Nyssara vs Arthur
The empty arena thrummed with quiet energy, its warded stone walls bearing witness to countless legendary battles.
Now, it would witness another.
Arthur Valerian stood calm as still water, his left hand resting on the hilt of his blade, his black coat fluttering faintly in the still air. His golden eyes, sharp as a hawk's, focused solely on the girl in front of him.
Across from him, Nyssara Evelyne Aralyn, Princess of Thryllmere and heir to the elven highbloods, raised her blade in practiced readiness. Her violet eyes gleamed — cold, unwavering, hungry.
"We'll only use swords," Arthur said softly.
"I was planning to do that," Nyssara replied, her voice clipped, precise.
Arthur gave a slight nod.
"I won't go on the offense for the first ten minutes. Strike with everything you have."
Nyssara blinked, her gaze tightening.
What is that supposed to mean? A handicap? Arrogance? Or… mercy?
The idea of being underestimated twisted something deep inside her.
She clicked her teeth in irritation.
No. He's not underestimating me. He's testing me. Just like I wanted.
She took a breath.
Then I'll give him what he asked for.
Mana surged through her legs, a radiant purple glow pulsing from beneath her boots. Her body blurred.
—FLASH.
In an instant, she vanished, her presence slamming toward Arthur like a falling comet.
Her blade came in high — a downward arc aimed for his collarbone, precise and lethal.
Arthur didn't move.
He's not dodging?
Her blade whistled through the air—
CLANG!
Steel met steel.
He had deflected it with a minute tilt of his blade — no step, no shift.
Nyssara's eyes flared.
Fine. Again.
She vanished again. To the left.
Low strike — sweep to the knees.
Arthur tilted, deflected.
Thrust to the heart — blocked.
Swing to the neck — parried.
Jump — rotate mid-air — spinning strike to the ribs.
Blocked. Effortlessly.
She hit the ground in a roll, sliding back before launching forward again.
A-Rank footwork activated.
Her body blurred through afterimages. She circled him like a violet storm, her sword gleaming with lethal intent.
Jullian's voice, hushed, came from the edge of the arena.
"She's strong…"
Saryn crossed his arms, eyes narrowed in interest.
"Well, she's one of the Four Chosen. She's not here to play."
Nyssara's strikes became wild — no, not wild, precise but furious. Her frustration bled into every move.
Why won't he move?! Why won't he even flinch?!
"You—!"
She leapt again, aura flaring as her Sword Aura ignited — a blade-shaped pressure that surrounded her weapon like a second edge.
Arthur's eyes flickered in acknowledgment.
She's condensed her aura. At my level.
He exhaled quietly.
…Not bad.
Nyssara twisted in mid-air, blade pointed at his throat —
She feinted, then pivoted, redirected to his heart —
Another feint — hand slashed toward his sword arm.
She was attacking everything — neck, chest, arms, knees — each blow capable of splitting boulders, of killing outright.
And Arthur?
Still hadn't stepped back.
He flowed, like a reed in water.
Every motion a counterpoint. Every parry like he already knew where she would strike.
Is he… predicting me?
Or is this some kind of dance to him?
Nyssara gritted her teeth.
No. I trained to be the next Sword Empress. I will not be made into a background note.
She landed, slid low, and roared — her final strike gleamed with a dangerous violet-white intensity.
"Let's see you block this—!"
She struck for his heart.
Arthur moved.
Just one step.
And the tip of her blade froze an inch from his chest.
The flat of Arthur's sword tapped her shoulder lightly.
Checkmate.
⸻
Nyssara stumbled back, panting. Sweat clung to her brow, her mana still rippling in waves.
Arthur finally spoke.
"Your technique is brilliant," he said softly. "Calculated. Precise. A blade sharpened by legacy."
She stared at him, heart pounding.
"But your sword," Arthur continued, sheathing his own with a soft click, "doesn't belong to you. Not yet."
Nyssara flinched.
Not physically — emotionally.
The words hit something deep. A truth she didn't want to hear. A truth she knew.
Arthur turned away.
"Come back when it does."
Stop," Nyssara said, her voice suddenly steady despite the sweat running down her temple.
Arthur halted mid-motion, his blade inches from the air where her chest had just been a second ago. The tension snapped like a pulled string.
She took a deep breath, grounding herself, then lowered her sword.
"I lost," she admitted. "I know that. But I have one question."
Arthur looked at her, brows slightly drawn. He didn't speak.
She raised her eyes to meet his. "Do you have a skill that lets you predict attacks?" Her voice was quiet but piercing. "Or… see the future?"
Arthur's expression faltered — only for a moment — but she saw it. His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had pierced something deeper than he expected.
Jullian, standing at the edge of the field, blinked in surprise. Saryn's smirk faded into something more serious.
If he really did have something like that…
Nyssara didn't wait. "Every time I struck you," she said, stepping closer, "you moved before I even committed. You deflected, redirected — like you already knew what was coming."
Arthur looked away. "You're reading too much into it. I got hit plenty of times."
"Maybe," she said. "But maybe that's only when the attack comes from somewhere even you can't see. Or when it's just too fast."
Her voice took on a quiet intensity. "That vampire, Feldine — he couldn't block Elias's lightning-speed strike. But you did. Effortlessly. I've watched all your matches."
Arthur didn't respond, but his gaze hardened slightly.
"If you can predict every attack," she continued, "then why don't you dodge magic? Every time a spell comes, you move into defense. But against swords—"
"You're overthinking it," Arthur said, shaking his head. But it sounded defensive now.
Nyssara's lips thinned. "I fought you today just to find out," she said. "To see if it was true. That you can only predict weapon-type attacks."
Silence.
Arthur stared at her for a long moment. And then — he smiled.
It was slow. And terrifying.
His aura surged — a silent wave of pressure that made the air shimmer around him. Not violent, not loud — just a quiet, bone-deep wrongness that made Jullian step back instinctively and Saryn stiffen, hand drifting toward the hilt at his waist.
Arthur tilted his head slightly. His voice was soft.
"And now that you know… what are you going to do?"
Nyssara's heart thudded. But she didn't retreat. She held his gaze.
"I won't tell anyone," she said. "I swear it. On my Core."
Arthur's smile vanished.
"What—?" he snapped. "Are you crazy? Swearing on your Core? Do you have a death wish?"
Jullian whistled low. "Yup. That's one way to win someone's trust — or get permanently hospitalized."
Saryn leaned in and whispered, "I think she's fallen for you, Arthur."
THUD.
Nyssara's fist connected with Saryn's gut. He staggered, coughing.
"Do you accept or not?" she asked, eyes still on Arthur.
Arthur was silent… then finally, he smiled again — this time more human, more real.
"…Okay."
Nyssara let out a breath, and then — she smiled.
It wasn't cold or regal this time. It was warm. Sincere. And beautiful. The kind of smile that softened the sharp edges of her face and made her natural elegance shine even more.
Arthur stared for a moment.
Too long.
Jullian nudged him. "Now shall we go, oh mighty seer of sword strikes?"
Arthur blinked, eyes pulling away from her with visible effort. "Yeah," he muttered.
The four of them began walking away from the silent field — but Arthur's thoughts remained behind.
I shouldn't have come with these idiots… he thought, glancing at Saryn, who was still rubbing his stomach.
But his mind lingered on something else.
The way Nyssara had looked at him.
Not as a classmate.
Not as a princess.
But as a swordsman.
And that, somehow, felt far heavier than any title.