After witnessing the previous 60 sparring matches, Lucas couldn't help but gulp nervously as he watched numerous applicants fall one after another. Gulp. "Can I really face that monster?" he thought.
From the moment he first saw Roman, he felt it.
A monster.
There was no other word to describe him.
Just looking at him made Lucas feel as though his heart was being squeezed, and cold sweat dripped down his forehead.
His palms were drenched in sweat, even though he wasn't particularly nervous.
From the very beginning, Lucas had sensed the danger Roman posed.
When Roman mentioned 120 sparring matches, Lucas couldn't bring himself to smile like the other applicants.
The frontlines.
In the realm of life and death, where even the slightest carelessness could mean death, Lucas's sharp instincts had always saved his life.
This time was no different.
His instincts told him that Roman was a monster beyond his capabilities, and based on his past experiences, avoiding such a situation was the best course of action.
A fight where defeat was certain.
He clenched his teeth.
Even if he passed the test, he would only earn 8 silver coins, yet he couldn't bring himself to turn away.
"This feeling is new to me. I've seen Rankers on the battlefield before, but no one has ever pressured me like this purely through their presence, regardless of their overwhelming strength. Roman Dmitri has completely changed from what I remember. He's not someone who will rot away in the borderlands like he said. It's clear that one day, he will spread his wings and reach out to the continent."
Lucas.
A B-rank mercenary.
People said he had achieved a great position, but Lucas knew he wasn't that remarkable.
B-rank was the limit of his efforts.
An ordinary person could reach B-rank by risking their life and working hard, but without the ability to use mana, the realm of A-rank was unattainable.
From A-rank onward, mere battlefield experience wasn't enough.
One needed overwhelming strength, and the basic requirement for that was the blossoming of mana.
Thus, Lucas had reached his limit.
After narrowly surviving a life-threatening crisis, he realized that no matter how hard he struggled, he had hit his ceiling.
Joining Dmitri's forces was a choice born of despair.
Lucas stood at a crossroads, and just as he longed for rest, he saw Roman's recruitment notice.
"Roman said that if I follow him, he'll let me live as a predator. Logically, I can't understand why I would give up the comfortable life of a B-rank mercenary to follow Roman, but for now, I want to believe him. Just one year. I'll give it one year to see if Roman's words are true or not. That's all."
Clench. He tightened his fist.
Stepping onto the stage, he picked up the sword he had prepared and looked at Roman.
"First, I need to pass the test."
"Begin."
Thud. The signal to start was given.
At the same time, Lucas stomped the ground.
In all the previous matches, no one had dared to attack first except in the very first round.
Seeing the giant man fall helplessly, everyone thought that attacking first was a dangerous choice.
It was obvious.
This spar wasn't about winning but about lasting one minute.
Charging in to attack first was like offering your neck to the opponent's sword.
But Lucas thought differently.
"If I waste even a second, I won't be able to withstand Roman's attacks. To last one minute, I must take the initiative in the attack. That's the only way to win this match."
It was a judgment based on instinct.
Once he made the decision, he acted decisively.
On the battlefield, hesitation led to death, and Lucas didn't hesitate for a moment as he aimed for Roman's head and heart simultaneously.
Whoosh! Lucas's weapons were unique.
In his right hand, he wielded a slightly shorter sword, and in his left, he held a dagger.
Both were made of wood.
Roman had provided wooden weapons of various forms at the applicants' request, and Lucas wasn't the first to use this combination.
However, his attack style was unparalleled.
With the sword, he aimed to slash Roman's head, while the dagger was thrust with full force toward his heart.
Swish! Thud! Roman's movements were concise.
He took a step back to avoid the dagger's reach and used his wooden sword to deflect Lucas's blade.
Lucas quickly closed the distance, changing the direction of his sword as if to graze Roman's neck, while throwing the dagger in his other hand toward Roman's solar plexus.
It was unconventional.
There had been no long-range attacks so far, but Roman once again swung his sword to block all the attacks.
"As expected," Lucas thought.
It was a scene worthy of admiration.
Normally, relentless attacks would reveal openings, but Roman was like an impregnable fortress.
Lucas's breath caught in his throat.
He wanted to retreat to prepare for Roman's counterattack, but he couldn't afford to.
"He doesn't intend to kill me. Even if I have to take a hit, I can't give him the chance to take the offensive. Just 40 seconds. I only need to hold out for 40 seconds, and then I can buy time."
Tap tap. He charged in faster, drawing another dagger from his waist and launching a dual-sided attack to pressure Roman.
Suddenly, chuckle. Roman smiled.
"Not bad."
It was decent.
Attacks that disregarded one's life weren't a good choice on the battlefield, but Lucas seemed to have made a judgment suitable for a spar.
A man with instinctive senses.
Such individuals were highly useful in battle.
Lucas would likely pass the test, but Roman had no intention of letting him last the full minute.
One minute.
That was the wall.
Roman wanted to firmly imprint upon the applicants just how extraordinary their future lord was from their very first meeting, to earn their blind trust.
"Let's end this now."
Whoosh! Tap tap. It happened in an instant.
Roman deflected Lucas's attack, and his follow-up shattered Lucas's defense.
Lucas couldn't use either of his weapons.
As his face turned pale with shock, everyone thought the match was over.
But then, Lucas threw himself to the ground to avoid the attack and, in one swift motion, flung sand into Roman's face. Whoosh! It was a clear foul.
There were no special rules for this match.
Roman had only said to last one minute, and Lucas had resorted to any means necessary.
"This is a fight where victory is at stake. To win, I must do everything I can."
Dodging Roman's attack was a stroke of luck.
Considering the length of Roman's weapon, Lucas had thrown himself to the ground and narrowly avoided the strike.
Then, he immediately threw the sand he had prepared in his pocket.
He knew he couldn't win under the same conditions, so he aimed to temporarily obstruct Roman's vision.
Whoosh! Thud. The sand hit.
As the dust rose, Lucas rolled on the ground and sprang up like a bull, charging forward.
It was time to seize the momentum.
But as Lucas reached Roman's face and raised his sword to strike, his face turned pale when he looked up.
"Huh?!" Roman was looking straight at him.
Lucas's mind was in chaos.
He had thought Roman might have avoided the sand, but when he saw the grains in Roman's eyes, he was speechless.
Roman had been hit.
The unconventional tactic had worked, but despite the stinging pain, Roman hadn't closed his eyes and was staring straight at Lucas.
Eyes red and burning.
Logically, Roman should have clenched his eyes shut and cried out in pain, but instead, he waited for Lucas to charge at him.
At that moment, thud. "... I surrender."
Lucas dropped his sword.
He raised both hands, signaling that he no longer wished to fight.
A swift surrender.
This, too, was a lesson he had learned on the battlefield.
Roman had known about Lucas's plan.
He had seen Lucas's hand go to his pocket, but he wanted to see the full extent of what Lucas could do.
And then, he had been hit by the sand.
Despite the stinging pain, he hadn't closed his eyes and had kept his gaze fixed on Lucas.
"Never take your eyes off your opponent. That was a lesson drilled into my bones from the very bottom of the Demon Sect."
Roman recalled his past.
The Demon Sect.
Before they began formal martial arts training, the first thing they were taught was how to keep their eyes open.
Even martial artists were, after all, human.
A blind sword could kill just as easily, so the demon-like instructor had told them never to close their eyes under any circumstances.
In the heat of battle, even a single blink could cost you your life.
Just as there was a specific order to exhaling when circulating internal energy, even blinking had to be done under strict calculation.
The Demon Sect's methods were cruel.
Throwing sand into someone's eyes was basic, and there were even methods of stabbing a dagger right in front of their eyes.
And sometimes, accidents happened.
A trainee screamed as a dagger pierced his eye, blood pouring down his face as he knelt on the ground.
Yet, the others didn't look away.
Blood and screams were part of everyday life in the world of survival of the fittest, and they knew that even a slight flinch could lead to disaster.
That was how demons were made.
The battles Lucas had experienced? He had seen his share of blood, but the blood Bai Zhongxue had witnessed could have filled an ocean.
Thud. "... I surrender."
Lucas raised the white flag.
He dropped his sword and declared he no longer wished to fight.
The test was over.
But Lucas, and the other applicants watching, thought punishment would befall him.
"If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have used the sand."
Lucas's plan had been different.
He had intended to last one minute by any means necessary and use that result to earn a "pass."
But he had surrendered.
He knew how disgraceful this outcome was.
Some so-called warriors would never surrender, even if their heads were about to roll.
In contrast, Lucas was a realist.
Realizing his plan had completely failed, he had been overwhelmed in the moment and surrendered.
"He must be disappointed in me. No, he probably never had any expectations to begin with."
He swallowed hard, waiting for punishment.
Would Roman be angry? Or would he announce Lucas's failure in front of everyone? Lucas thought his greed had ruined the situation, but even if he could turn back time, he would have made the same decision.
That was the kind of person he was.
On the blood-soaked frontlines, he had lived without shame to survive.
But then, "Next."
In an instant, Lucas looked up at Roman in confusion.
Roman wasn't angry, nor did he ask why Lucas had resorted to foul play.
The word "next" implied tacit approval.
It meant that Lucas's choice wasn't wrong and that there was no reason to reprimand him.
Even Lucas, a B-rank mercenary who had seen it all, couldn't hide his bewildered expression at that moment.