The two legends now stood face-to-face in the center of the arena.
The spectators in the stands buzzed with excitement, eager to see what kind of battle would unfold between them.
"Fortore, now that I think about it, this is actually the first time you and I have fought," Brasto said, his voice overflowing with both optimism and excitement. "Quite a few years ago, I challenged your rival, but this is the first time I've ever challenged you—Pinusal's student."
"I'm sorry, old adventurer, but I have absolutely no intention of wasting my time talking to a man," Fortore replied, his tone carrying both complete disinterest and total concentration. "Especially when that man is old."
Brasto laughed briefly.
"It's true! I'm undoubtedly an old man!" he admitted cheerfully.
Then, looking his opponent directly in the eyes, he added with a hint of sarcasm, "But I'm not sure you're really the right person to say that. They may have introduced us as the 'old legend' and the 'modern legend,' but our ages aren't actually that different. At most, I'm what—five years older than you?"
Even while teasing him, Brasto's voice continued to radiate that same impossible positivity.
Fortore, however, completely ignored him.
His attention had already drifted back toward Chiacchera's cleavage.
"As usual, you're exactly the way Pinusal first described you to me," Brasto said with another cheerful laugh. "In your mind, there's room for absolutely nothing except women!"
He paused, then nodded thoughtfully.
"Of course, I can't criticize you too harshly for that. I love women quite a lot myself! Speaking of which, the night before last was truly fantastic…"
Brasto immediately scanned the stands, searching through the crowd for the woman he had spent that passionate night with. The instant he found her, he flashed her a broad smile.
Then he turned his attention back toward Fortore.
"But I really do recommend making room for at least a few men inside that steel-hard head of yours," Brasto continued. "The fact that I'm practically certain you don't even remember my name—even though Lady Chiacchera literally announced it a moment ago—simply because I happen to be a man will probably cause you more than a few minor problems, considering your position."
Fortore gave absolutely no indication that he had heard a single word.
Pinusal covered his face with one hand in embarrassment.
Then the ancient elf turned toward Brasto.
"Young man, please excuse my idiot of a student," Pinusal said, his voice filled with despair, anger, and embarrassment. "He may be approximately your age, but even among elves—who, thanks to our long lifespans, tend to mature mentally a little more slowly than humans—I'm convinced he's an exceptional case."
He sighed heavily.
"I genuinely don't think he's matured at all since the moment he first reached puberty. And as you can plainly see, he seems capable of reasoning only with his lower regions. In that particular regard, he's definitely worse than you."
Another loud laugh escaped Brasto's lips.
"Don't worry about it, Pinusal. That's perfectly fine with me!," Brasto replied, still overflowing with optimism. "Even though, obviously, it really isn't, thanks to his personality, it feels less like I'm fighting a veteran knight and more like I'm training some youngster who only recently became an adventurer. And you know very well how much I enjoy training promising newcomers."
Pinusal released another deep sigh.
Then he coughed twice, straightened his posture, and restored the professional air he had maintained before the ridiculous exchange began.
"Is there anything else either of you would like to say before the match starts?" the ancient referee asked solemnly.
"Honestly, I'd love to talk with him a little longer," Brasto replied as he lifted his enormous bandaged weapon into position. "But since my opponent clearly has no intention of answering me, I suppose I'm finished."
Fortore, meanwhile, finally returned his gaze to the man standing across from him.
He simply shook his head.
Then he drew one of the two swords hanging at his side—the less ornate of them.
"All right, then," Pinusal said. "The match will begin on my signal."
Several seconds passed.
"Ready…"
Both fighters focused completely on one another.
"Set…"
The arena seemed to hold its breath.
"GO!!!!" Pinusal shouted with tremendous force.
At that exact instant, Fortore vanished from the sight of practically everyone watching. Even Brasto himself momentarily lost sight of him.
The knight was simply moving too fast.
Fortore appeared directly in front of the old adventurer and attacked immediately.
Yet, to nearly everyone's surprise—
Brasto blocked the strike.
For the briefest moment, a trace of surprise appeared on Fortore's face.
Then he vanished again.
An instant later, he reappeared behind Brasto and swung his sword toward him from another angle.
Brasto parried that attack as well.
Fortore quickly realized that this match wouldn't end as easily as his previous ones.
So he changed his strategy.
Instead of trying to catch Brasto off guard with isolated bursts of extreme speed from directions the old adventurer wouldn't anticipate, Fortore decided to overwhelm him directly with a relentless barrage of attacks.
He tightened both hands around his sword.
Then the assault began.
Fortore's arms and blade moved so quickly that, to most spectators, they became nothing more than a blurred, swirling mass repeatedly crashing toward Brasto.
Yet the old adventurer continued blocking nearly every sword strike with his enormous bandaged weapon.
The few attacks he couldn't parry in time struck only the hardest portions of his armor.
To most of the audience, this made absolutely no sense.
The difference in speed between the two fighters was obvious. Fortore was unquestionably much faster than Brasto.
Several expert swordsmen in the stands immediately assumed the explanation had to be superior swordsmanship. Perhaps Brasto's greater experience and technique allowed him to compensate for his inferior speed and predict where Fortore's attacks would land.
But after observing the exchange more carefully, they realized that explanation couldn't be right either. The difference in their swordsmanship simply wasn't large enough. Brasto might perhaps have been slightly more skilled than Fortore, but only slightly. That certainly wasn't sufficient to explain how he could repeatedly parry attacks moving so fast that many spectators couldn't even see them.
"Hmm… Interesting…" Caesar murmured to himself while watching Brasto defend against Fortore's assault.
Aislyra immediately noticed his reaction.
"I have to admit, Caesar, you really do have a sharp eye when it comes to observing battles," she said. "You've already figured out what Brasto is doing."
There was a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice.
"'Figured out' might be putting it a little strongly, Lady Aislyra," Caesar replied in his usual calm, regal tone. "The only thing I'm certain of is that, for incredibly brief moments—so brief that even I initially struggled to notice them—specific parts of Brasto's body suddenly begin moving at extreme speed compared with the rest of him."
His eyes remained fixed on the battle.
"That seems to be what allows him to keep blocking Fortore's attacks despite being slower overall. What I don't understand is how he's accomplishing it."
Caesar paused thoughtfully.
"If I had to propose a theory, I would say he's using some kind of special physical Enhancement magic—one that allows him to reinforce only specific parts of his body with extraordinary precision."
"You've got almost everything right," Aislyra replied. "For the most part, that is exactly what he's doing."
Then a smug smile appeared on her face.
"But there's one rather significant mistake in your theory."
Caesar glanced toward her.
"The spell he's using is nothing special at all," Aislyra said proudly. "It's an ordinary Physical Enhancement spell."
Caesar's eyes widened and remained that way for several seconds.
Physical Enhancement was a spell he had become extremely familiar with during the past few months, which was precisely why he hadn't expected that level of control to be possible.
"I admit, I genuinely didn't think something like that could be done," Caesar said, his voice completely sincere.
"That doesn't surprise me. I never would've imagined Physical Enhancement could be used that way either before I fought Brasto myself," Aislyra replied.
She pointed subtly toward the old adventurer.
"A single one of his fingers can suddenly become a hundred times stronger than the rest of his body while every other part remains at normal strength. Then, in a period of time so short it's practically impossible to measure, that finger returns to normal and the enhancement shifts somewhere else."
Aislyra's smirk widened.
"And with a single kick, shatter a massive boulder with ridiculous ease, while leaving the rest of his body practically unenhanced. I can say without hesitation that Brasto has the finest control over the Physical Enhancement spell of anyone who has ever lived on this continent."
'Come to think of it, that really is incredible…' Lucas thought.
Aislyra had already explained Brasto's extraordinary ability to him before.
But hearing someone describe it and actually watching it happen were two completely different things.
Physical Enhancement was the one spell in which Lucas had alredy surpassed Alberia, despite the former owner of his body possessing an overwhelmingly greater number of years of experience than he did.
Yet even after all his recent training, Lucas still couldn't channel literally one hundred percent of his mana into a single part of his body. At least one percent always remained distributed throughout the rest of him, providing a minimal enhancement everywhere else.
And somehow, Lucas had the feeling that no matter how many years he trained, he would never achieve Brasto's level of absolute precision.
"That's an incredibly bold claim," Caesar said, now visibly even more interested in the battle. "But if what you're describing is truly what Brasto is doing, I don't think your statement is very far from the truth."
Another series of strikes and parries erupted between the two fighters.
After watching the exchange for several more seconds, Caesar's expression grew increasingly serious.
"But…" he began.
Aislyra, who was just as focused on the match, finished the thought for him.
"That doesn't mean his Physical Enhancement is superior to Fo's in every possible way, right?"
Brasto was still managing to parry practically every one of Fortore's attacks, though certainly not without considerable effort.
Overall, Fortore remained far faster than the old adventurer.
And because of that difference, Brasto had so far been unable to counterattack even once.
He could defend himself. He could survive Fortore's relentless barrage.
But whenever he blocked one attack, another was already coming before he could properly respond.
Still, after several exchanges, Brasto had finally begun to understand Fortore's rhythm and movements well enough to recognize the smallest openings between attacks.
Eventually, one appeared.
It was time to go on the offensive.
Brasto immediately exploited the opening.
His arms suddenly accelerated far beyond the speed of the rest of his body as he swung his enormous bandaged weapon toward Fortore.
The attack was monstrously powerful.
The weapon displaced such an enormous mass of air that the pressure wave tore across the arena and slammed violently into its indestructible wall, carving a deep groove through the ground in its path.
But the strike missed.
Fortore stood completely unharmed.
There wasn't even a speck of dust on his armor.
"Not even an attack timed that perfectly was enough to hit you, huh?" Brasto said with genuine admiration. "Your speed really is incredible! Just as expected—the title of 'Strongest Knight' clearly isn't an empty one."
Fortore, naturally, ignored him completely. As he had done throughout the entire match, he showed absolutely no interest in anything said by another man.
Instead, he immediately resumed his offensive.
For several minutes, the two remained trapped in a seemingly perfect stalemate.
Fortore couldn't land a clean blow on Brasto. Brasto couldn't land one on Fortore.
But the old adventurer knew perfectly well that this situation wouldn't last forever. After all, Fortore still hadn't drawn his legendary sword. Nor had he used the famous Derived Magic for which he was known.
The moment the captain of the Royal Knights decided to use either one, the entire balance of the fight would undoubtedly change. Of course, Brasto himself still had an ace hidden up his sleeve!
And as their weapons continued colliding again and again, the bandages wrapped around Brasto's enormous weapon were slowly tearing apart.