Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

There was never a "battle of three hundred rounds".

In unarmored swordsmanship, a single move could determine the victor.

If you fell for a feint, it was all over.

Although Winters\'s brain had ceased to function, his swordsmanship instincts remained. Instinct took over thought, and he switched his swing from right to left, trying to readjust his position.

But it was too late, his opponent launched an attack from Winters\'s left side. Instead of aiming for Winters\'s torso, he first struck Winters\'s weaker sword with his stronger one, knocking Winters\'s longsword out of position. At the same time, he exploded forward with a powerful thrust from his spring-like left leg, and his right foot took a large step forward.

The longsword in his hand quickly circled back to the high guard and initiated a fierce overhead chop. The blade traced an arc of light through the air, the speed of the swing generating a whistling sound, as his longsword this time aimed straight for Winters\'s neck.

Without the slightest hint of mercy, the sword hit squarely on the neck armor at Winters\'s left clavicle, the whistle sounded! Winters\'s opponent did not slacken in the slightest as he rapidly pulled back his longsword and took a horizontal sword position to seal off any possible counter from Winters, leaving no chance for a "post-strike".

Post-strike, a situation recognized by the military academy where both sides perish together. Should this occur, it is regarded as mutual destruction, with neither side scoring. Winters\'s opponent would certainly not leave such an opportunity to Winters.

But Winters\'s opponent was actually overthinking it, for after taking such a powerful "bolt from the blue", it was almost impossible for Winters to counterattack, he was already in so much pain he was close to choking.

Although his neck and chest armor distributed that force across his entire torso, the spot where he was hit on his clavicle still hurt as if a door had slammed hard on his toe.

The intense pain paralyzed Winters\'s body, and for a moment he could hardly move. His central nervous system responded to this severe stimulus by rapidly releasing a large amount of adrenaline and endorphins within his body.

So, after the brief but intense pain, Winters felt a bit of relief. Enduring the pain, he pointed to his left neck armor, indicating where he was hit. The chief referee did not hesitate to declare "3 points", and the scorer changed the score to 17:15.

A round of applause broke out in the training room, not as a mockery of Winters, but as a tradition of the military academy, where everyone claps for a beautiful fight.

In fact, even Winters wanted to applaud his opponent\'s attack. It was simply too beautiful: a simple and effective feint, a clean and sharp chop, and a flawless recovery. The entire sequence was just too cool for words.

Although this round was described with nine hundred characters, in reality, from the moment their sword tips collided to Winters being struck, it took less than two seconds.

Victory was decided in a single breath; many classmates watching from the sidelines didn\'t even see what happened, only seeing Winters taking a hard hit, staggering as he got smashed.

Beyond the pain, Winters\'s mind was filled with frustration, his face burned with shame because he had fallen for a feint.

Marshal Ned\'s swordsmanship theory emphasized the initiative, encouraging simple and direct attacks, praising aggressive tactics to suppress the opponent, opposing flashy but impractical moves, and criticizing any unnecessary feints.

Because this swordsmanship theory believed that a competent swordsman should never be easily deceived by feints, and when facing a skilled swordsman, using feints randomly was like giving the opponent a free opportunity to strike. For Winters, falling for a feint seemed more humiliating than standing still and taking a beating.

"Are you okay? Want to take a break before continuing?" Winters\'s opponent didn\'t return to the corner of the fighting area in the waiting zone and, seeing Winters was in quite a bit of pain, he inquired with concern. His voice sounded muffled as it passed from one helmet into another.

Winters was now past the most painful stage; he tentatively moved his shoulder a few times to ensure there was no bone damage.

Thus, the fiery and aggressive nature of a young man overcame the pain; although he now felt like sitting at the side to rest, he simply couldn\'t surrender his adult male pride. He moved his shoulder and said through gritted teeth, "I\'m fine, let\'s continue".

"Maybe we should let them go first and then we\'ll continue afterwards." His opponent was still not reassured.

Winters was even less likely to agree to that, and repeated, "I\'m fine, let\'s continue." After that, Winters walked back to the waiting area.

His opponent sighed and returned to his own corner.

The whistle sounded once more, signaling the beginning of a new round, as the two once again approached the center of the area. Winters was now fueled by frustration. All he could think was to slap his thirty seconds younger self twice hard across the face; being defensive meant being passive, being passive meant falling for feints, and after falling for a feint to be brutally hit, it was too embarrassing. He must attack! Attack! Attack! Just aim for the head with a thrust, and it\'s a win.

Thus, in this round, as soon as they crossed swords, Winters launched a sneak attack. He started with a wide-step high thrust aiming straight for his opponent\'s face. This thrusting technique consisted of raising the sword high after the engagement, using the guard to block the enemy\'s line of attack, while threatening the opponent\'s head.