Chapter 152 – The Circle Tightens

  The atmosphere changed.

  No laughter now.

  No mockery.

  Just pressure.

  Ivaline stood in the circle alone.

  Sword still sheathed.

  Hands empty.

  Yet everyone could feel it—

  Edge.

  Not shown.

  Not brandished.

  But present.

  Some who had dismissed her earlier found themselves hesitating.

  If merely standing there pressed on their lungs like this…

  What would happen when she moved?

  “We’ll go.”

  Not adventurers this time.

  Mercenaries.

  Three stepped forward.

  One longsword.

  One dual dagger.

  One spear and shield.

  Their armor was practical. Worn. Maintained.

  They did not smile.

  “Do you mind if the three of us come together?” the leader asked calmly. “Or would you prefer one at a time?”

  “Three?” Ivaline tilted her head slightly. “You’re four.”

  Silence.

  A ripple ran through the camp.

  “The last one is in the tree behind me. Nocking his arrow. Aiming at the side of my body. Not lethal, but not minor either.”

  Heads snapped upward.

  And there—

  An archer froze mid-draw.

  Caught.

  At her blind spot.

  “You coward!”

  “Mercenary trash!”

  “Dishonorable scum!”

  The mercenary leader did not react to the insults.

  He had prepared for that.

  In war, victory did not care for honor.

  If they won, even by ambush, they could boast:

  We bested Silver Ward.

  Their price would triple.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  But now?

  Exposed.

  Shame without gain.

  And yet—

  “I don’t mind,” Ivaline said.

  “…What?”

  “You can keep him there. Or reposition him. It’s fine.”

  The calm in her voice unsettled them more than anger would have.

  The leader clenched his jaw.

  Retreat now meant pure loss.

  “Go.”

  They charged without another word.

  The arrow loosed.

  Swoosh.

  It sliced past her ear.

  She tilted her head an inch.

  The arrow missed.

  She stepped forward.

  Pass the sword.

  Slip pass dagger.

  Dismiss the spear.

  One exchange.

  Just one.

  She passed through them like a breeze.

  No blade drawn.

  No sound of impact.

  No one fell.

  Yet—

  All three froze.

  Sweat trickled down their necks.

  “What happened?” a copper-ranked adventurer whispered.

  A veteran answered quietly.

  “She touched them.”

  “…What?”

  “Neck. Heart. Lower abdomen. Precise.”

  A pause.

  “If she wanted… they’d already be dead.”

  The words traveled.

  Softly.

  From mouth to mouth.

  Ivaline retrieved the arrow from the ground.

  She flicked it back.

  It embedded into the tree beside the archer’s collar.

  Not piercing.

  Just touching cloth.

  The archer climbed down immediately, hands raised.

  “We surrender.”

  Ivaline nodded.

  “You trust teamwork to compensate for individual weakness. That is good.”

  They stiffened.

  “But if your formation breaks, none of you survive alone. Improve your fundamentals.”

  No mockery.

  No humiliation.

  Just assessment.

  They bowed deeply and withdrew.

  The crowd grew quieter.

  “I’m next.”

  A massive figure stepped forward.

  Bare chest.

  Scarred torso.

  Orcish-styled armor.

  A barbarian.

  Gigantic axe resting on his shoulder.

  “Should I use my weapon?” he asked sincerely. “Or bare hands like Sir Gruthak?”

  “It’s fine,” Ivaline replied. “Come.”

  “ORA!”

  He exploded forward.

  Shockingly fast for his size.

  The axe swept horizontally.

  Ivaline crouched beneath it.

  The axe twirled.

  He stomped, aiming to crush her movement.

  She stepped aside.

  The axe rose overhead—

  “Got you!”

  PA.

  A small fist struck upward.

  Direct.

  Controlled.

  Precise.

  In between of his leg.

  Everyone jolts with phantom pain.

  The barbarian’s roar turned into something indescribable.

  His axe flew from his hands and embedded itself in a distant tree.

  He dropped to his knees, face pale, tears welling.

  Half the men in the camp instinctively covered themselves.

  Ivaline spoke calmly.

  “No matter how strong you are, there is always a weak point. Protect it.”

  There was no cruelty in her voice.

  Just fact.

  The barbarian nodded weakly as he was dragged away.

  Whispers erupted.

  “Monsters don’t fight like that…”

  “Bandits would just kill you…”

  “That was surgical…”

  One after another.

  Varied type has challenge her.

  A group of balance team consist of vanguard magician healer and scout.

  A martial artist who rushes her with many strange techniques.

  An axe user who threw it like a boomerang just to let her have it and threw it back, making him scream and cried while running away.

  But Ivaline’s attention shifted.

  In the crowd—

  Movement.

  Subtle.

  Coordinated.

  Four figures.

  Separating.

  Closing in.

  Rhythm synchronized.

  Trained.

  ‘Chronicle.’

  ‘I see them.’

  ‘They’re not random.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Formation?’

  ‘Professional.’

  One moved slightly ahead.

  Another drifted wide to flank.

  The rear two blended behind thicker bodies in the crowd.

  ‘They’re waiting for something.’

  ‘Or someone.’

  ‘Strong?’

  ‘Better than anyone you face before tonight.’

  ‘Un. Can I leave them to you?’

  ‘I’ll warn you when they moved.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Her fingers twitched slightly.

  But her face remained calm.

  More challengers came.

  She defeated them cleanly.

  Efficiently.

  Always pointing out their flaws.

  Teaching.

  Even here.

  From afar, Vaelis watched.

  Arms folded.

  Eyes sharp.

  “She still holds back.”

  Ivaline allowed opponents into her domain.

  Waited.

  Countered.

  Initiating first if necessary.

  Similar to her.

  And also, different.

  Vaelis clicked her tongue.

  “Inefficient.”

  You grow by stepping beyond your edge.

  Not by waiting at it.

  And yet—

  The noon exchange lingered in her mind.

  Blades never crossed.

  But it felt… complete.

  More fulfilling than years of wandering.

  Her gaze shifted.

  The four figures in the crowd.

  She recognized them instantly.

  “Grim Vulture…”

  Silver-ranked party.

  Two men. Two women.

  No decisive outcome when she fought them before.

  Skilled.

  Disciplined.

  But that wasn’t the concern.

  They were affiliated.

  Information guild.

  Thieves.

  And when convenient—

  Assassins.

  Someone had once placed a bounty on Vaelis.

  Grim Vulture came.

  Retreated only after calculating the loss was too high.

  Vaelis narrowed her eyes.

  “…Did someone put a price on that child?”

  Interesting.

  If Grim Vulture was merely testing—

  Fine.

  If they were hunting—

  Then the night would change.

  Vaelis did not move.

  Not yet.

  Let her prove herself.

  If she survives Grim Vulture—

  Then she is worthy of a clean duel.

  The four shadows tightened their circle.

  Bonfire light flickered.

  The trial was shifting.

  From sparring.

  To something sharper.

  And Silver Ward—

  Still had not drawn her blade.