about the movements that young man had just shown?

The sword swings had lasted only a moment, but Volkman had seen them clearly. The young man's stances were perfectly aligned, and the transitions between them were smooth.

The force in each step. The angle of his arms and the path traced by his sword tip. His exhalations and the direction of his gaze. Even the way he gripped his sword.

He had mastered all of it perfectly. Such precise movements could not be perfected in a day or two.

'In other words...'

It was the sort of precision only Mid-Ranking Priests who had repeated the same motions for decades would possess. The young man's build and appearance were different from his own, yet watching him move, Volkman had almost felt as though he were looking into a mirror.

That was how closely he resembled Volkman—not only in his movements, but even in the tiniest habits.

That fact unsettled Volkman. Had he watched and copied what Volkman had shown him so briefly? No, that defied common sense. Then had he learned the Order's swordsmanship somewhere before?

No matter how much he thought about it, he could find no answer.

"Ivan, was it?"

After much deliberation, Volkman finally spoke. Approaching the young man, he asked him a question.

"Have you learned the Order's swordsmanship somewhere before? Those movements you just showed are our techniques, and they aren't something you could perfect in a day or two. You seem to have trained for a long time..."

The young man remained silent, and Volkman continued.

"If you have a master who taught you swordsmanship, may I ask their name?"

If this young man had a master, that person must surely be an eminent swordsman. For someone his age to adopt such flawless stances, he would need a good master to correct them.

'A High-Ranking Priest of the Order? Or a renowned wandering swordsman? Either way, it must be someone well versed in the Order's swordsmanship.'

Who could it be?

It might even be a swordsman he knew. Volkman waited for the young man to speak, but...

"..."

He remained silent.

Frustrated by his refusal to answer, Volkman was about to ask again when the young man spoke.

"I've heard a great deal about the Order of the Sword."

Those were not the words Volkman had expected. But neither could he ignore them. At a certain word the young man uttered, Volkman's eyes narrowed.

"I hear the Order has this precept."

The Precepts of the Sword.

Just as Atanga's knight order upheld the ancient precepts of knighthood, the Order of the Sword had long observed several rules left by the first Sword Saint as its precepts.

The young man recited one of them.

"If you would speak of the sword, speak with your sword."

Volkman's eyes widened.

A disbelieving chuckle soon escaped his lips. It did not take long for that chuckle to turn into hearty laughter.

『If you would speak of the sword, speak with your sword.』

The first Sword Saint, a hearty, forthright man, had always let his sword precede his words. He had insisted that a swordsman ought to speak through his sword.

Thus, that precept amounted to this:

Why prattle on when crossing swords will tell you what you need to know? Instead of weighing every little thing, pick up your sword and come at me. Trade a few blows, and you'll find out naturally.

In short, it meant: let's have a sword fight.

"A bold young man, aren't you?"

A smile formed on Volkman's lips.

Not every priest followed the precepts. Volkman, too, remembered them without allowing himself to be bound by them.

Even so, he did not regard them so lightly that he would ignore a swordsman invoking the Precepts of the Sword before him. And in Volkman's opinion, the young man was right.

"You're quite right."

Volkman was intrigued by the young man before him and wanted to test his skill. He knew well that nothing would satisfy that desire better than a sparring match.

CLACK.

Volkman drew his sword from his waist, scabbard and all. Binding sword and scabbard tightly together with his belt, he pointed it at the young man.

"A priest of the sword cannot very well violate the precepts. I'm rather interested in your swordsmanship. May I ask you for a sparring match?"

The young man silently offered a swordsman's salute. He, too, bound his sword firmly to its scabbard before stepping back.

"I would be grateful for a lesson."

"Very well. Will you answer my question once we're done?"

"You'll find out naturally as we spar."

"You always have an answer, don't you?"

"Let's see what you can do."

Muttering those words, Volkman flicked his sword, signaling that he would concede the first move. Watching his relaxed demeanor, Najin smiled inwardly.

He had succeeded in piquing Volkman's interest and drawing him in by invoking the precepts. All that remained was to pressure him into revealing the techniques he had yet to show.

To do that, he would first have to strip away that composure.

Najin stepped forward and lowered his stance. Volkman's eyes narrowed. It was a stance he had never seen before. Naturally so: this was neither the Order's swordsmanship nor anyone else's.

A sword technique optimized for the opening strike. A technique that seized control of the fight with its first blow.

Najin had devised it himself in the underground city to decide a fight in an instant and seize the momentum. It was so raw that it scarcely deserved to be called swordsmanship.

But combined with Najin's innate instincts, it became a strike sharper than any other. Najin pushed off with his planted foot and charged. Even without reinforcing his body with mana, the strike was astonishingly fast.

"...!"

Volkman's eyes widened.

The young man accelerated in an instant and slipped into his blind spot. Volkman expected him to swing upward with the sword he held low, but instead, the young man leaped right before him.

The sword's accelerated path twisted.

Rather than rising from below, it came slashing diagonally down from above. Volkman's body moved swiftly in response to that sudden change of trajectory.

CLACK, CLATTER!

Adopting a stance he had repeated thousands upon tens of thousands of times, he caught Najin's sword. Before Volkman could even register his surprise at the heavy impact transmitted through his hands, Najin immediately followed with another strike, determined not to surrender the momentum he had seized.

3.

As the sparring continued, Volkman felt increasingly unsettled.

The young man before him was using neither sword aura nor mana. Volkman could sense mana within his body, but only a small amount. And yet his movements were so fast that Volkman wondered if he might be using mana after all.

'No. That's not it.'

Volkman realized what had been bothering him.

It was the young man's rapidly moving eyes. Only then did he understand. The young man was not faster—he was moving first.

Where the sword would come swinging from. Where Volkman would move in.

As though he could see it all, the young man stepped forward before Volkman did and retreated before him, too. The precision of his spacing left Volkman marveling.

'It's immature and unrefined, but...'

There was a raw sharpness to it.

Keen strikes like the fangs of a beast flashed out from moment to moment. Volkman was parrying them all with ease, but the stance Najin adopted next shattered that composure.

THUD.

Stamping his foot into the ground, Najin raised his sword. It was a stance he had stolen from Volkman. Taking the defensive stance that had blocked his own sword time and again, Najin blocked Volkman's blade.

The moment he blocked, he flowed into the next stance—as though imitating Volkman's movements.

It was the Order's swordsmanship. But the steps Najin took and the way he distributed his strength as he linked the stances belonged to Volkman alone. They were habits he had developed through a dozen years and more of training.

"...!"

Volkman's gaze wavered.

Earlier, he had been watching from too far away to be sure. Now that they were crossing swords face-to-face, he could tell. That was his own swordsmanship.

CLANG, CLAAANG!

With every clash of their swords, Volkman felt something uncanny. It was as though he were looking into a mirror. Whenever he showed a new variation, the mirror shattered—but a new mirror appeared before him in an instant.

The young man reflected in it immediately copied the variation Volkman had demonstrated.

The first strike was clumsy. But the second time he used the same technique, the path of the young man's sword was perfect. Within that trajectory lay all the years Volkman had spent honing it.

"Ha...!"

It was absurd. Incomprehensible.

Volkman burst into a disbelieving laugh.

As their swords continued to clash, Volkman came to understand what the young man had meant before their match. When Volkman had asked who his master was, he had replied that Volkman would find out naturally as they sparred.

'So that's what he meant!'

Volkman felt goose bumps rise along his forearms.

There was no need to ask about his master. Volkman himself, crossing swords with the young man right now, was his master.

The moment he demonstrated a technique, Najin copied it. He was not merely copying the techniques. He was stealing every one of the many years Volkman had invested in honing them.

Volkman was well aware of that.

Yet even after realizing that his entire repertoire was being stolen, he did not stop swinging his sword. Instead, a smile spread across his lips. He, too, was enjoying this sword fight.

'I've seen plenty of people called geniuses.'

Monsters who caught up in an instant to what others had spent a lifetime achieving. The young man before him must be one of them. Crossing swords with him, Volkman recalled a certain man.

A friend who had entered the Order alongside him, but had since risen to heights Volkman could no longer reach.

The youngest Sword Expert, the youngest Sword Seeker, the youngest Sword Master... A once-in-an-age genius who had broken one record after another to stand at the pinnacle.

'Sword Saint Karon, master of the Order of the Sword.'

Volkman was feeling exactly what he had felt crossing swords with Karon back when Karon was still an Expert: the sense that all his efforts were being invalidated. It did not offend him.

'Show me more.'

This was beneficial to him as well.

Even for Volkman, responding to Najin's unpredictable sword movements was no easy task. It would have been simple with sword aura and mana, but with swordsmanship alone, he was a difficult opponent.

Moreover, the young man was copying his swordsmanship.

It was an imitation so precise that Volkman felt as though he were looking at his own reflection. In the movements of the young man copying him, he discovered shortcomings he had never noticed before. He could see what he needed to improve.

It was a valuable experience, and a fine sparring partner.

But even that was nearing its end. A scabbard cracked with a sharp snap. Volkman adjusted his stance one last time. This was his most powerful strike, the one he had withheld from Najin until the very end.

SHHHK...

Volkman's footprints scattered across the field. His footwork was so intricate and complex that even Najin's darting eyes could not follow it all. Gliding into Najin's reach, Volkman swung his sword.

The flashing strike scattered afterimages.

CRACK!

The instant their swords collided, Volkman's scabbard shattered. Najin barely managed to block, but the strike sent him tumbling across the ground. When he raised himself up, Volkman was looking at him with a satisfied expression.

"That was a fine match, Ivan."

He smiled.

"Once you can wield sword aura... I'd like to cross swords with you again, with our blades cloaked in aura."

Volkman approached Najin and held out his hand. Taking it, Najin rose to his feet. As Najin repeatedly clenched and released his stinging hands, Volkman spoke.

"Would you consider joining the Order of the Sword?"