49 One Strike

Refocusing my energy, I channeled my intentions into deliberate movements as I launched an unyielding assault upon Quentin.

Strike after strike, I unleashed a flurry of blows, fueling the growing fire within me.

'Faster. Faster,' I urged myself as the chain of attacks transformed into longer combinations.

To my astonishment, though not entirely surprising, Quentin effortlessly evaded and parried each attack with a grace that surpassed his fashion sense.

It was as if he had surpassed mortal capabilities.

'And it's more likely than not that the demon king is probably a hundred times stronger than him?' I pondered, realizing the novel's power scaling was truly mind-boggling.

While unloading a barrage of attacks, I simultaneously observed his seamless movements.

'He follows the flow of my attacks, subtly shifting instead of opposing the current,' I noted. 'It's not like he's moving quickly either. If anything... he's matching his speed with mine.'

It was akin to an otherworldly dance of evasion and precision, especially considering his feet remained firmly planted in their original positions.

I sensed he anticipated my every move before I even executed it.

'That's the vast gap between us,' I acknowledged as I unleashed a lightning blast that appeared to "miss" but swerved back like boomerangs, targeting his back.

He contorted his body, evading the looping lightning and redirecting my blade with his palm simultaneously.

'Does he not have bones?' I marveled.

Quentin had the audacity to pull out his phone and dial a number while effortlessly dealing with my lightning and sword.

"Hey. What am I doing? Oh, you know, nothing much. Yeah. Just calling to see if our date tonight is still on. Great. Alright. I'll see you then," he nonchalantly conversed before hanging up.

The call was brief but long enough to display disrespect and disregard for my strength.

Or so I believed; Quentin was aiming to provoke me, seeking a reaction.

I wasn't entirely sure why, but my guess was he wanted my agitation to push my body beyond its limits. Sort of how when people are filled with adrenaline, they don't feel pain and they acquire strength they've never had before.

Getting me agitated wasn't possible. I could only pretend that it was working and even then, I wondered if I could even focus on my acting while simultaneously pushing my speed to its limits.

Then Quentin proceeded to play a mobile game, swiping left or right to avoid oncoming trains, all while using only one hand to parry and his eyes fixed on the screen.

I didn't question how he accomplished this; the answer was simple — he was far more powerful than me.

What intrigued me, however, was how I could land at least one attack.

It might not be much, but achieving that would make the gap between Quentin and me seem slightly smaller and more manageable.

Having depleted most of my mana by Diana, I was still in the process of recovering, limiting my current usage to what she had left in me.

"Shoot," I groaned, stepping back and wiping my forehead.

"Come on, son of Agnus," Quentin taunted, yawning wide enough to devour an entire watermelon. "Is that all you have to show me?"

He rubbed his eyes as if growing drowsy.

Ignoring his provocations, I seized the moment to gather myself and regain some energy, keeping my blade ready in case he decided to strike.

I had already come to realize since Cyro's critique that I had relied too heavily on external powers, neglecting the potential within Bell Agnus himself.

But now, without employing artifacts or codes, having my attacks were met with calm and effortless defense, only drove the realization home even further.

"Is that all you can offer me? I expected more from you, Bell. Don't tell me you're adopted... if so, my condolences," he mocked, bowing with amusement in his voice.

His words didn't particularly offend me, but a mix of frustration and determination coursed through my veins for separate reasons.

What could I do?

Was the mountain too tall to climb?

Was the task I had set for myself too difficult to accomplish under the current circumstances?

Was it even possible to land a single attack without sacrificing something?

'What should I do... what should I do...'

And then, finally, an idea struck me.

Quentin smiled, seeing the realization on my face like a lightbulb had illuminated above my head.

'If he's capable of dealing with my relentless attacks then I must forget speed. I'm not quick enough for him to worry about,' I instructed myself, gripping the handle tightly.

I planted my feet firmly on the ground. 'No need for a barrage.' Taking a deep breath, I concentrated all the mana within me into a single focal point. 'Just one strike. One moment. One opportunity to prove my namesake.'

I was frustrated with myself for neglecting hard work and failing to hone my skills when I had the chance.

I was annoyed that I had forgotten the basics just because I had acquired cheats through my knowledge of the novel.

I was annoyed that I had grown somewhat overconfident in my strength after defeating a demon and a vampire, even though those victories were due to specific circumstances.

'Breathe in. Breathe out,' I reminded myself as I exhaled.

I transformed that annoyance into artificial motivation, driving me to achieve this singular task in order to redeem myself from the source of my annoyance.

I gazed deep into Quentin's eyes, and he stared back with intensity.

This was the first time he prepared himself for my attack, acknowledging the imminent strike.

He nodded, indicating his readiness whenever I was.

'Not like I needed your approval, but...'

Harnessing all the strength in my legs, 'Here goes nothing!' I propelled forward, delivering a single, powerful swing, aiming to strike Quentin with every ounce of force my body could muster.

As a matter of fact, it was so powerful that I could hear the sound of the world around me deafening as if Gon had sliced through the very fabric of space itself, erasing the air molecules for the vibration to travel through.

Yet, true to his enigmatic nature, Quentin effortlessly dodged the swing, his movements fluid and elegant despite his attire.

'Fuck!' I cursed, disappointed.

My strike had drained so much from me that I had to release Gon, lest I cut myself while stumbling and rolling forward.

As my momentum dwindled, I found myself lying flat on the dirt, looking up at Quentin, who appeared upside down from my perspective.

"I failed," I sighed, sitting up.

"Did you?" a voice came from behind me.

Rising to my feet, I turned around and noticed Quentin had finally shifted from his original position, even if only a few centimeters. It made all the difference.

"...Yay," I cheered without a single bit of motivation in my voice.

Then I noticed he held something in his hand.

"What are you holding?" I inquired.

He opened his hand to reveal a lock of his own hair.

"Did I do that?" I questioned.

He nodded. "Your attack... flawed in execution and wasteful in certain areas, but it was a potent strike. I evaded it, yet it managed to slice my hair."

"Ever heard of giving a simple compliment?" I remarked, wiping the vast amount of sweat from my forehead.

Quentin wore a different smile now, distinct from his earlier expression. He praised, "Well done, Bell."

With a tired chuckle, I responded, "Thank you."

"Do you finally grasp the untapped strength within you? The raw power you possess?" he questioned me.

He then blew on his palm, and the sliced hair fluttered away in the breeze.

"Here's your first lesson: True power emanates from here," he stated, pointing to his stomach. "From your core," then he pointed at his heart, "your soul," then his head, "your mind, and finally your body."

Then he directed his finger toward Gon.

"The artifact you wield, one of the finest blades I've encountered, yet this is the only encounter where I don't feel as if I could die or lose a limb."

Finally, he pointed at me.

"That's because the person wielding it holds back. The full potential of the blade, most of it remains hidden because the wielder barely knows how to wield a sword."

It was a blunt but honest truth he shared.

He continued, "But that's precisely why you're here, training with me. I will help you unlock that inner potential you possess. For now..."

Quentin bent down and picked up the bandages I had used to wrap Gon.

Approaching me, he handed them over and concluded, "...we'll set this weapon aside. Tuck it away."

'Master, no! I don't want to rest already! I just woke up a while ago!' Gon protested, sensing that her freedom was about to be snatched away again.

"We'll train with a regular sword, and when I deem you worthy of wielding your blade, Junipa, you'll have my permission to do so," Quentin explained.

Apologizing to Gon internally, I started wrapping her up.

"Now, shall we leave this forest? Why did we even come to this eerie place?" Quentin asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had chosen the location.

Before I could respond, he wrapped his arm around me, and in an instant, we were at the spot where I had parked my car.

"Please... give me a warning next time," I pleaded, fighting back the nausea and the vomit that threatened to come out.

"I'll consider it," he replied casually.

Both of us entered the car, with Quentin taking the driver's seat. "By the way... why was your mana so low?" he inquired. "I can sense just how deep your mana core goes... and yet, you barely had any mana in it."

"...I had been using it earlier this morning," I truthfully answered without giving away the real reason.

"Next time, come prepared with all your mana. You'll need it," he advised.

"...Alright. I'll be sure to do that."

Internally sighing, I looked out the window as the car started moving.

'I'll have to buy some mana recovery potions,' I reminded myself. 'Fortunately, Bell is a privileged rich boy.'