As both of them kept clashing their swords, Asta thought, He's actually a good swordsman. Not just that, that sword is something else. My attacks, my flying ice spears, he's dodging them precisely. Why is he keeping up with me? Or is it me who's keeping up with him?
I'm not good when it comes to close combat, Asta admitted to himself. I've learned swordsmanship, but I don't have much experience in real battle. He's actually strong, but I won't lose. I'll go all out—but no, I have to keep my distance.
Their swords clashed again, sparks flying with every strike. Asta sent a flurry of ice spears toward Zevric, but Zevric dodged them all, slamming and blocking each attack with precision. Asta consistently recreated his ice sword, its power far exceeding a normal blade, yet Zevric's sword was no ordinary weapon either.
I have to keep my distance, Asta reminded himself, and instantly conjured fifty ice spears, sending them at Zevric. Zevric skillfully slammed each one away.
