[Albion Plane, Porfield Kingdom, Mount Thor, White Lion Stronghold]
The stronghold was unusually quiet. The hustle and bustle of the bandits enjoying a feast replaced by the sounds of bird chipping in the morning. The sun was rising, giving immense aura to the duel that was taking place.
The entire population of the stronghold had gathered in the central clearing. Anxious faces formed a wide circle around the packed-earth dueling ground.
The tension was a physical presence, smothering all but the nervous shuffle of feet and the occasional cough.
At the center stood the two pillars of the conflict.
Ragnar was a monument to primal force. Bare-chested and gleaming with a faint sheen of oil, his muscles were like corded iron. He held his massive bearded axe loosely, its notched edge catching the first weak rays of the sun. His vibrant red hair and beard were especially eye-catching. They were characteristics unique to barbarians. His expression was one of brutal confidence, a predator certain of its kill.
Alicia was his antithesis. Clad in a sturdy steel armour over a simple tunic, she seemed almost slight in comparison. Her cross sword, however, was held with a duelist's perfect poise, its point steady as a rock. Her face was a calm mask, but her grip on the sword betrayed her anxiousness.
Kael, her loyal knight, showed even more fear. However, duty called.
"The duel begins now! Combat ends at yield, or when one can no longer continue! Let honor guide your steel!", His voice, strong, declared the beginning of the duel.
Ragnar didn't wait. He exploded forward, not with a run, but a crushing advance.
"ENOUGH TALK!" he roared, his voice echoing off the cliffs.
His axe came around in a whistling, horizontal arc designed to cleave Alicia in two. It was pure, undiluted power, meant to end the fight in a single, bloody stroke. The sheer force exceeded anything Greem had seen before. It was a strike that even the strongest of bull would not survive.
Alicia did not meet it. She flowed. Pivoting on the ball of her foot with an dancer's grace, she let the axe head tear through the empty air where she had stood.
The movement was minimal, efficient, and spoke of countless hours of drill.
"Your strength is impressive, Ragnar", Alicia said, her voice calm, a stark contrast to his roar. "But it is a blunt instrument"
"Blunt instruments break bones, little girl!" he snarled, reversing his grip for a savage upward cut aimed at her hip.
Again, she was not there. She sidestepped, and her own sword flicked out not to strike him, but to tap the flat of his axe blade. The ting of steel was delicate, but the effect was profound. The slight redirection stole a crucial fraction of his balance, but the sheer difference of force also broke her equilibrium.
[Combat Analysis: Ragnar's Attack - Upward diagonal. Predictable. Alicia's counter: Redirective parry. Principle: 'The Reed Guides the River'. Efficiency: 98%]
One of the reason why the White Lion Bandit Group was so strong was its swordsmanship. The swordsmanship, once crude, had been improved by Alicia herself, mixing principles of her family's ancestral sword arts into that of the bandit white lion swordsmanship. Now, it was undoubtedly a knight-level swordsmanship, far superior to what regular soldiers would learn in feudal armies.
Greem watched, his perception heightened to a supernatural degree.
The arcane awareness he had unlocked had not just sharpened his sight; it had expanded his mind.
The world seemed to slow, movements decomposing into a series of interconnected actions and reactions. He could see the bunching of Ragnar's calf muscles before he lunged, the minute shift in Alicia's shoulders that presaged her evasion. It was as if a veil had been lifted, allowing him to perceive the very geometry of combat.
'Amazing...', Greem thought in excitement, 'With this...I can probably become a knight...'
"Stop dancing and fight!" Ragnar bellowed, his frustration mounting. He unleashed a furious onslaught. Even if Alicia was clearly more skilled and agile, Ragnar still held the initiative. Charging, he combined a crushing overhead chop, a low sweep at her legs, and a wild swing at her neck in three succint attacks.
Each blow was a killing strike, and each one met only air or the deft, minimal deflection of Alicia's blade.
She was a phantom in the storm of his violence, her footwork a masterpiece of economy.
[White Lion Swordsmanship Principles Identified: 'Stream Avoids the Rock'. 'Willow Bends in the Storm']
Greem recognized the principles from the book Kael had gifted him. Insights that were barely conceivable in theory were being exposed in front of his bare eyes, at a master's level.
[Skill Proficiency Update: White Lion Swordsmanship (61) -> (63). Cognitive assimilation rate: 225% of baseline.]
"You see only the swing", Alicia said, her breath even, as she swayed under another wild chop, "You do not see the opening it creates. You see the armor, but not the gaps"
It was evident who had the upper hand in the duel. Despite having lower attributes, she was controlling the fight. Ragnar was getting fatigued, and Alicia showed no sign of heavy breathing.
The constant, explosive expenditure of energy was taking its toll. He feinted high and thrust the pommel of his axe at her face, a dirty, unexpected move.
Alicia's head moved a bare inch, the metal whistling against her head.
*SPLASH*
It hit. Her helmet flew in the air, revealing her beautiful face, one belonging to a highborn lady, her ancestry with the von Valetta family evident. Yet, such a beautiful face was hurt. Blood spewed from her cheek. A minor wound, but one nonetheless.
For the first time, she initiated contact. The strike had opened gaps in Ragnar's frentic rythm. Her free hand slapping the axe haft downwards, spoiling his follow-through.
She whispered words that Greem somehow managed to hear: "You rely on fury. Fury is a fire that burns out. Discipline is the anvil that endures"
[Combat Analysis: Ragnar's stamina depletion at 40%. Agility reduced by 0.1. Alicia's stamina depletion at 15%. Maintaining optimal efficiency.]
Greem understood now. This was not just a fight; it was a lesson. Alicia was systematically dismantling not just Ragnar's defense, but his entire philosophy of power.
With a guttural cry of pure rage, Ragnar committed everything to one final, definitive overhead smash. It was the culmination of all his strength, a blow that could split a boulder. "DIE!"
This time, Alicia did not retreat. She moved forward.
As the axe began its deadly descent, she stepped inside its murderous arc. Her left hand shot out, not to block the impossible force, but to guide the haft, her body spinning like a top alongside it. Simultaneously, her right leg hooked deftly behind Ragnar's leading ankle.
It was a perfect, seamless application of the White Lion's core tenet: using the opponent's strength against them.
Ragnar's eyes flared wide with shock as his own unstoppable momentum was turned into a weapon of his downfall. He crashed to the earth with a ground-shaking thud that sent a puff of dust into the air, his axe clattering from his numbed fingers. Before the shock could even register on his face, the cold, unwavering point of Alicia's sword was pressed against the hollow of his throat, the sharp tip indenting the skin.
A collective, held breath was released by the entire stronghold.
The clearing was silent enough to hear the wind sigh through the pines.
"Yield," Alicia commanded. Her voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of absolute finality.
Ragnar stared up at her, the fury in his eyes warring with a dawning, humiliating understanding.
He, the Savage White Lion, had been laid low by a superior warrior.
The fight was gone from him, extinguished by the cold precision of her victory. His massive shoulders slumped into the dirt.
"...I yield," he grunted, the words sounding foreign and thick on his tongue.
Alicia held the point at his throat for a long, symbolic moment, ensuring the submission was absolute and witnessed by all, before sheathing her sword with a clean, sharp shing that echoed in the silence.
She looked out at the stunned crowd, her gaze sweeping over Jack's thoughtful face, before staring at the crowd. She paused for a fleeting instant on Greem, as if sensing his intense analysis.
"The law stands", she announced, her voice ringing with reclaimed authority, "My vision stands. We are not mere bandits, brawling for scraps. We are the White Lions of Mount Thor. We are discipline. We are order. We are strength with purpose. Remember this day, and remember the cost of forgetting it."
As the crowd erupted into a torrent of murmurs, shouts, and the clinking of exchanged bets, Greem stood motionless. The duel was over, but his mind was a whirlwind.
[Combat Analysis Complete]
[White Lion Swordsmanship has increased to Proficiency Level 65]
[Arcane sensory enhancement confirmed. Correlation between mana perception and cognitive processing established. Learning acceleration active.]
The duel proved two things.
Alicia was a worthy bandit chieftain.
Greem became stronger thanks to the basic arcane meditation technique. His attributes did not go through a change, but his mind was sharper.