Chapter 252: Attack of Rage

The Fool’s Stance.

The Bull’s Stance.

The Plow’s Stance.

The Roof’s Stance.

These are the four basic stances of Virendorf Swordsmanship.

Following the teachings of Claudia von Reckenber, Baumann transitioned through these stances with each attack.

Her movements were textbook-perfect.

It wasn’t because she was particularly diligent.

It was simply because this was all she knew.

And truthfully, she needed nothing more.

“Practice chivalry. Learn the manners that will elevate you and bring you honor on the battlefield.”

Those were the words of Reckenber-sama.

To Baumann, they were akin to divine scripture.

Chivalry itself was of little interest to her.

She didn’t care for it, but she did want to become Reckenber-sama’s knight.

Thus, she committed herself entirely to learning all the techniques.

“Virendorf Swordsmanship encompasses five principles: advance, retreat, softness, strength, and timing. Master these, and your form will be complete. Maintain a strong core, do not falter in a clash of swords, and keep a stance capable of enduring any assault. Whether on foot or horseback, armored or unarmored, nothing changes. As long as your form remains unbroken, defeat is impossible.”

Flex.

Crown.

Boar Rush.

Exchange.

These are the auxiliary stances.

With each attack, Baumann transitioned through these forms, never losing her core balance, never leaving an opening.

She unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes.

She anticipated Lord Faust’s movements, dominating the battle.

To Baumann, this seemed to be the most critical aspect of combat.

But there was one thing she couldn’t comprehend:

Why did Reckenber-sama lose?

Had she been careless?

It was hard to imagine Reckenber-sama, a knight of her caliber, being careless on the battlefield. Yet, in a way, that must have been the case.

Baumann couldn’t believe that Faust’s strength alone was the reason.

If Reckenber-sama had attacked with full force, using her skills to their fullest, no knight, no matter how extraordinary, could have bested her.

Reckenber-sama’s technique was second to none—not just in Virendorf, but across the Gusten Empire.

It was inconceivable that Faust, a mere knight of the frontier, could surpass her.

So Baumann pondered.

Perhaps Reckenber-sama had tested Faust’s ability.

Perhaps she had deliberately given him an opening.

She hadn’t adopted an aggressive stance that anticipated Faust’s movements and seized control of the battle.

Instead, she had chosen to respond to him, allowing Faust to act.

She gave him the time to bridge the gap in skill.

But why?

Could it have been her intention to capture him alive?

Did she want him as a man? Or perhaps she sought to recruit an extraordinary knight of an enemy nation into her service?

Naturally, such thoughts came to mind.

That would be typical of her. Baumann didn’t even need to say it aloud to know:

Yes, that’s the kind of person she was.

Reckenber-sama loved to test people.

It might even be considered a flaw. But it never mattered because—

She was strong.

Her strength excused her whims.

That was Baumann’s evaluation of Reckenber-sama.

But even so—she lost.

She had been defeated.

“――”

Sparks flew.

Faust was completely on the defensive.

The battle was firmly in Baumann’s control.

She felt like there was nothing special about him.

That was the impression she was getting.

Baumann poured all her strength into her attacks. Her Zweihänder roared like a raging storm.

A hurricane of sword slashes.

Yet Faust’s sheer physical power was undeniable. She couldn’t simply overpower him.

Every single attack was blocked.

Against any ordinary knight, it would have been over long ago.

If even one strike landed, an ordinary opponent would be blown away.

Baumann’s attacks, even if they merely grazed someone, would leave them pulverized—bone and flesh shattered like they’d been struck by a bear.

The issue lay in Lord Faust’s armor.

Her sword barely scratched it, leaving marks as shallow as a cat’s claw.

It had no effect.

The full-body armor engraved with magical runes that Faust wore was impervious to Baumann’s strength.

And Faust himself was as tough as his armor.

No ordinary blow could harm him.

Unless she dealt a fatal strike, neither the armor nor his body would take damage.

Even internal damage was nearly impossible.

“……”

She was analyzing.

Baumann knew of the legendary duel passed down in Virendorf—the battle between Lord Faust and Reckenber-sama.

She only knew of it through hearsay, but she understood.

It was said that the duel was decided by a difference in stamina.

But was that really true?

Baumann couldn’t help but question it.

It wasn’t a lingering doubt—it only surfaced now, during this fight in the coliseum.

It was the Landsknechts—those who served as the opening act—that made her realize it.

They had managed to wound Faust.

At the cost of their lives, they’d driven their Katzbalgers into his body.

And yet, it seemed to have no effect.

Could it be that his wounds healed?

It wasn’t a thought she could dismiss with a scoff.

Superhuman warriors healed faster than ordinary people.

Even with broken ribs or shattered arms—injuries that would incapacitate a normal person—they could keep fighting.

And so, she returned to the question:

Why did Reckenber-sama lose?

Could it be that Lord Faust doesn’t tire?

He Does Not Tire

He heals from wounds at an unbelievable speed.

Baumann was a former serf and knew she wasn’t particularly smart. She was fully aware of her limitations.

However, she wasn’t the type to dismiss reality simply because it was beyond the bounds of “common sense.”

The information that her fellow Landsknechts had risked their lives to provide during the opening act—they hadn’t fought in vain. That much seemed certain to her.

“……”

She swung her sword.

Baumann still controlled the flow of the battle.

Lord Faust was clearly on the defensive, struggling to keep up with her relentless attacks.

This pattern of battle persisted, unchanged.

Faust was barely managing to fend off Baumann’s strikes.

From an objective standpoint, Baumann was utterly overwhelming him.

And yet, it was no different from the duel in which Reckenber-sama was defeated.

Baumann knew: if this kept up, she wouldn’t win.

Deep in her heart, she reached a conclusion—

A fatal blow was necessary.

If this dragged on, her stamina would eventually give out, and she would lose.

She needed to land a decisive strike—something Faust couldn’t predict or defend against—a single, devastating blow.

But the thought brought hesitation.

Surely Reckenber-sama had faced the same dilemma.

And even she had failed.

No, more accurately, it had succeeded—at least to some extent.

Reckenber-sama had caught Faust off guard.

Her strike had shattered his chainmail, torn into his body, and drawn blood.

It should have been a decisive blow.

Yes, by all accounts, it should have been the end of the battle.

In a normal fight, bleeding alone would have drained her opponent’s stamina, securing her victory.

Against any ordinary foe, Reckenber-sama would have emerged victorious.

But the man before Baumann was no ordinary opponent.

Ah…

Baumann recalled hearing that Reckenber-sama had smiled as her head was severed in the final moments of that duel.

Why was that?

Had she simply laughed at the absurdity of her opponent?

Had she resigned herself to her fate?

No, that wasn’t the kind of person she was.

If she had truly smiled, it must have been because she found joy in a duel unlike any she had experienced before.

She must have felt satisfaction at the idea of her life ending in such a remarkable confrontation.

Yes, that was who Reckenber-sama was.

She was the greatest knight, not just in Virendorf, but in the entire empire.

“……”

Baumann’s thoughts raced.

Conflicting emotions stirred within her.

At this moment, all she could think about was Reckenber-sama and Lord Faust.

She had known Reckenber-sama well.

But she knew so little about Faust.

Still, as their blades clashed, she began to understand him more and more.

She could tell that Faust had trained himself relentlessly, as if obsessed.

His sole focus seemed to be on one thing—

The art of not dying.

Faust was unnaturally skilled at defense.

He excelled in the art of “reacting.”

Whoever had trained him must have decided that, so long as Faust didn’t die, he couldn’t be defeated.

They must have believed that teaching him techniques to ensure his survival was the best course of action—and likely the only swordsmanship they knew to teach him.

And so, they drilled into him the skill of defense, over and over.

Baumann couldn’t stop her thoughts.

Surely, Reckenber-sama must have contemplated something similar during her battle with him.

But such musings were meaningless.

This wasn’t the time for idle thinking.

She was fully aware that every moment spent pondering only put her at a greater disadvantage.

Her stamina was steadily waning, while Faust’s remained unaffected.

This was absurd.

There could be no more absurd opponent to face in a duel.

Once again, Baumann knew: she needed a fatal strike.

But how?

She had few options.

She needed an opening.

Just a brief moment.

A single instant to gather her strength.

“――”

She made a decision.

She would trade her own injury for that opening.

“Cut my flesh to sever his bones.”

Once injured, her stamina would deplete far faster than Faust’s.

Victory would slip out of reach.

But if she did nothing, victory was already impossible.

Something had to be sacrificed.

An arm?

A leg?

She didn’t care.

Her life itself was inconsequential.

Baumann wasn’t thinking about what came next.

What should she sacrifice?

Perhaps her life?

That would suffice.

Even a double knockout would be acceptable.

“――”

Yes, a double knockout would do.

There was no point in surviving this.

Victory wouldn’t bring her anything, and defeat wouldn’t take anything away.

So why not trade her life for a chance to defeat Faust?

That would be fine.

It was fine.

She raised her sword above her head.

The Roof Stance.

She deliberately created an opening.

Faust didn’t miss it, moving swiftly to deliver a horizontal slash aimed at her chest.

There was no way she could block it in time.

She didn’t intend to.

Baumann braced herself, ready for her chest and armor to be torn apart.

“――”

The strike stopped just short.

Did Faust hesitate to finish her?

No.

He had seen through her deliberate ploy to create an opening.

Ah, yes. That was the correct judgment.

But for Baumann, that brief hesitation was all she needed.

It was enough for her to unleash her trump card.

Her anger-fueled strike.

From the Roof Stance, she swung her sword in a powerful diagonal slash at Faust’s torso.

It wasn’t some secret move or legendary technique.

It was simply a fundamental strike taught to all.

But to Baumann, it was special.

It was the single technique Reckenber-sama had drilled into her relentlessly.

“You have the strength to cleave a person in half with a single strike. That’s all you need to know.”

“You don’t need anything else. Just practice this one form thousands of times every day.”

And she had, until the day she learned of Reckenber-sama’s death.

That was why this technique was her secret sword.

Her one polished, perfected move.

The only one she had ever been taught by Reckenber-sama.

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

She unleashed that rusted blade of a secret sword.

With a single roar, all the rust fell away.

Her body remembered.

This technique alone, she had never forgotten.

No matter how strong Faust’s armor, no matter how tough he was—

This strike could cut him clean in half.

Baumann’s anger-fueled strike bore down on Faust’s body like a magnet drawn to its target.

Faust shouted something in that instant.

But Baumann couldn’t make out the words.