The Knight's visor rattled as he spoke, his voice a low, metallic hum. "A foot soldier with a pebble's core… parrying a Sovereign strike? Preposterous."
He struck again. The black blade hissed through the air, but Reine was already moving. He was reading the Torso Rotation, watching the way the Knight's weight shifted.
Analysis: For high-mana attacks, Reine raised his blade early, using the Knight's own momentum to deflect. For slower strikes, he waited until the last possible millisecond.
Taken back by the boy's persistence, the Knight vanished, reappearing in Reine's blind spot. But Argol was there, swinging with a desperation that caught the Knight off-guard.
The Knight's aura flared. With a burst of explosive speed, he pivoted. Reine saw the mana surge—a concentrated spike of killing intent.
"ARGOL, MOVE!"
It was too late. The black steel flashed, and Argol's head hit the dirt. The Knight turned his murderous gaze back to Reine. Reine flooded his arms and his sword with every drop of Aether he had left.
"You call my sister filthy?" Reine hissed. "I will burn my soul into a cinder just to see you bleed. I am the debt that never sleeps!"
Swoosh.
Snap.
Reine's eyes shot open. Back at square zero.
"I was too slow," Reine muttered, a dark, somewhat evil smile spreading across his face. "He wasn't even taking me seriously yet. This is fun."
He didn't waste a second. He slammed 50% of his mana into his legs. He reached the Commander's tent like a lightning strike. The Commander narrowed his eyes, recognizing the Cold Pressure on Reine's clothes—the scent of the Knight.
"Sound the alarm!" the Commander roared.
The platoons spilled out. Reine found his target: the orange-haired soldier. "Argol! With me!"
Argol looked at this random, muddy kid with white hair and hesitated. "Who the hell are—"
"Argol!" the Commander barked from the tent. "Do exactly what he says. Follow his lead!"
Argol snapped a salute, his eyes wide. "Yes, sir!"
As they ran toward the ridge, Argol leaned in, his voice a mix of confusion and awe. "Wait... why did the Commander just tell me to follow your orders? Who are you?"
Reine didn't even look at him. He just kept running, his face a mask of cold professionalism. "Because I'm the Second-in-Command of this entire sector, soldier. Now shut up and move."
Argol's jaw nearly hit his chest. "Second-in-Command?! But... you're wearing a recruit's tunic! And your boots are literally falling apart!"
"It's a stealth-op uniform," Reine lied effortlessly, not missing a beat. "Now, look at the sky. Arrows. Vertical shields. Now."
"YES, SIR!" Argol screamed, terrified of being court-martialed by the messiest high-ranking officer he'd ever met.
THUD-THUD-THUD.
A thousand arrows slammed into the raised shields. Not a single man fell.
They charged. They reached the clearing just as the cold hit. This time, Argol snapped back quickly. The Knight moved with a speed that defied the laws of physics, a black blur aimed directly at Reine's throat. But Reine didn't parry. He didn't flinch.
Schlick.
Reine slipped inside the Knight's guard, his blade catching a fraction of the Sovereign's forearm. A thin line of red appeared on the dark armor. The Knight backed up, his visor tilting in genuine confusion. How could a "slow" foot soldier dodge a strike from him?
Argol saw an opening and swung from behind, aiming for the neck. But the Knight was a Sovereign for a reason. With a predatory snap, the Knight tilted his head, his black blade looping back in a counter-arc meant to take Argol's throat.
Argol froze. He was too slow to stop his momentum. He was dead.
But Reine was already moving. He didn't care about the Knight's sword; he didn't care about his own life. He lunged forward, his blade aimed straight for the Knight's exposed collarbone, forcing the Sovereign to choose: kill the recruit and get stabbed, or retreat.
What is Grit?
Most call it talent. Some call it luck. But in the world of the Sword Path, there is a hidden variable that no manual can teach and no Noble can buy. It is the ability to stare at a God and refuse to blink. It is the stubbornness to die a thousand times and still reach for the hilt with bloody fingers. It is the soul's absolute refusal to accept a "Game Over."
And in this moment, as he threw his life away to save a stranger... this boy was the human expression of Grit.
The Knight's blade stopped an inch from Argol's neck. The Sovereign leapt back, his aura exploding in a wave of black frost. He concentrated his mana into a single, terrifying point on his blade, ready to end the nuisance once and for all.
"You got lucky, insects," the Knight spat.
But then, the Knight suddenly stopped. He stood perfectly still, staring at Reine as if he had seen something impossible. Without another word, the Knight began to retreat, walking backward into the shadows,with a murderous intent he stared back at them before leaving.
"Why?" Argol gasped, his lungs burning. "Why did he stop? Sir... Second-in-Command... sir... are we chasing him?"
Reine didn't answer.