Rawlslev unleashed a sweeping cleave, deftly parrying the incoming thrust.
Thierry recoiled in surprise, astonished that his opponent had deflected his ferocious strike.
Rawlslev's brow furrowed, sensing a minute scorch mark upon his chainsword, no larger than a grain of rice. This imperfection revealed that the weapon, scavenged from a fallen officer, was inferior to Thierry's heirloom power sword.
A spark of brilliance flashed in Thierry's eyes, his wrist flicking with practiced grace.
The second precept of the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine—a backhand thrust—unfolded, his power sword twisting like a lithe serpent, grazing the chainsword and darting toward Rawlslev's arm.
Rawlslev, undeterred, refused to evade. His weapon's inferiority demanded a swift resolution to the duel.
He stepped forward, withdrawing his body to avoid the thrust, while executing a strike honed through tens of thousands of repetitions—the twenty-third precept of "Osberh-Vaya."
Though ignorant of its formal designation within the doctrine, Rawlslev had mastered its art of overcoming strength with finesse.
His chainsword roared, descending toward Thierry's shoulder. Thierry's eyes blazed with radiant intensity, encountering for the first time an adversary who wielded the twenty-third precept with such mastery, unbound by its traditional constraints.
This cleave not only targeted a vulnerability but also anticipated Thierry's prior assault, a testament to Rawlslev's foresight.
As this realization dawned, Thierry's gaze ignited with fervor. Rawlslev had transformed from a mere warm-up into a formidable foe demanding his utmost effort.
Employing the sixth precept of "Osberh-Vaya," he swung his power sword, forcibly twisting his arm to raise the blade, intercepting the chainsword with a resounding clash.
Clad in flak armor, Szczesny, standing behind Nimrod and the company sergeant, fixed his azure eyes upon the enthralling swordplay unfolding before him.
Each of Regiment Commander Rawlslev's strikes was precise, targeting vital points with ruthless efficiency.
[This is the commander's true prowess? When I challenged him, he held back.
Had he fought with full force, I wouldn't have lasted a minute.]
What astonished Szczesny further was that Rawlslev's relentless onslaught failed to secure dominance. His opponent's sword moved as if alive, its fluid assaults weaving a vast net, compelling Rawlslev to adapt his tactics continually.
Recognizing this, Szczesny's heart grew heavy with concern for his commander.
Nimrod, however, had already deduced the battle's outcome, gaining deeper insight into the capabilities of a Sequence 9 Beyonder.
[A Sequence 9 Beyonder can elevate an ordinary human to their physical limits, yet among humanity, there exist countless transcendent individuals who are not mere mortals.
Should Rawlslev fully digest his potion and become a true "Warrior," he might stand a chance of victory. But as he is now, he is no match for Thierry.
Moreover, his weapon is inadequate. That critical strike, failing to land, sealed his lack of opportunity.]
Nimrod's superhuman intellect simultaneously cataloged every motion, every strike of Thierry's, committing them to memory.
Within ten minutes, he had wholly assimilated the millennia-old swordsmanship legacy of Vostonia—the "Osberh-Vaya" doctrine—and elevated it to an unparalleled zenith through his own deductions.
[Rawlslev is defeated.]
Nimrod detected the chainsword's anguished wail, sighing inwardly as Thierry seized the moment, unleashing the thirty-third precept of "Osberh-Vaya," a lethal technique. His power sword struck like a hammer, delivering relentless, pounding blows.
Rawlslev, drawing upon the sixth precept gleaned from Thierry's onslaught, struggled to withstand the barrage.
Yet Thierry's ferocious assault crashed upon the chainsword like the legendary tides, wave upon unyielding wave.
With a deafening explosion, the finely crafted weapon shattered.
Fragments scattered in a roaring cascade, and Rawlslev offered a wry smile.
"I am defeated."
He retreated silently, the warriors of Vostonia's First Regiment bearing somber expressions, their commander vanquished.
Thierry, panting heavily, drew several deep breaths to regain his composure.
Though the duel lasted a mere ten minutes, the exertion of stamina and focus surpassed that of a full-scale battle. Had his opponent's weapon not failed, the contest might have endured far longer.
After a few seconds, he stooped to retrieve the laspistol, as a voice of commanding majesty resounded in his ears.
"I grant you half an hour to rest."
"Very well."
Thierry replied, his tone measured. Before the duel, he would have scorned such an offer, yet now a flicker of doubt gnawed at him.
[One of Nimrod's unnamed subordinates is so formidable, and he himself is renowned for combat. Can I truly defeat him?]
Ten minutes later, Thierry approached the giant, his gaze resolute, his conviction in victory restored.
On his fourth step, he surged forward with explosive speed.
Nimrod remained motionless, his perception crystalline. He saw Thierry's intent: to halt just shy of the power halberd's reach, then weave around him with rapid leaps.
Nimrod discerned Thierry's strategy—to anticipate a ferocious assault exploiting Nimrod's strength advantage, aiming to strike during the vulnerable moment of a pivot.
Nimrod acted, his power halberd lashing out. To Thierry's astonishment, the giant's strike was not a wild barrage but a precise thrust, launched with the halberd's tip.
Thierry's expression shifted, sensing within this attack the swift thrust of the first precept of "Osberh-Vaya," fused seamlessly with the vulnerability-targeting essence of the twenty-third precept.
Unable to parry, he rolled across the ground in a desperate bid to evade the strike.
Scarcely had Thierry risen when the halberd swept toward him. Gritting his teeth, he braced his arms and met the blow head-on.
The anticipated collision never came. Nimrod's wrist flicked, the halberd spinning like a windmill, its gusts disrupting Thierry's sword stance. The halberd's tip darted toward his chest.
Thierry leaped backward, a chill spreading across his torso as his armor was rent asunder.
[He used the second precept.
No! It's fused with the twenty-third.
How is this possible?]
As Thierry retreated, his heart quaked. The giant had not relied on brute force but had woven the "Osberh-Vaya" precepts together with masterful finesse, transcending their traditional forms.
He wielded Vostonian swordsmanship, yet his artistry surpassed it.
Ignoring the blood dripping from his chest, Thierry lunged forward upon landing, his power sword's silver gleam erupting like a tempest.
After thirty-three consecutive strikes, Thierry was hurled backward, a kite severed from its string.
He sank to one knee. "I yield."
Thierry's lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile, realizing Nimrod could have felled him with a single blow. Instead, the giant had methodically dismantled every tenet of his "Osberh-Vaya" mastery.
[He sought to shatter every precept I wield! To force me to acknowledge the chasm between us—not merely in strength, but in skill!]
This was an utter, unequivocal defeat, and Thierry spoke with heartfelt conviction.
"King Nimrod, I swear upon the honor of House Viera and my soul: should you slay Puhach, I shall serve you for eternity!"
"I accept your fealty."
Nimrod's voice rumbled with authority. "Tend to your wounds, then lead the way."
"As you command."
As Thierry rejoined his retinue, the warriors of Vostonia's First Regiment snapped from their reverie.
Their morale surged, particularly among the recruits, who, having witnessed Nimrod's divine prowess, believed victory inevitable.
Szczesny gazed up at Nimrod's towering silhouette, his eyes brimming with reverence.
Five minutes later, Thierry, his wounds treated with medicae gel, donned fresh armor in a military tent and approached Nimrod.
"My lord, follow me."