Albrecht stared at Thereon in disbelief.

  The larger attacker didn't wait for Albrecht to decide. He lunged again, greatsword cleaving through the air with the weight of an avalanche.

  Thereon intercepted him mid-charge, their weapons meeting with a crack of steel. But he didn't counter—only deflected, stepping aside to create an opening.

  "That one was for free," he said over his shoulder. "Next time, do it yourself."

  Thereon casually tossed his sword toward Albrecht. It spun once in the air, catching the last glint of the fading sun before Albrecht instinctively reached out and caught it clumsily.

  The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the weight yanked forward with surprising force. It was far heavier than he had anticipated.

  He staggered, nearly losing his balance as the blade dragged his arm down and his body forward.

  'He is insane…' Albrecht initially thought.

  But then, another thought followed, cold and calculated.

  Wasn't this… a chance?

  He wasn't confident in his skill—he had never held a real sword before, let alone wielded one in a fight. But he was confident in Thereon.

  The old swordsman had handed over his only weapon, turned his back on two armed enemies, and still looked completely at ease. He wasn't just confident—he was mocking and playing with them.

  That alone told Albrecht everything he needed to know.

  Surely, Thereon wouldn't let him die. He was absolutely certain that Thereon would save him.

  And in the worst case… he still had Mirrorbound. He hated relying on it, hated how it clouded his thoughts and tore at the edges of his mind, but it was better than dying.

  He couldn't use it effectively in combat—it dulled his focus too much—but as a failsafe? It would be perfect if he got seriously wounded.

  All things considered, his odds weren't as bad as they looked.

  A tight breath left his lungs as he straightened his stance, the heavy sword resting awkwardly in his hands.

  "Alright, I will land at least one hit," he said to Thereon, answering his previous question.

  The armored man with the mace stepped forward first. He suddenly looked a bit nervous, and his movements even slowed down a bit.

  Albrecht was slightly confused by this, but he couldn't let this opportunity pass.

  Albrecht tightened his grip on the sword. It felt too long, too heavy—like it belonged to someone else entirely.

  His arms already ached from just holding it. He'd never fought with a blade before, never even held a practice sword.

  Still, he raised it, unsure of how to stand or what to do, trying to mimic how Thereon had held his earlier.

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  The mace came down hard.

  Albrecht panicked. Every instinct screamed that if he tried to block it, he would die.

  He leaped to the side, his feet landing awkwardly on the uneven cobblestone.

  He crashed to the ground, pain lancing through his shoulder. His sword nearly slipped from his grip, but he scrambled upright before he could be punished for the mistake.

  Still—something was off.

  'Why didn't either of them press the attack? And why aren't they coming at me together?'

  The old swordsman hadn't moved. He stood in place, standing casually and smiling. He was watching the big man with the greatsword—the two locked eyes—silent, unmoving.

  Albrecht's eyes narrowed.

  'I get it now...'

  He would later confront Thereon about it, but for now, he had to focus on the fight in front of him.

  The smaller one—the mace-wielder—was still active, still cautious. He flicked his gaze between Albrecht and his frozen ally. He looked like he wanted to say something, his mouth parting slightly...

  But no words came out.

  The silence between them crackled with tension.

  The man with the mace stepped forward, cautiously as if still unsure whether to commit. His grip tightened, and then—without warning—he lunged, bringing the weapon down in a wide, heavy arc.

  Albrecht tried to sidestep, but his reaction was clumsy and delayed.

  The mace grazed his side, slamming into his ribs with bruising force. Pain exploded across his torso, and he stumbled, gasping.

  'Too slow—way too slow!'

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay on his feet. The impact hadn't broken anything, at least not yet, but his entire side throbbed. He couldn't afford another direct hit.

  The mace came swinging again, slower this time.

  Albrecht brought up the sword to block it—too high, too shaky—and the force of the blow sent vibrations rattling down his arms. His footing faltered again, but he managed to stay standing and wasn't hit, barely.

  'Thanks, Thereon' he thought.

  He took a breath. Focused.

  This time, when the mace came at him, Albrecht didn't try to meet it head-on. He ducked lower. The head of the mace whooshed past his shoulder—close enough to feel the wind drag against his hair.

  He countered, clumsily slashing forward with the sword. The blade caught on the man's armored shoulder with a dull clang, doing little damage, but it forced the enemy to back off.

  'Okay… that's something.'

  But he knew that Thereon wouldn't count that as a hit.

  It wasn't enough.

  By now, it had become clear that Thereon never truly expected him to land a clean strike. This was a test—of effort, of resolve, of how far Albrecht was willing to push himself, even knowing he couldn't win.

  And it made sense.

  No novice could beat someone even moderately trained in combat, not without sheer luck or overwhelming power. And this wasn't luck. Albrecht had already been helped—subtly but undeniably.

  He looked again at the larger man, the greatsword still resting firmly in his grip. He hadn't moved an inch since the fight began. Not because he was waiting—but because he couldn't.

  Albrecht hadn't noticed at first, too distracted by survival. But later in the fight, he realized it.

  'Authority,' Albrecht thought.

  It was the only explanation.

  He couldn't feel it—no pressure, no aura—but the clues were there just like Heinz had described: a force that projected power outward, suppressing and even immobilizing those weaker.

  And it wasn't just the greatsword wielder.

  The man with the mace had clearly been affected, too. Sluggish movements. A hesitation before every strike.

  At that moment, he seemed like he wanted to speak but couldn't. Like something was pressing down on him.

  Thereon was doing it. Holding both opponents back with nothing but presence.

  He didn't expect Albrecht to win. That much was obvious. This wasn't a real duel. It was a test. A challenge to see if Albrecht would keep going.

  But that only made Albrecht more stubborn.

  He tightened his grip on the sword, steadying his stance. His breathing was heavy, his shoulder still ached, and his hands trembled—but his eyes locked onto his opponent with a new focus.

  He wasn't done yet.