I couldn't help but laugh.
It slipped out—dry, breathless, and sharp around the edges. Not because I found any of this funny, but because of how absurdly fitting it was.
Of course it would end like this.
A duel at the gates of the Duke's castle, under a sky heavy with snow and silence. Aleck standing there like a statue carved from war, unmoving, unreadable. Everything I had endured—the desert, the dungeon, the secrets buried under sand and blood—all of it had led me back here. And the moment I stepped out of that carriage, the world reminded me: nothing comes easy.
The system chimed in my head.
[New Objective: Face Knight Aleck to prove your worth.]
[Condition: Defeat him in combat to gain entry into the Duke's estate.]
[Reward: Main story progression unlocked.]
Yeah. Just like always.
One more wall to climb.
One more monster to kill.
Only this one wasn't a sand-dwelling beast or a cursed ghost buried beneath ruins. This one was flesh and steel. And unlike the others, he was waiting for me.
Still wanted blood.
I rolled my shoulders back and let the tension slide down my arms. My hand slid beneath my coat, fingers brushing the hidden relic tucked against my ribs. Just its presence gave me a thread of courage. I wouldn't need to reveal it—not unless things got desperate.
Not unless I had to win.
And right now? I had to win.
"I guess there's no room for second chances here," I muttered, pulling back my cloak. "You always test everyone like this? Or am I just special?"
Aleck didn't answer.
He just stood there, sword at the ready, posture perfect—disciplined, immovable. The kind of knight forged by war, not ceremony. The kind of man who didn't bend unless broken.
"Fine," I said.
I unsheathed my blade.
It was nothing impressive—standard military issue. But it had survived the desert. Survived the sandstorms. Survived me.
It would do.
I lowered into a stance. Not the wide, sweeping posture I was taught at the estate. From Julies memories, I know that he has thought basic Swordmanship. So, I'm going to use that here.
The courtyard was silent now, save for the groan of wind and the distant snorting of restless horses. The torchlight flickered across stone and snow, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts.
This wasn't a spar.
This was a trial.
A verdict.
"Begin," Aleck said.
He moved first.
Like a lance of silver lightning, he lunged. His blade whistled through the air with terrifying speed, aiming straight for my neck.
Too fast.
But I wasn't the same Julies who once fumbled under pressure.
I slid to the side—not back, not away. Sideways. My left foot hooked behind his leading foot as I twisted my body just enough for his sword to skim past my shoulder.
Doran's footwork technique, The assassination technique that he gave me comes in handy really.
'I did well to learn that secret technique.'
> [Skill Activated: Ghoststep (S-Rank)]
[A secret footwork technique perfected by generations of elite assassins. Designed for complete evasion and surgical precision in combat.]
- Greatly reduces chance of detection during stealth
- Drastically increases evasion in close quarters
- Counterattacks deal bonus damage based on agility when parrying
-----
My mana was running low—dangerously so—but I had just enough left in the tank to trigger the skill.
As the activation settled into my limbs, my body grew light. My feet shifted instinctively, the cold stone beneath me barely registering as I moved.
Aleck lunged forward again, sword flashing with mechanical precision, but I was already gone.
His blade cut air, a fraction too slow.
He recovered fast—faster than any knight I'd ever seen—and swept low in a tight arc, aiming to take out my legs.
I reacted on instinct.
Leapt.
Then tucked in and rolled beneath his guard, feeling the icy ground scrape against my coat as his sword passed inches above me.
The wind from his swing brushed against the back of my neck like a ghost.
But something was off.
I could see it.
Every strike.
Every movement.
It wasn't like before.
There was a shimmer—a faint, almost invisible glint—a half-second flash that traced the path of his attacks.
I'd seen it before. Back in the game.
That subtle gleam meant only one thing.
Prediction.
Thanks to my experience and the buffs from the relics, it was like I had early access to every move he was going to make.
'So that's how it is, huh…'
I stepped back, letting my breathing steady as Aleck straightened up. His armor groaned softly with the movement, torchlight flickering across the polished surface of his chestplate.
He didn't say a word.
Didn't ask how I dodged it.
Didn't praise or mock.
Just reset his stance—silent, methodical.
But I was starting to see through the silence.
I could feel it in the way he moved, the way he held his blade—calm, measured, but now… alert.
He knew I wasn't the same pushover who'd left.
I narrowed my eyes, watching him carefully.
'That style... Northern Standard swordsmanship.'
It clicked in my head.
Textbook form.
Clean arcs. Heavy thrusts. No wasted movement.
It was a style developed for cutting through the thick hides of northern beasts—direct, brutal, designed for efficiency over elegance.
Against monsters, it was terrifying.
Against someone who could read the flow of battle?
Predict the rhythm?
It left gaps.
Tiny ones. Barely visible.
But I could see them now.
My boots shifted slightly on the stone floor, finding grip. I let the Ghoststep guide my stance.
He charged again.
SLASH—!!!!
A diagonal slash—high and fast.
I ducked.
Slid to the left.
Ghoststep flowed through me like second nature now. My feet moved faster than my thoughts. My body just knew where to go.
A blade hummed past my shoulder.
THRUST —!!!!!
Then another thrust—quick, precise.
I twisted at the last second, redirecting it with the edge of my gauntlet. Steel rang against reinforced leather as sparks flicked off into the night.
And then I struck.
Not hard.
Not with power.
Just enough.
A counter—sharp, clean, right under his shoulder guard.
His armor caught most of it, but I felt the jolt of impact through my wrist.
He staggered.
Barely. But it was there.
And it was enough.
"So… did I win?"
I panted, barely holding my stance together, the cold air biting at my lungs.
"Hmph. It's not over yet!"
Damn. I was really hoping that would be it.
Every second that passed, I could feel my mana draining. Slowly, steadily, like sand slipping through my fingers. And once it ran out, the skill would deactivate. No fancy footwork. No boosted reactions. Nothing.
Just me—standing there, wide open.
And if that happened… I'd lose.
"Still," Aleck said, lowering his blade just slightly, "you're a step above those bugs who came here begging for Lady Alice Draken's favor. You've got a trick or two up your sleeve."
…Did he just call the other candidates bugs?
Seriously?
Even if I understood the intent behind his words, that still stung. Because whether he meant to or not, that meant I'd been lumped into the same category.
A bug.
And to think—I was actually feeling a little grateful toward this guy.
After all, if Aleck hadn't signed that travel permit, I never would've been allowed to leave the Duke's estate in the first place.
But now?
Calling me a bug? That was a whole new level of disrespect.
Even my sister Minji never called me that.
…Okay, maybe she did.
Once or twice.
But she had the sibling pass. Aleck didn't.
And now, with my body aching and mana flickering like a dying candle, all I felt was heat. A low-burning anger bubbling in my chest.
An insult like that?
That was personal.
I shifted my weight forward slightly, resetting my grip on the hilt of my blade.
I wasn't just fighting for the position anymore.
No.
This was about pride now.
If he thought I was just another bug to be squashed… then it was time to prove him wrong.
Time to remind him that even the smallest insect could sting when cornered.