Now, though, she had invited this Frog Swordsman—someone most of them had barely even heard of.
Third Young Master of the Capital, who had been about to leave, stopped in place.
At this moment, Luke had already stepped onto the ring.
The audience below still hadn't dispersed, and the chatter continued, but Fiora didn't care. She looked Luke over once, then asked, "Have you improved lately?"
Her impression of the Frog Swordsman wasn't just "a little."
If anything, it was deep.
Because the swordplay he used—while it felt inexperienced from top to bottom—every move and every form was incredibly novel.
It was something she had never seen before. And with just one look, she could be sure of it: this sword style had tremendous growth potential.
"A bit," Luke said modestly.
"Is that so." Fiora raised her blade, took two steps back, and said, "Then same as last time. When you're ready, you can attack whenever you want."
She suppressed her strength. Thinking back to their last bout, she assumed Luke wouldn't have improved all that much in just a few days.
"Alright."
Luke took a deep breath. A windlike presence gathered around him.
The spectators might not have noticed anything.
But Fiora, standing across from him, could clearly feel it—Luke's aura had changed.
A rare hint of interest surfaced in her cool eyes.
The next second, Luke attacked.
He dashed forward—Sweeping Blade—his sword light carving a half-arc through the air. Fiora blocked the first strike, and immediately felt something was off.
Luke's blade, stopped by the parry, flowed upward in the same motion. Wind gathered along the edge, and then he thrust—Steel Tempest—straight in.
That attack made even Fiora feel danger. She reflexively stepped back and raised her sword, blocking with genuine focus.
Then, as Luke's follow-up exchanges came in, a flicker of surprise appeared in Fiora's eyes.
You call this "a bit"?
In just those few strikes, even she'd been caught off guard.
With a small ripple in her thoughts, Fiora shifted from defense to offense—and raised the level of strength she was suppressing.
Luke met attack with attack. The familiar pressure surged back, but this time he seemed able to handle it more smoothly.
After several defensive exchanges, he could still find openings to strike back.
Fiora's surprise didn't lessen—it grew.
She became more and more convinced that her first feeling hadn't been wrong.
This Frog Swordsman's strength hadn't just increased by a tiny amount.
His swordplay was sharper, his power greater, and even his footwork carried a harder-to-pin-down, almost elusive quality.
It was, without question, a massive leap.
But when she thought about it—how long had it been since she'd last seen him?
Five days?
That rate of growth…
A thoughtful look appeared in Fiora's eyes.
"I lose, I lose!" Luke felt the pressure mounting higher and higher. He figured he was about to crack, so he surrendered.
Fiora snapped back to herself, looked at the sword in her hand, and realized she'd unconsciously raised her output again. She couldn't help feeling a little awkward.
After a second of silence, she said, "You've improved a lot."
"Have I?" Luke honestly wasn't sure.
This was only the third time in his life he'd fought someone. In his eyes, it really did feel like just a small improvement.
But the truth was, the Wind Swordsmanship had only nine levels total. Even one level of progress was already a huge variable.
And his strength had reached the early Heroic stage. Add in his gecko wall-crawling footwork woven into his movement—
His combat ability had practically undergone a qualitative change.
No wonder Fiora looked surprised.
"I'm leaving. Are you coming?" Fiora considered for a moment, then asked.
Since it sounded like an invitation, Luke had no reason to refuse. He nodded. "Sure."
The moment the crowd heard Fiora say that, they exploded again.
Leaving together?
What did that mean?
Leaving the training camp together?
And when they saw Fiora and the Frog Swordsman actually walking away side by side, it only confirmed what everyone was thinking.
Damn—
If they were leaving the training camp together… didn't that mean the kid called Frog Swordsman might get to see the face beneath Fiora's mask?
And Fiora had brought it up herself!
Third Young Master of the Capital was completely baffled too.
He'd watched from below the whole time and couldn't see what was so special about that Frog Swordsman. At best, the guy knew some swordsmanship. If he went up there, he'd make him surrender in a few exchanges.
So why was Fiora so interested in him?
And now they were even leaving together—was she going to reveal her face to him in private?
The more he thought about it, the more unbalanced he felt.
Why him?
At this moment, Luke and Fiora were already moving through the inner area passage toward the main-floor corridor. The lighting there was dim.
Fiora spoke. "Want to know why I called you to come with me?"
Luke asked curiously, "Why?"
When he turned his head, he saw Fiora had already lifted a pale hand to her mask—then, without the slightest hesitation, she removed it.
Beneath the mask was a breathtakingly beautiful face: snow-white skin, soft red lips, a delicate, refined oval face with a cold, striking allure. Her cool eyes were as beautiful as pure ice.
Long black hair spilled over her shoulders, with two distinctive red bangs framing the front.
The Grand Duelist—Fiora!
"Your Highness," Fiora said with a faint smile, "next time you follow someone, you should be a little more careful."
"So you noticed a long time ago." Luke wasn't really surprised.
Last time, when Fiora led him weaving left and right, he'd already had a vague feeling she might've realized she was being followed.
Fiora asked, "Have we met before?"
"No. It's just that you resemble a friend of mine, so I acted on impulse," Luke said, shaking his head.
He obviously couldn't say that friend of his was literally The Grand Duelist. As a former top-lane player, it was only natural he'd be curious.
"Is that so." Fiora watched him with those cool eyes as he spoke. He didn't look like he was lying.
But she didn't really care about that.
What interested her more was the sword art Luke carried.
She withdrew her gaze, walking forward as she said, "Your swordplay is very interesting."
Walking beside her, Luke smiled. "I'm honored."
"If you train seriously for some time, I think you'll have great achievements in the art of the sword in the future."
That was Fiora's evaluation.
She was born with exceptional instinct for the blade.
She wouldn't claim she'd seen every sword style in Demacia, but she knew quite a bit about the reputable, established ones.
As for the obscure, unranked styles—most of them were unimpressive anyway.
But Luke's swordplay was something she had never seen before.
With his talent, he might achieve something remarkable one day.
Hearing that, Luke didn't respond—he just acted like he hadn't heard.
Train hard?
What?
That's basically asking for my life.
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