Chapter 119: Chapter 119

Next to take the stage were two more Formal Knights. Seeing this, Ron couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. The exchanges between Formal Knights were simply too fast. He couldn’t even catch their movements before a winner had already been decided.

At its core, this was still because his physical enhancement hadn’t reached the Knight level. After his First Limit Breakthrough, he had traversed less than half the distance. He possessed dynamic vision, yes, but it wasn’t enough to react in time.

Unless he added prediction into the mix. This was achievable within a Battle Formation, since Battle Formations all followed set patterns and provided relatively comprehensive protection. Doing one’s own part well was sufficient to deal with incoming enemies.

But solo duels placed far greater demands on individual prowess. The higher one climbed, the more a trivial shortcoming could become a fatal flaw. After all, in solo combat, there were no teammates to help cover one’s vulnerabilities.

“What a shame.”

Nevertheless, Ron persisted in taking in the entire battle from a wider perspective. Although he couldn’t react fast enough now, once his consciousness returned to his true form tonight, he could review this memory at length.

By then, all the combat details he had observed and perceived could be perfectly reproduced on the conscious level. Naturally, this was limited only to what he could currently observe and perceive.

If he hadn’t noticed something, there was nothing to be done. After all, he could only retrace his own memories, not rewind time itself.

…

Perhaps it was a tradition of the Sis Territory Martial Tournament, or perhaps this tournament had simply been arranged too hastily, but the Knight-tier Individual Combat matches were all concluded within the morning half of the day.

The afternoon was reserved for the Individual Combat matches between quasi-Knights and apprentices, and Ron was among them.

…

After hastily eating lunch in the square, Ron, like everyone else, stood before the tournament arena once more, quietly awaiting the afternoon matches.

The first to compete were the Territory Guard’s quasi-Knights, those who had completed apprentice training but had yet to become Formal Knights. Some of them had left the Territory Guard after fulfilling their service years, while others had stayed.

The quasi-Knights participating in this Martial Tournament were, without question, those who had stayed behind, because they still clung to the hope of advancing to Knight. This Martial Tournament was an opportunity they absolutely would not miss.

Comprehending the secrets of Whole-Body Force through sudden enlightenment amid fierce combat, and completing one’s advancement in the heat of battle, was essentially the only path to advancement available to most quasi-Knights.

After all, if they could have figured it out during normal times, they would have advanced to Knight long ago, and wouldn’t be waiting until now.

In reality, from Ron’s perspective, the probability of these quasi-Knights successfully advancing was exceedingly low.

This was because the hallmark of successful advancement was condensing a Life Seed. In other words, these individuals had to condense a Life Seed in the exact instant they comprehended the secrets of Whole-Body Force.

Otherwise, once the battle ended and the inspiration faded, never to return to the Whole-Body Force state they had achieved during combat, they would be unable to condense a Life Seed.

These people could only rely on luck. Anyone who possessed sufficient understanding of the principles of Whole-Body Force and their own body would have no need for such an approach.

Even if they succeeded in advancing through this method, each subsequent step would only grow more arduous. As the saying goes, “knowing the what without knowing the why.” If they got lucky once, could they really count on getting lucky at every step thereafter?

Ron believed that there might indeed exist a rare few individuals with extraordinary luck in this world. But for the vast majority, the stroke of luck they encountered over their entire lifetime might come only once.

Of course, where exactly this stroke of luck would materialize still required one’s continuous effort. Lying at home idly would not bring fortune crashing through the roof.

And the Martial Tournament was precisely one opportunity that all quasi-Knights had to seize. Not just this one, but every Martial Tournament before and after.

After all, compared to fighting real enemies, sparring against their own comrades under supervised conditions was undeniably far safer. If they couldn’t even seize such an opportunity, they deserved to never advance for the rest of their lives.

It was precisely for this reason that the battles between quasi-Knights were far more intense than those between Formal Knights. At the very least, from the vantage point of a spectator like Ron who had yet to advance, this was undeniably the case.

…

At this moment, the two men on the arena, each wielding a sword in one hand and holding a bracer in the other, advanced and retreated with clear method to their movement. It was a dazzling display that left Ron spellbound. But this was merely flashy. Upon closer observation, he noticed that quite a few of the Formal Knights present were shaking their heads.

Still, for Ron, this kind of combat was equally worth “archiving,” because it reflected the overly “academic” combat style prevalent at the quasi-Knight stage, making it worthy of inclusion as a standard case study.

Yet precisely because it was so standardized, every movement these two quasi-Knights made was simply an echo of someone else’s form. Even Ron, a mere apprentice, could see this. Could they really be unaware of it themselves?

Could merely imitating the surface of another’s technique truly lead to successful advancement?

Ron didn’t understand, but this was perhaps the only ladder available to those of mediocre talent.

In truth, his archiving of these quasi-Knights’ combat processes wasn’t for learning purposes, but for research.

Following the Comprehensive Body Refinement Technique and Transcendent Body Refinement Technique, two Secret Pattern Programs that focused more on enhancement and recovery, he wanted to develop some Combat Technique Programs. This would facilitate activating a third-person perspective in the future, or be used to control additional bodies.

The combat techniques he had encountered so far, while possessing sufficiently lofty theory, were somewhat rudimentary on a purely technical level. At the very least, this was the case for apprentices.

Ron had traveled far further along the path of transcendence than other apprentices. He had to consider what lay beyond advancing to Knight. Beyond combat techniques and experience, there were also Bloodline Secret Arts, which he was absolutely determined to obtain at this Martial Tournament.

…

Clang!

The two swords clashed, emitting a piercing, high-frequency shriek. One of the quasi-Knights, his left hand gripping the bracer, was already trembling, yet a faint, relaxed smile graced his face. Meanwhile, the sword in his opponent’s right hand had already been knocked away.

But at this moment, the disarmed man dared not retrieve his sword, because his opponent would certainly not let slip such an opportunity. So he could only brace his bracer with his empty sword hand, his eyes burning with resolve as he attempted one final, desperate struggle.

The next moment, his opponent thrust his blade forward, the longsword aimed straight at his left arm. Had his right-hand sword not been lost, he could have easily blocked with his left while launching a counterattack with his right. But the reality was that he no longer had a sword.

Facing the incoming blade, Chris had considered surrendering. But he knew he was nearing thirty. While his physical condition hadn’t yet declined, his fighting spirit waned a little more with each passing day.

He knew that if he backed down this time, he would never again muster the will to pursue advancement.

“I will not give up!”

A surge of fury erupted from Chris’s chest, twisting his lips into a grimace. His right hand braced against his left arm as he charged recklessly, headlong into his opponent’s blade.

In that instant, every training point drilled into him over the years vanished from his mind. His footwork lost all semblance of order. At that moment, it was as if he were charging toward the phantom of his future self, the self that had successfully advanced, pouring every ounce of his spirit and passion into the charge.