The Heart of Victory

Noah noticed a strange smirk tugging at the corners of Hugo's mouth, a glimmer of secret delight in his eyes. What was he so pleased about?

They passed Duven, basking in a sunbeam in the library corner, and called him over.

"Duven, you claimed to be good with a sword, come here," Ines urged.

"I wanted to rest. I have matters this afternoon, dealing with rapists, robbers, murderers... it's exhausting," Duven complained, glancing at Noah and seeing no help coming from that quarter, reluctantly followed.

"I thought they were just thieves," Noah remarked.

"There are no well-behaved thieves. The Thieves Guild is more terrifying than I imagined, a big, dirty den that nobody dares to touch," Duven shook his head.

They ascended to the fifth floor, a spacious room perfect for a bout. 

"To avoid injury," Hugo set his beautiful sword aside, its hilt wrapped in dark tassels and the blade gleaming white, "we'll spar with sticks." He disassembled two brooms, leaving two wooden sticks, tossing one to Ines.

"Who's injury are you trying to avoid?" Ines caught the stick, placing her sheathed black sword beside her, "There's a limit to boasting, you ass."

"Ah," Hugo sighed, his sigh inciting Ines's ire.

"You go first," she commanded Duven, handing him the stick.

"Ah, this." Duven swung the stick in a circle, eyeing Hugo, "I'm not a professional fighter."

"Don't hide your skills, your posture with a sword is appropriate," Hugo said calmly, "show me real combat, for I am a professional swordsman, a true one."

"Trouble." Duven muttered under his breath, but Noah clearly saw the confidence in his eyes.

Hearing there was a fight to watch, Elysia, Cyrene, and her two guards came over, forming a circle around the center.

"Who do you think will win?" Noah asked the active mercenaries.

"That man." Cluys pointed with the pommel of his sword towards Hugo, "He's right, he's more professional, truly a swordsman."

"Hm," Dylan agreed.

"None of you fancy my chances?" Duven tapped the stick in his palm, "A street brawl weapon is hardly a real sword."

"That's why I'm sure to win," Hugo laughed lightly.

"I'll give the signal. Begin!" Noah commanded.

As Noah's words fell, Hugo and Duven didn't rush to attack but observed each other's movements, slowly advancing, each looking for an opening to exploit.

The calm lasted for a long while until Hugo broke the silence with a swift stick thrust, like a venomous snake aiming for Duven's chest. Duven intended to counter, but the speed caught him off guard, and he took a solid hit.

"I lost," Duven stepped back, conceding without waiting for a judgment call.

"That was fast," Ines's eyes widened.

"Hm," Duven seemed distracted.

Hugo looked around smugly.

"It's not fair," Cluys followed up, "Sir Hunter, this newcomer is adept at fighting; the rest of you still lack seasoning."

"Is he strong?" Noah asked.

"It's not about strength," Cluys stroked his long beard, "It's the difference between amateurs and professionals. Those skilled in martial arts can effortlessly defeat laymen in one-on-one combat. Like literate people can write, and the illiterate can't even pen a word."

"That's not even a metaphor," Ines gritted her teeth, snatching the stick back from Duven to face Hugo. "You think you can defeat me?" she feinted with her stick.

"We'll see after we fight," Hugo sighed reluctantly.

Positioning themselves, charged with anticipation, Noah waited before issuing the command.

"Begin!"

Ines stood at an angle, minimizing her target profile, while Hugo took a formal sword stance, knees bent, stick held in front, ready to strike—a mark of professional training and experience.

They circled, steps forming patterns. Ines probed with her stick, drawing no counter from Hugo. Instead, Hugo feinted forward, putting Ines on high alert, forcing her to back off a few steps.

Provoked, she swung her stick from above with ferocity. Hugo countered with a backhand swing, their sticks colliding mid-air with a sharp clack.

She felt overwhelmed by the first clash, and Hugo pressed with three swift strikes, all landing on her arms. Ines jumped back, her face flushed with anger.

"It seems unnecessary to continue," Hugo said, relaxed.

Ines retreated to the side, face clouded, while Hugo remained in the center.

Noah nodded.

"Your swordsmanship is not bad; you can teach the others," he said.

"Master Noah, teach him a lesson," Ines egged on.

Noah glanced at Hugo, hoping to see a friendly face, but to his disappointment, he read blatant disdain in Hugo's eyes, an unmasked condescension for everyone present, probably because he stood alone as a true swordsman. Vanity over such a thing?

"Even for you, Sir Hunter, it might be difficult," Cluys shook his head, "You're too young, but give it three years, and you'll achieve something."

"Right," Hugo tossed the stick aside, "that'll be it."

"Pick it up," Noah said.

"I might be troubling you, I suppose I should show some respect to the owner here?" Hugo's tone wavered.

Noah took the stick from Ines, tapping it against the floor, resonating clearly.

"Alright, if you insist..." Hugo shook his head, "I'll try to be gentle."

I never plead for mercy in the face of danger, nor do I expect it from others. Noah frowned.

"Go for it!" Elysia was excited, "Noah!"

"Revenge!" Ines gritted her teeth, "I won't allow you to lose!"

The others focused intently on Noah and Hugo in the middle, hoping for a spectacular fight.

How to move, how to pose, how to strike effectively, how to defend just right... this was the swordsman's mindset.

Noah had seen various swords and swordsmen of different schools. For them, the sword was as natural and essential as breathing, pursuing the essence of swordsmanship incessantly, ready to dedicate their lives to it.

"You're not a true swordsman," Noah raised the stick, pointing at Hugo.

"Me? Sir, we shall see soon enough," Hugo couldn't help but chuckle, "whether I am a swordsman... that kind of thing..."

"Start!" Elysia shouted, rushing their encounter.

Hugo watched Noah's steps carefully, but Noah didn't give him the chance, lunging forward in an instant, striking down with ferocity. Hugo reacted nimbly, his sword weaving skillfully in the air.

Pivoting, he countered with a reverse sweep, his stroke powerful and well-timed, ready to deflect the attack and leave his opponent exposed.

Clang! —

A clash of metal rang out, Hugo stumbling forward, nearly losing balance, while Noah remained steady, sword down, and Hugo's own blade fell to the floor, cleanly broken.

A neat break, as precise as a work of fine craftsmanship.

"That's twice now he's lost, loves to lose three times," Elysia declared smugly, "just wasting time."

Hugo silently picked up his broken sword. Noah imagined the flurry of thoughts in Hugo's mind during that moment of impact—pain? Frustration? Disappointment? Regardless, Cluys was right, only victory could quench the heart's thirst and settle disputes. Noah felt gratified.

"You got one thing wrong," Noah said, wiping away the metal dust from his blade, "you're not a swordsman. Now you're a prospective demon hunter; a hunter recruit."