After that probing strike just now, Roland knew very well that when fighting a transcendent professional, even if the other party used only ten percent strength, he was absolutely not a match.

Only by fully unleashing all his power would he perhaps have a one-percent chance of victory.

Therefore, aside from cantrips, he no longer intended to hold anything back.

The instant [Focus] activated, Roland's vision narrowed into a tunnel.

The lingering afterimages of swaying candle flames, the heat steaming from the gaps in Gundar's armor, even the pearl button slipping from a noble on the viewing side.

Every detail broke apart in his eyes.

Then, in the next moment, Roland charged straight forward.

The instant he passed the weapon rack, his left hand grabbed another iron sword along the way.

The two blades carved cold arcs through the air.

"Dual-wielding?"

Seeing Roland's choice, Gundar frowned slightly.

Even with his current strength as a transcendent professional, his right and left hands still could not achieve complete interchangeability.

Therefore, in his view, if one used dual-wielding rashly without cultivating that skill to the peak, it would not improve strength. Instead, it would reduce one's combat power.

As for Roland's mastery of dual-wielding...

Looking at his somewhat youthful face, Gundar shook his head without comment.

At this age, being able to refine one hand of excellent swordsmanship was already quite difficult.

He did not believe that on top of that, Roland could also possess a dual-wielding technique worthy of being called a specialty.

While this famed Knight was thinking, the burning heat brought by [Fighting Spirit] was climbing up Roland's spine segment by segment, and the roar of blood rushing through his body seemed to echo beside his ears.

After a muffled grunt, Roland lowered his body and advanced. The sword in his left hand drew a crescent arc toward Gundar's knee joint, while the sword in his right hand followed a completely opposite trajectory, rising from below toward the gap in the visor.

This strange posture, which nearly required him to fold his body in half, flowed with ease thanks to his astonishing flexibility.

At the sight, Gundar merely swung the iron sword in his hand, moving later but arriving first.

"Clang!"

The seemingly casual horizontal block sealed both swords at once, and sparks exploded at the point of collision.

Although the first strike was blocked, Roland's attack did not stop.

Over thirty-two breaths, he launched seven rounds of offense.

At times, the two swords alternated thrusts like snakes flicking their tongues. At others, they transformed into a spinning metal hurricane.

But every attack was easily blocked by Gundar's simple sword technique, and the clash of metal echoed through the hall in continuous notes.

"Not bad dual-wielding skill..."

Gundar nodded inwardly while swinging his sword one-handed.

As the battle lengthened, Roland could deeply feel the changes in his body under the enhancement of [Fighting Spirit].

At first, his opening advance was only slightly faster than usual, and the arc drawn by his blade could still be seen.

But by the third chop, the blade had already dragged out a blurred afterimage.

The air cut apart by the blade became a tangible current, overturning the silver dinner knives on a nearby table.

Thirty seconds later, his way of moving began to defy common sense.

On the sixth directional change, his boot soles scraped deep marks against the floor. A shift of center of gravity that originally required two steps to adjust now took only a twist of the waist.

The frequency of his twin swords' movements was so fast that it nearly produced double images.

During one rebound from a block, the sparks from the colliding blades connected into a brief line of fire in the air.

One minute later, fine beads of blood seeped from the surface of his skin, then evaporated into red mist under the heat.

The overgrowth of muscle fibers made his joints creak under the burden, but the increase in strength it brought was equally terrifying.

An ordinary vertical chop actually pressed the iron sword in Gundar's hand down by several inches. When the blade embedded into the marble floor, fine cracks spread like lightning more than ten feet away.

Although Roland had no time to examine the occupation panel now, he could clearly feel the increase in Strength and Agility.

And this growth was still rising.

After easily avoiding another fierce attack, Gundar's brow lifted beneath the visor, interest entering his eyes.

"This boy..."

Seeing that Roland's stamina had not been exhausted in the intense battle, and that his attack force had instead increased sharply while his speed grew faster and faster, Gundar's originally relaxed posture tightened somewhat.

"Did he use some special Combat Technique?"

The one who noticed this change was not only Gundar, but everyone present.

Before the battle began, the observing nobles still wore contemptuous sneers, believing this would be nothing more than a one-sided crushing.

But as the battle continued, their expressions froze.

Every sword strike from Roland was sharper than the last, and every advance faster than the one before.

Their elegant composure disappeared completely.

The crystal wineglass in one young noble's hand even slipped from his fingers.

Expensive silk formalwear was stained red by spilled wine, yet he did not bother wiping it.

His eyes were wide as he stared at the figure in the field, which was moving faster and faster.

Roland's twin swords had already become blurred afterimages, and the explosive sounds of metal impact made people's eardrums ache.

As the battle continued, the nobles' discussions became noisy.

"This is impossible..."

"Even a transcendent professional can't keep improving during battle!"

Yet reality was right before their eyes.

Roland's swords were breaking their understanding.

But at this moment, Roland had no spare attention for others' discussions.

Because the side effects of [Fighting Spirit] had begun to appear.

"Damn it!"

Noticing blood color rising at the edges of his vision, and that the exquisite follow-up changes he had planned were being replaced by primal chops, Roland cursed inwardly.

As his Spirit continued to flow away, his brain, under the activation of [Focus], began spinning at high speed.

As his reason blurred, he finally caught a tiny flaw in Gundar.

When the Knight blocked, his left shoulder lagged half a beat.

"Opportunity!"

At the sight, Roland did not hesitate. He withdrew a step, twisted his waist, and folded his body in a posture that nearly violated human anatomy, a spring compressed to its limit.

His right leg bent forward almost to the ground, while his left leg stretched backward to the extreme. His entire torso twisted like a fully drawn longbow.

"[Cleave]!"

With a roar in his heart, the power accumulated inside Roland erupted.

All the force from every previous blocked attack, every bit of residual strength bounced away by Gundar's iron sword, now transformed into spiraling power that exploded from his heels.

The marble floor beneath him cracked with a spiderweb pattern.

The instant his twin swords crossed and cut out, the blades moved so fast that they dragged two intersecting vacuum ripples through the air, and every candle flame in the banquet hall dimmed.

Seeing this, Gundar did not underestimate it and immediately swung his sword to block.

"Hum!"

A teeth-aching metallic distortion rang out.

For the first time in this contest, Gundar was forced half a step back. He looked in some surprise at the three-inch sparks bursting from his iron sword.

And the trajectory that should have perfectly blocked the attack was actually forced open by Roland's suddenly multiplied strength.

"Interesting..."

Just as Roland's blades were about to touch Gundar's body, a playful curve appeared at the Knight's mouth.

His wrist turned at an almost bizarre angle, and a powerful cyclone was born with the motion.

Roland felt the iron swords in his hands pulled by an invisible force, and his sword momentum instantly deviated from its intended path.

"Boom!"

Amid a deafening explosion, the two iron swords chopped heavily into the ground three steps away from Gundar.

The hard marble floor shattered with the impact, and the center was pulverized into powder.

Under the influence of that strange cyclone, Roland lost his balance and was flung sideways by the remaining force.

Amid a series of crackling impacts, his body crashed through several dining tables in succession before finally slamming into the scattering wood splinters.

"Roland!"

Darco, who witnessed this scene, could no longer restrain himself. He completely forgot everyone present and even ignored King Morne's existence as he rushed forward in one stride.

His hands frantically dug through the scattered wood chips and fragments, his voice carrying a panic Roland had never heard before.

"Roland! How are you? Answer me!"

While Darco was burning with anxiety, a bloodstained hand stretched out from the wreckage.

That hand exerted force and pushed up. Along with the rustle of wood chips sliding down, a violently panting figure struggled out.

"Cough, cough..."

Roland coughed out several mouthfuls of clotted blood and released a long breath.

Looking at the young noble master's reddened eyes, he barely tugged the corner of his mouth into a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry... Darco... I won't die..."

"But you..."

Darco's gaze fell on Roland, and his voice trembled.

His friend looked truly frightening at the moment.

The dark gray formalwear was torn in many places. The exposed skin was covered with fine wounds, and blood kept seeping out.

Most alarming were his arms. Bulging blue veins writhed like living things, ready to burst open at any moment.

"Really... I'm fine..."

Roland spoke while gasping.

He knew these injuries were only because the sudden increase in Strength and Agility after activating the [Fighting Spirit] trait had exceeded his body's burden.

Although they looked terrifying, they were only superficial wounds. With his constitution, he would recover after a few days of rest.

Compared to that...

With Darco's support, Roland struggled to stand. His gaze passed over the devastated mess and fixed straight on Gundar, who was staring at him not far away.

In that battle just now, although Roland had seemed to suppress Gundar, a transcendent professional, after unleashing all his strength aside from cantrips, he knew very well that this was only an illusion.

First, the physical strength the Knight had displayed just now had probably not even reached ten percent.

Second, it was not that the other man had no opportunities to attack. He had simply chosen to remain on the defensive the entire time.

Even so, despite exhausting all his strength, Roland had failed to make the weapon in his hand touch any part of the other man's body.

This gap made the small bit of pride brought by his rapid increase in strength during this period vanish without a trace.

"So this is... a transcendent professional?"

Looking at his blood-soaked hands from the recoil, Roland sighed.

His desire for a knight breathing method also grew even stronger.

"Excellent! Truly excellent!"

Morne heavily slapped the solid wooden dining table beside him, and the dull impact echoed through the hall.

Only after the sound faded did he turn toward Gundar, his eyes flashing with teasing light.

"Gundar, in my view... this match should count as your loss, shouldn't it?"

The old king's long finger precisely pointed toward Gundar's feet.

There was a half-inch-long white mark there.

It was the mark left when the soles of his boots scraped across the marble floor while blocking Roland's [Cleave] just now.

"That is indeed the case."

Facing Morne's teasing gaze, Gundar nodded calmly.

"Roland's strength... is quite outstanding..."

His low voice was not loud, yet to everyone present, it sounded like thunder.

"He actually received Lord Gundar's recognition?"

"Is this young man truly only of commoner birth?"

Amid wave after wave of astonished cries, the nobles immediately grew excited.

They whispered to one another, passionately discussing that brief yet thrilling duel.

The gazes they cast toward Roland also grew increasingly heated.

"Very good. In that case..."

Morne set down his wine cup and walked with steady steps to Roland.

He did not mind the wet blood on the young man's arms and grabbed his wrist, raising it high.

"I announce that the winner of this martial display is Roland! Does anyone object?"

Looking around at the silent banquet hall, the old king nodded in satisfaction.

When he turned and lightly patted Roland's shoulder, rare approval appeared on his authoritative face.

"Good lad! Your skill really is impressive. That final move you used... was the Combat Technique [Cleave], yes?"

Seeing Roland nod and receiving an affirmative answer, Morne's gaze turned distant, his attention passing across time.

When he murmured, his tone carried unmistakable nostalgia.

"That little fellow Forsling... truly has a good eye for people..."

After his drifting thoughts returned, the king once again resumed that expression of authority mixed with concern.

"How is it? Nothing wrong with your body?"

"Reporting to Your Majesty..."

Roland gently freed himself from Darco's supporting arm, endured the pain, and bowed. His voice was steady enough to make the blood on his body seem almost unreal.

"Nothing serious."

"Good! Very good!"

Morne looked at this young man covered in blood yet with no change in expression, and the appreciation in his eyes nearly overflowed.

When he turned, his plain robe drew a sharp arc through the air.

"Colin!"

The merchant standing not far away hurried forward when he heard the call. As his gaze swept across the devastated marble floor, the corner of his eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

"What are Your Majesty's orders?"

"Take this young man away to rest."

As Morne spoke, he turned back to Roland.

"Relax. The reward you deserve will not be lacking. But right now..."

The old king's gaze lingered briefly on Roland's bloodstained clothing, and he added meaningfully, "What you need most should be a good rest."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

After bowing again, Roland followed Colin out of the hall with Darco's support.

As they walked down the long corridor, Colin instructed attendants to prepare a room while saying to Darco, "Mr. Darco, please leave Mr. Roland in my care. As an invited guest, leaving the banquet without permission would be somewhat improper."

"But..."

Darco looked worriedly toward Roland.

Roland lightly patted his shoulder to reassure him.

"It's all right. Mr. Colin is right. You should return to the banquet. Besides..."

He glanced at Colin not far away and lowered his voice.

"Regarding Lord Baron Forsling, have you reported it to His Majesty Morne?"

"I haven't found a suitable opportunity..."

Seeing Darco helplessly shake his head, Roland encouraged him in a warm voice.

"There is no need to worry so much. His Majesty Morne is reasonable. If you are reporting an important matter, he certainly will not blame you. Besides, the estate was attacked, and your father was ambushed and fell unconscious. There are many suspicious points in all of this."

He paused, remembering the nostalgic expression Morne had shown when speaking of Forsling just now, then added, "And I noticed earlier that when His Majesty Morne mentioned your father, his tone carried some warmth..."

"If he learns Baron Forsling is unconscious, perhaps His Majesty Morne will even send someone to treat him."

Darco took a deep breath and nodded solemnly.

"I understand, Roland. Rest well. After the banquet ends, I will come see you."

With that, the young noble master turned and left.

Colin, who had tactfully walked to the side when he saw the two talking, now came over at just the right time and gestured.

"Mr. Roland, this way, please."

"Thank you, Mr. Colin."

Looking at the slightly plump middle-aged man leading the way ahead, Roland felt somewhat puzzled.

So far, his understanding of this man was limited to the name he had just learned from King Morne.

But from his words, conduct, and his performance when welcoming King Morne that day, it was not hard to guess that his status in Far Harbor was certainly extremely high.

Then why would such a great person be so polite to someone as insignificant as him?

Was it because of the strength he had displayed?

Or because the man was simply of excellent character?

With this question in mind, Roland followed Colin into a spacious room.