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Chapter 68: Brandon's Swordsmanship Part 3
"You have earned the right to face me." The word had barely left Buga’s lips when his greatsword swung overhead like a streak of silver, descending with crushing force. Between them lay a distance of ten meters—both distant and yet oppressively close—but in an instant, the massive blade was already bearing down upon Brandon.
Brandon didn’t need to look up to grasp the peril of this strike. It was as if mountains were collapsing above him, thunder rolling inexorably downward. Even before the sword reached him, its overwhelming aura pressed against him like an unstoppable tide.
This single blow radiated power equivalent to the upper echelons of Gold Rank. Yet unlike the sharp, piercing style of Teste—a fellow Gold-rank swordsman—Buga’s technique exuded weight and inevitability. From the moment he drew his sword, it felt as though there was no escape; one could only cower beneath its immense presence.
Brandon had encountered such might before—not firsthand, but through witnessing the sheer cataclysmic force of nature itself. And now, here it was again, just as awe-inspiring.
Without hesitation, Brandon closed his eyes, raising his sword above his head in a precise triangular defense—his forehead, shoulder, and left arm forming three points of stability. This was one of the most advanced parrying techniques in Eruin Military Swordsmanship (Level 9). In the old game, it boasted a deflection efficiency exceeding twenty-seven percent, and Brandon hoped it would prove equally effective here. Against Buga’s greatsword, calmness was paramount.
The clash of steel erupted in a shower of sparks, the sound akin to metal screaming under unbearable strain. Brandon’s plain steel longsword bent backward to its limit, trembling under the colossal force pressing down on it. Yet even as the pressure mounted inch by agonizing inch, Brandon adjusted his grip, searching for balance. But Buga’s attack was like an unyielding boulder, its raw power seeping into Brandon’s arms, leaving him no room to retreat or evade.
There was nowhere left to go.
In that fleeting moment, Brandon’s mind raced. Years of understanding the warrior’s craft crystallized into instinct. Leaning back slightly, he slid sideways, narrowly avoiding the brunt of Buga’s strike. The greatsword slammed into the wooden floor with a deafening crack, shattering five planks and sending splinters spiraling upward like butterflies caught in a storm.
As the dust settled, Brandon realized something crucial: Buga hadn’t used his full strength. This future master swordsman had revealed his hand immediately. Buga had awakened an elemental affinity—Earth, at a high tier. Only such mastery could produce a sword intent so vast and unyielding.
Panting softly, Brandon processed this revelation.
The hall fell silent once more.
Though the exchange had lasted mere moments, almost no one present could fully comprehend what had transpired. All they saw was the two combatants separating, with Brandon seemingly unscathed. Murmurs of astonishment died in their throats as confusion spread across their faces.
How had a mere Upper Iron-Rank swordsman managed to dodge seventy percent of Buga’s strength? Those among the mercenaries who considered themselves on par with Brandon began to imagine themselves in his position—and quickly concluded that their only recourse would have been to await death with closed eyes.
"That last strike… wasn’t that about seventy percent of the vice-commander’s strength?"
"Maybe… maybe it was luck?"
"Such refined technique. Impossible."
Whispers rippled through the crowd, each spectator wearing a mix of disbelief and awe. But neither Brandon nor Buga paid them any heed. Buga let out a soft exclamation, not rushing to retrieve his embedded greatsword but instead studying Brandon with renewed interest.
At first, Buga had dismissed Brandon as merely talented—a cut above average, perhaps, but nothing compared to Aiko’s prodigious gifts. But now, he realized that this young man was anything but ordinary. That sidestep had been no fluke—it was a manifestation of profound skill.
Buga wasn’t mistaken. The technique Brandon employed originated from a lost art of the fallen elves—Shadow Swordsmanship, which emphasized agility and precision over brute force. Its principles aligned perfectly with Brandon’s strategy against Buga’s overwhelming power.
Unfortunately, Brandon knew better than to hope for access to those ancient techniques just yet. According to the timeline of the old game, Vonder’s current era corresponded to Chapter One: The Empire of New Beginnings, chronicling Madara’s rise. Ancient manuscripts wouldn’t resurface until Chapter Three: The Legacy of Old. Until then, these forgotten arts remained buried.
Seeing Buga pause, Brandon allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. Shaking his arms, he noted the absence of numbness or fatigue—an indication that Buga had deliberately matched his strength to Brandon’s level. A thought sparked in Brandon’s mind: if Buga viewed this duel merely as a test, then perhaps victory wasn’t beyond reach.
Excitement coursed through him. If Buga intended to rely solely on superior swordsmanship and intent rather than unleashing his full potential, he was making a grave mistake.
Who was Brandon?
While Level 130 might not place him among the absolute elite in Amber Sword, it far surpassed Buga’s current capabilities. Over nearly a century of play, Brandon had mastered seventeen different styles of swordsmanship, half of which he’d honed to Level 10 or higher. As for the countless techniques he’d witnessed and countered, they numbered in the hundreds.
Buga’s style stemmed from the Sean School Chivalric Swordsmanship —bold, sweeping movements that earned him the title “Cross Swordsman.” Combined with his mastery of Earth’s essence, his strikes carried an oppressive weight that often broke opponents’ spirits before the first blow landed.
But none of this fazed Brandon. He understood instinctively that he wouldn’t fall into Buga’s rhythm. Before Buga could reclaim his greatsword, Brandon launched a preemptive strike.
It was a simple thrust—the foundational technique of Eruin Military Swordsmanship (Level 0). Yet the execution stunned everyone.
Especially those familiar with the technique. Everyone knew the basic thrust, practiced endlessly in training. But none could conceive how such a rudimentary move could traverse five meters in the blink of an eye.
A flicker of surprise crossed Buga’s eyes, and Brandon couldn’t help but smirk inwardly. Clearly, despite Buga’s intermediate proficiency in swordsmanship, his overall skill level hadn’t reached mastery yet. At this point in time, Buga was likely in his fifties or sixties, still ascending toward greatness. It made sense that his expertise hadn’t peaked.
But therein lay the flaw: Buga failed to recognize the transformative leap that occurred after Level 10. Master-level enhancements elevated even the simplest techniques to extraordinary heights.
For instance, the standard range of Eruin Military Swordsmanship’s basic thrust was one and a half meters. With master-level bonuses, it extended to three and a half. Of course, Brandon knew additional tricks, deliberately holding back to maintain the illusion of restraint. Otherwise, seven meters wouldn’t have been out of reach.
And should one achieve Level 20, grandmaster-level enhancements became truly monstrous. Beyond that loomed the legendary threshold of Level 30—a realm Brandon had only heard whispers of, never witnessed firsthand.
Regardless, his thrust was lightning-fast, leaving the surrounding mercenaries momentarily speechless. By the time Buga realized Brandon’s intent, a wry smile tugged at his lips. To him, swordplay wasn’t about clever maneuvers or flashy tricks.
Still, since Brandon insisted, Buga instinctively prepared to teach the young man a lesson.
Or so he thought.
Almost immediately, Buga realized something was amiss. Brandon’s sword seemed alive, defying expectations. What should have been a straightforward thrust followed by a hilt strike transformed mid-motion. Instead of adhering to conventional patterns, Brandon shifted direction three times in rapid succession, aiming directly for Buga’s chest.
Caught off guard, Buga abandoned his attempt to retrieve his greatsword, dodging sideways. But Brandon anticipated the movement, positioning his blade accordingly. Startled, Buga retreated further—only to find himself trapped in a relentless flurry of attacks. Another thrust followed, then another, forcing Buga onto the defensive.
Thrust after thrust, Buga grew increasingly frustrated. He knew Eruin Military Swordsmanship well—but never had he seen it wielded in such a manner. Yet Brandon executed each move with precision, turning what should have been rigid drills into fluid, dynamic combat. Buga swore no infantry manual in the kingdom described such unconventional tactics, yet here stood this young man proving their viability.
These were techniques refined over decades by countless warriors.
They transcended the foundational routes advocated by most NPC instructors, emerging during the thirty-to-forty-year period of the old game when players began innovating beyond system-prescribed strategies. Techniques evolved, breaking free from traditional constraints.
Now, Buga faced the culmination of that evolution—a new iteration of Eruin Military Swordsmanship forged by players thirty years hence. Moreover, Brandon infused his own insights as a master warrior, elevating the style to unprecedented heights. Once Buga entered Brandon’s rhythm, he found himself overwhelmed.
It felt as though Brandon anticipated every move while Buga himself floundered, like a novice facing a grandmaster. Memories of his early days learning swordsmanship flooded back—moments filled with uncertainty and doubt.
This wasn’t merely a gap in strength.
It was an abyss of pure technical superiority.
Before Buga could regain his footing, Brandon forced him back seven paces, all without allowing him to reclaim his weapon. Realizing the futility of continuing thus, Buga finally unleashed his full power, channeling his elemental affinity. With a single punch imbued with earth-shattering force, he intercepted Brandon’s next strike.
A deafening clang echoed through the hall.
This time, Brandon couldn’t withstand the impact. Sent flying backward ten meters, he crashed into the crowd of onlookers.
Silence reigned supreme.
No cheers erupted for Buga’s decisive counter. Instead, the mercenaries stood frozen, their minds grappling with a singular question:
What was that swordsmanship? Was Eruin Military Swordsmanship truly capable of such feats? Just how far did this young man’s talent extend? Had Buga really struggled to withstand a single barrage? Was this reality—or merely a dream?
No, surely this must be some elaborate illusion.
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