Chapter 94 - Golden Opportunity
Dainor exhaled, his sharp eyes scanning the gathered fighters. His voice, though even, carried a weight that silenced the murmurs in the room. "Very well. The match was unexpected, and Amukelo won once he got hold of his dagger. But now, let's analyze it." His gaze shifted to Ive first. "Why do you think you lost?"
Ive ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Because—" He sighed, shaking his head. "Because it was the weirdest style of fighting I've ever seen. I wasn't prepared for anything like that."
Dainor nodded but didn't look entirely satisfied. "Yes, I'll admit I've never seen a style quite like that either, not in all my years. But that alone doesn't mean you should have lost." He then turned his focus to Amukelo, his expression unreadable. "And what do you think? Why did he lose?"
Amukelo shifted slightly, gripping the hilt of his wooden sword. "Uh... I don't know. Maybe because I was faster than him? Or because he got confused when I did something weird like throwing my dagger?"
Dainor sighed, rubbing his temple as if he had expected that answer. "Again, you're only pointing out the most obvious factors. That is not the real reason he lost. In fact, if you break it down, Ive could have won this match. But he didn't."
The fighters standing around exchanged glances, unsure of what answer Dainor was looking for.
Dainor crossed his arms. "Anyone here care to take a guess? What exactly happened in this match, and what should be improved?"
The murmurs began again. Some shook their heads, some whispered half-baked explanations.
"I don't know," one of the trainees muttered. "I think Amukelo just overwhelmed him with speed and unpredictability."
"Yeah," another agreed. "Ive just couldn't keep up with all the weird movements and dagger tricks."
Dainor sighed again. They were all missing the point.
Then, from the back of the room, a calm and steady voice cut through the uncertainty. "It's because Ive didn't utilize his advantages."
The group turned in unison toward Padrin, who was still leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. Unlike the others, his expression wasn't one of confusion, but one of mild amusement—as if the answer had been painfully obvious to him the entire time.
Dainor turned toward him. "Explain."
Padrin pushed himself off the wall and walked forward, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Ive. His tone was even, but there was an undeniable confidence to his words.
"For example, in the second round, instead of panicking and jumping back when Amukelo swung that dagger slash at him, Ive could have simply held his stance and slashed downward." Padrin made a downward chopping motion with his hand to demonstrate. "Think about it. Amukelo was completely open. If this were a real fight, Ive's sword would have connected first—long before the dagger could land a scratch."
A few of the fighters in the room nodded slightly, considering his words.
Padrin continued. "And even if, by some miracle, Amukelo had managed to land his dagger strike after getting hit, so what? What's a dagger wound compared to a deep slash through the torso? The trade-off would have still favored Ive."
Ive gritted his teeth, realizing that Padrin was right. "Damn it..."
Padrin didn't stop there. "Now let's talk about the third match." He smirked slightly. "I'll admit—the dagger throw was a good trick. Unpredictable, even. But if you paid mlre attention you still could've block it. But the fourth match? That was just careless." He pointed directly at Ive. "You fell for the exact same thing twice. You blocked the dagger throw... but you had no follow-up. You should have immediately reset your stance, closed the distance, and forced Amukelo into a position where he couldn't use tricks. Instead, you froze for half a second. And half a second is all someone like him needs."
Dainor watched Padrin closely, his lips curving ever so slightly into an approving smile. He had nailed it.
The rest of the room, however, was stunned.
Bral scratched his head. "Damn... That actually makes a lot of sense."
Idin let out a low whistle. "So basically, Ive should have won this match."
Padrin smirked. "Yes. But he didn't. Because he panicked." Then, his gaze shifted to Amukelo, his expression losing any hint of amusement. "And you? Your style is terrible."
Amukelo blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—what?"
Padrin took a step closer, his presence towering over Amukelo. "If you fought someone with even slightly better combat intelligence, you would have been crushed." He said it with such certainty that it sent a small ripple of tension through the room.
Amukelo narrowed his eyes. "But I won."
Padrin smirked, shaking his head. "Because your opponent didn't know how to exploit your weaknesses." He turned toward Dainor. "His stance is all over the place. His swings lack structure. He fights entirely on impulse. If he faced someone who actually knew how to read an opponent and counter accordingly, he'd be done for."
Amukelo clenched his jaw. He wasn't sure why, but something about the way Padrin spoke got under his skin.
Dainor, however, seemed pleased. He nodded. "Everything you've said is correct." Then, turning back to Amukelo, he added, "Yes, your style lacks structure, and it is exploitable. But you're also creative. That's not something that can be easily taught." He studied Amukelo closely. "If you refined your movements, improved your footwork, and actually built a foundation, you could become just as good as Padrin here."
Amukelo's eyes flickered toward Padrin.
Padrin merely scoffed. "He wouldn't stand a chance against me."
Then, with an almost bored expression, he added, "Even if I only used one hand."
"Want to try to fight him?" Dainor asked, his tone almost teasing but not quite.
Bral let out a low whistle and turned to Idin and Bao. "No way. Amukelo's actually going to fight Padrin? On his first day?" His voice carried equal parts disbelief and excitement.
Padrin, as if the challenge meant absolutely nothing to him, shrugged. "Sure," he said, casually rolling his shoulders before bringing one hand behind his back. "I'll hold my sword with one hand. Just to give him a chance."
The sheer confidence in his voice was impossible to ignore.
Amukelo, on the other hand, was frozen in place. He hadn't even stepped into position yet. His mind was still catching up to the fact that this was actually happening.
Dainor raised an eyebrow and turned toward him. "What? Don't you want to fight him?"
Amukelo snapped back to reality, startled. "No, no, I do!" He hurried to take his stance, gripping his sword and dagger tightly. "I just... didn't expect this."
His eyes flickered toward Padrin, who looked almost bored, as if this was just another meaningless routine to him.
Amukelo clenched his jaw. It didn't matter. Even if he had no chance, even if Padrin was levels above him, he was going to fight.
From the side, Bral leaned toward Bao and Idin. "What do you think his chances are?"
Idin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly? He's strong. But against Padrin?" He shook his head. "I don't know. The only thing I do know is... if he actually wins, he'll be famous."
Dainor raised his hand. "Take your positions."
Amukelo tightened his grip, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Padrin didn't move.
Dainor's hand came down. "Begin."
Amukelo lunged. He closed the distance in an instant, bringing his sword down toward Padrin's side.
Padrin still didn't move.
And then, just as their blades met, it became clear why. There was no clash. No violent impact. No struggle.
Padrin casually lifted his sword with one hand, angling it perfectly to catch Amukelo's attack at the ideal point. There was no force behind the block—it was almost lazy.
But Amukelo smiled. He had already anticipated that. His dagger was already coming for Padrin's ribs.
But just as it was about to land, Padrin moved.
It was a simple motion, a small adjustment of his wrist, but it changed everything. He didn't push Amukelo's blade back. He didn't need to. He simply tilted his sword downward, redirecting the momentum just enough to send Amukelo's entire body slightly off balance.
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And then—before Amukelo even realized what had happened, a sharp impact slammed into his torso.
Amukelo's dagger barely tapped Padrin's side, too late, too weak to even matter. The room was silent.
Padrin stood there, unbothered, not even a flicker of effort on his face.
"See?" He finally spoke, voice calm, almost bored. "That's exactly what I meant."
Amukelo, still reeling from the strike, gritted his teeth. "Tsk..."
Padrin sighed. "What did you think was going to happen? What exactly do you expect to accomplish when your sword is so weakly held?"
Amukelo straightened, his pride stinging far worse than the hit itself.
Padrin continued, tilting his head slightly, like he was trying to explain something to a stubborn child. "I barely had to move. All I had to do was place my blade in the path of yours and tense my arm. That's all it took to stop your strike."
Amukelo clenched his fists. He had noticed it too. His attack had no real weight. No true force behind it.
"And your dagger?" Padrin continued, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly do you think that little stab was going to do? If this were a real fight, I could have split you in half before your dagger even scratched me."
Amukelo exhaled sharply. "Tsk... Can we do another round?"
Dainor smirked, but said nothing. Instead, he simply gestured toward Padrin, indicating that the choice was his.
Amukelo turned to Padrin. Padrin studied him for a moment, then let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Ugh... Whatever." He lifted his sword lazily. "I'll give you a few more chances. But if you don't correct your mistake, then you're just wasting my time."
Amukelo nodded firmly, gripping his weapons tighter. This time, he wouldn't make the same mistake.