After their quick conversation, Lythian bolted and appeared before the young lord in a second, his speed multiplied.
Fwooooosh!
Barely able to keep an eye on Lythian's movement, Seven ducked on the ground and the attack whistled above his head.
Next, a vertical slash.
Seven blocked by raising his sword overhead, holding both ends of the wooden sword. The impact sent a recoil through his arms, and he grit his teeth.
Fwoosh!
He tried a low sweep, and again but at chest level.
However, Lythian sprang upward and his body levelled out mid-air, flat and parallel to the ground, before dropping into a planking position. He did a rapid crawl forward while launching a flurry of strikes from the ground.
Seven parried, but his movements were far too slow.
For every five strikes Lythian threw, he only blocked one. His ankles throbbed, already purple with bruises from the hits that got through.
From his flat, crawling stance, Lythian's sword shot upwards aimed directly for the young lord's exposed throat.
"Blueggh—!!"
Seven stumbled. The veins in his neck bulged as he fell to his knees, his ankles screaming in pain, his face went pale.
Iria tried to rush in, but Heinrich's firm hand stopped her. She could only fidget with her fingers.
"T-that's enough, my lord. I cannot bear to watch such a sight..."
Thunk, thunk!
The bout went on. Seven was on losing ground, his body covered in bruises. His breathing was heavy, and his palms were raw and red.
In a final act of desperation, Seven lunged inside Lythian's guard. They locked arms, circling each other until their swords met.
Thunk!
Seven's arms recoiled back, again.
Lythian's strike slammed into his chest, sending him spiraling onto his back in the cold snow. His grip was still locked on the wooden sword.
"My lord."
Iria said out of concern, but her composed expression suggested otherwise.
Heinrich remained silent, his gaze fixed on the field and hadn't called the match. Iria followed his stare and froze.
Her eyes landed on the young lord trying to stand up, his fingers grasping for something to hold but the snow crumbled in his grasp.
Looking at him, Lythian sighed as blue flames began to crackle on his boots and wrists.
"I'll end this now, young lord. It was a nice bout."
However, contrary to everyone's expectations, Seven didn't look defeated. He looked... ecstatic.
"This…"
Thump, thump!
His heart hammered against his ribs so loudly it filled his ears.
"This is fun…"
Lythian dashed forward.
In that same moment, the air shifted.
The young lord's indigo eyes suddenly shimmered into gold, a light so aureate it seemed to belong to a god rather than a mortal.
Ding!
[Skill Activated]
[Self-proclaimed Genius] Temporarily slows down time, granting omnipotent perspective in a limited area.
The world slowed down.
Seven's vision exploded outward, giving him an omnipotent perspective of the world.
Information flooded both his central and peripheral vision, showing data about everything at once— marking every position and every possible movement.
To put it simply, he could see everything.
From how Heinrich had his foot positioned in a staggered stance, ready for an optimal and rapid forward movement; the other knight as well, Lythian's father.
From how Lythian seemed to be frozen mid-air, that in less than a second, his strike would hit him in the chin.
From how the ground beneath his own feet, the uneven snow that was compact here and loose there, and how his mind labeled each spot as safe or fatal.
From how the squirrel watching them on the pine tree's branch, munching an acorn, would fall to the ground.
From how the snowflakes would dance in the air..
Everything.
The world was a puzzle of thousands of visible pieces yet to be solved, and Seven could see them all.
"Ahahaha…"
A giggle escaped his lips, frustration or exhilaration, honestly he had no idea about the reason. Perhaps it was a mix of both.
Perhaps, this was the most fun experience he had ever had, if not the most then at least in top 7. It was like he was playing a game for the first time and had yet to grasp the mechanics, so having a hard time was part of the fun.
Step.
Seven stepped forward.
As he did, a piece of the puzzle in his vision moved and calculated the outcome.
'If time resumes now, Lythian's attack would connect. Heinrich would step in to stop him, but his father is yet to take off.'
Step.
Another step, another future.
'The squirrel falls on the ground, slipping from a snowflake that lands exactly at its next step.'
Step, step.
Step, step, step.
No matter how many steps he took, the result was the same: he would lose the bout.
However.
Step.
He took one more step, standing directly in front of the almost frozen Lythian. Almost. The time was still moving, but it was less than a millisecond, micro… nano… pecto… femto… or attosecond.
But in zeptosecond, representing one trillionth of a billionth of a second.
Seven pressed his wooden sword against Lythian's neck.
In this position, he wouldn't lose, but he wouldn't win either. Heinrich would step in and still manage to stop this attack, whereas Lythian's father would finally arrive and stop Lythian.
With no pieces leading to his victory, this was the best possible outcome.
Thump!
Seven's heart drummed, and time snapped back to normal.
His eyes began to bleed, frothy red trails flowing down his cheeks.
Thunk!
The iron swords of Lythian's father and Heinrich collided with the wooden swords of two cadets, stopping the exchange instantly.
But no one looked at those two knights as absolute silence fell in the camp.
Instead, the audience had their mouths in the shape of O, a normal reaction. After all, from their perspective, the young lord looked like he had teleported in that instant.
Seven stared at Lythian through his bloodied vision and smirked.
"Heh. That… was fun…"
Thud.
Black, worm-like scribbles twitched in Seven's golden eyes before they faded back to indigo. He then collapsed into the snow.
"My lord..."
Iria rushed to his side.
Lythian stared at his broken wooden sword, then at the unconscious young lord.
He knew that if his father and the vice commander hadn't stepped in…
"Death…"
…he'd die from the hands of the young lord. (a/n fr, even with a wooden sword. imagine it moving in zeptoseconds and crash into your neck)
Lythian's hands trembled.
Back to the tournament, since both cadets were stopped by two knights, neither of them obtained the victory.
Then again, the bout may have ended in a draw, but Lythian knew the truth:
He lost.