Reincarnation Of The Legendary Sword Saint-Chapter 73: Stood Still

Rowan glanced at him. "It was nothing."

"But if you hadn’t stopped him, I would’ve been hit," the boy said. "The reason he looks down on me is because my father serves under his. Our families have history. His father always humiliates mine."

Rowan frowned slightly.

"Then listen to me," he said calmly. "No matter how low your rank is, never let someone hit you for no reason."

Neville looked up.

"Even if they’re stronger than you, stand your ground. People only bully those they think won’t fight back."

The boy clenched his fist.

"...Thank you. I’ll remember that."

They returned to the line together.

Soon, it was Rowan’s turn.

He accepted his uniform from the attendant and walked into the changing room.

The door closed behind him.

He changed quietly.

And when he stepped out—

As he walked, Rowan glanced down at himself.

"Wow... this actually suits me really well. How did they even get my exact measurements with no effort?" he muttered.

He stepped out of the changing room, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The massive double doors ahead were already open.

Beyond them—

The training field spread out endlessly.

Students were already there, gripping their swords. Some practiced swinging through the air, their blades cutting clean arcs.

Rowan placed his bag at the side and picked up his sword.

Wow... they’re good.

They’re actually really talented.

After a while, every newcomer had finished changing and gathered on the field.

The staff woman stepped forward.

"Now, pick someone you want to spar with."

"We will assess your level through real combat."

"For now, you will spar with each other. Later, a teacher will spar with you."

"Even if you lose against your classmates, it won’t count against you. The teacher’s evaluation is what truly matters."

"Both sides must agree."

"It’s better to fight someone with the same blessing, but it’s not required."

Murmurs spread across the field.

Then—

Daryl stretched his arm out and pointed.

"I want to fight him."

Rowan blinked.

"...This guy again."

The staff woman walked over. "Are you sure? You could spar with another Sword God."

"No," Daryl said sharply. "I want him."

Rowan shrugged. "Fine. I’ll spar with him too."

The woman nodded. "Very well."

She raised her voice.

"Everyone, move to the stands."

"You will be called down one by one."

"When your name is called, step onto the field."

"Jimmy, Kori, Kilil — remain on the field."

The rest of the students filed up into the stands, excitement buzzing through the air.

Rowan walked toward the stands and sat with the others, his eyes fixed on the training field.

Kori and Kilil stood facing each other.

So they really have the same blessing...

Kori’s brown eyes were sharp and focused, his grip steady on the hilt of his sword. Kilil’s dark hair swayed gently in the wind, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.

The two Sword Lords stood silently, measuring each other.

The staff woman stepped forward.

"Are you both ready?"

They nodded at the same time.

"Begin."

"And if you are capable of using aura, you may use it freely."

She vanished backward in an instant.

Golden aura erupted around Kori, wrapping his body like blazing light.

Kilil released his aura as well — dense, powerful, and just as brilliant.

The pressure rolled across the field.

Sword Lords.

They moved.

In a flash, the two vanished from their spots.

Clang!

Their swords met in the center of the field, sparks flying.

They exchanged blows at blinding speed — slash, parry, counter, step, strike — each movement clean and refined.

Gasps filled the stands.

"Wow... they’re so fast!"

"That control at their age is insane!"

"They’re only ten!"

The ground cracked under their footwork.

"These two are not ordinary newcomers," the staff woman said calmly. "They’ve trained for years. Control like this at their age is extremely rare."

Their blades clashed again, louder this time.

"Talent like this guarantees a brilliant future."

Boom!

Clang—clang—clang—clang—clang!

Kori and Kilil’s swords collided again and again, sparks exploding into the air with every impact.

They leapt apart at the same time, aura still burning around their bodies, then dashed forward once more.

Their blades crossed in a blinding exchange.

The pressure shook the ground.

Both jumped back, breathing hard, their golden auras flickering violently.

Their bodies trembled from the strain.

Maintaining aura at that level wasn’t easy.

The staff lady stepped forward.

"That’s enough."

Her voice cut through the noise.

"You’ve both proven yourselves."

"In fact... you’re extremely talented."

Kori and Kilil slowly lowered their swords and nodded.

They turned and walked toward the stands, sweat dripping down their faces.

The crowd burst into applause.

"Next."

She raised her voice.

"The next two will be from the normal Swordman class."

"Jolly and Vigor — step forward."

The two boys walked onto the field and faced each other.

"Begin."

They rushed forward.

Clang!

Their swords collided.

They jumped back.

Jolly slashed.

Vigor twisted his body, barely avoiding the blade.

In the same motion, Vigor lifted his leg and kicked Jolly’s sword out of his hand.

The weapon flew across the field.

In one smooth step, Vigor raised his blade and placed it against Jolly’s neck.

Silence.

"The winner — Vigor," the staff lady announced.

Gasps filled the stands.

"That was clean."

"He used his leg in combat!"

"That’s real battlefield instinct!"

The staff lady nodded.

"He’s not just using what Swordmen are taught."

"He adapted."

"That kind of thinking is rare."

"Truly talented."

One by one, the remaining students were called down.

Steel rang across the field as swords clashed.

Some fights ended quickly. Others dragged on in fierce exchanges.

Until finally—

Only two names remained.

"Daryl. Rowan."

"You’re next. Step onto the training field."

The staff lady’s voice echoed across the arena.

Rowan rose from the stand and walked down calmly, his sword resting against his shoulder.

Daryl followed, spinning his blade once before stopping across from him.

The two stood facing each other.

The air between them felt heavy.

Daryl smirked.

"So this is it. I told you before — you’re finished. Completely finished."

He lifted his sword and pointed it at Rowan.

"I’m going to show you why I’m a Sword God."

"You won’t look down on me ever again."

"I won’t hold back."

Rowan sighed.

"Blah, blah, blah," he said flatly. "You’re boring me."

"Why don’t you let your sword do the talking instead?"

Daryl’s smile vanished.

Veins bulged on his forehead.

"You bastard..."

The staff lady stepped forward, her gaze sharp.

She looked at both of them.

"...Begin."

The wind shifted.

The crowd leaned forward.

The duel had begun.

Daryl raised his sword high.

Mana erupted from his body.

"AAAAAH!"

A violent surge of power exploded outward as golden aura wrapped around him like blazing flames. The ground beneath his feet cracked as pressure rolled across the field.

Gasps echoed from the stands.

"Wow...!"

"That aura...!"

"He’s releasing that much power at this age?!"

Even some of the teachers narrowed their eyes.

"That level of output from a ten-year-old..." the staff lady muttered. "What kind of training has he gone through?"

Daryl grinned cruelly.

"Beg now," he said. "Get on your knees and beg for mercy. I might let you live."

Rowan stared at him calmly.

"...You really talk too much."

Daryl vanished.

In an instant, he closed the distance, sword raised high, charging straight toward Rowan.

Then—

His vision twisted.

For a split second, he saw his own legs lying on the ground.

His arm—severed.

Blood everywhere.

His heart froze.

He stumbled backward, jumping away in panic, breathing hard.

"Haa... haa... haa..."

He stared at his hands.

They were intact.

His legs were still there.

No blood.

No wounds.

"...What?"

Rowan stood where he had always been.

Unmoved.

Unshaken.

A faint smile curved on his lips.

"Well?" Rowan said calmly. "Why did you run away?"

Daryl’s eyes widened.

"What... what was that just now? I saw my body on the ground. My arm—my legs—"

His fists clenched.

"...Tch. Whatever. It doesn’t matter."

"Again!"

Daryl roared as he charged forward.

His sword slashed toward Rowan in a violent arc.

Clang!

Rowan blocked it effortlessly.

Another strike.

Clang!

Another.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Daryl kept attacking, pouring everything into his swings, slashing relentlessly, trying to overwhelm him with sheer power.

But Rowan didn’t move.

He didn’t step back.

He didn’t even change his stance.

He simply stood there—one hand in his pocket, the other holding his sword— calmly blocking every single strike.

"...He’s talented," Rowan muttered. "Far too talented for his age."

Clang!

"But still..." Rowan added, deflecting another blow, "not enough."

Daryl increased his speed.

His sword became a blur.

The air screamed with every slash.

Yet Rowan remained unmoved, parrying every attack with perfect timing.

The stands erupted.

"What the hell is going on?"

"He hasn’t even released his aura!"

"Is he even capable of using aura?"

"But even if he can," someone said, "there’s no way a Sword Saint can match a Sword God like this!"