Chapter 371: From Duels To Training
Just as this new, uncomfortable respect was form, a small, hesitant voice piped up from the back of the assembled knights.
"Excuse me? Sir Hero? Can...Can I also duel you?"
All eyes, including Luca’s, swiveled toward the speaker.
It was a young centaur with a short, tousled mane of bright orange hair and a face that was currently flushing a deep scarlet under the sudden scrutiny.
She looked young, her armor slightly too large, her posture a mix of eagerness and terror. It was obvious she was a fresh recruit, barely out of training.
"D-Don’t misunderstand!" She stammered, flushing under the collective attention. "I know I’m nowhere near as strong as Commander Sigrid! I’m probably the weakest one here!"
She let out a self-deprecating chuckle that was more of a squeak.
"I don’t even think I could beat a training dummy on a bad day."
But then she took a deep breath, her hands clenching at her sides.
"But...I still want to try. I want to feel what the Commander felt. To see it for myself."
She braced herself for dismissal, for a mocking comment about her obvious weakness.
The Hero had been so casually dominant; why would he bother with a novice?
Instead, Luca’s face broke into an easy, welcoming smile.
"Of course you can!" He said, his tone devoid of any condescension. "The offer stands for everyone. Bring your sword. Let’s see what you’ve got."
The young centaur’s face lit up as if he’d offered her a chest of gold.
"Coming, Sir Hero!"
With a nervous, hobbling gallop—she positioned herself before him.
Sigrid, watching from the sidelines, gave her a single, firm nod of encouragement that seemed to steel the recruit’s spine.
"You can start first." Luca said, settling back into his rooted stance.
She didn’t hesitate. She had already decided she would hold nothing back.
Gritting her teeth, she raised her blade from the side, choosing an angle completely different from anything Sigrid had attempted, and swung with every ounce of power her small body could muster, aiming directly for his waist.
But the result was exactly what everyone expected.
Luca’s gaze flickered over her for a single heartbeat.
In that instant, he calculated the perfect weakness in her stance, her grip, the angle of her swing. His blade rose and struck with perfection.
CLANG!
Her sword spun through the air and embedded itself in the earth.
She stood there, arm outstretched, staring at her empty hand. Then, to everyone’s surprise, a brilliant, sunbeam of a smile spread across her face.
She hadn’t won. She hadn’t even come close.
But for one glorious second, she had crossed blades with a legend! For a timid recruit, it was a story she would tell for the rest of her life!
"Thank you, Sir Hero!" She chirped, scampering to retrieve her sword, her embarrassment utterly forgotten in the thrill.
That smile was the spark that ignited the tinder. If she could do it and come away beaming, why couldn’t they?
"Me next!" Shouted another, a centaur with a dark braid, surging forward before the orange-haired one had even retrieved her blade. "I’ll definitely last longer! My family style is all about endurance!"
Her confidence lasted precisely as long as her first attack.
CLANG!
A similar, precise tap, a bizarre twisting numbness in her wrist, and her sword joined the first in the grass.
She blinked, stared at her empty hand, then laughed. "Okay, I’ll admit, that was really cool."
Then another came. And another. A line began to form, not of angry warriors seeking vengeance, but of eager warriors lining up for a lesson from a once-in-a-lifetime master.
"Face me, Hero! My footwork is my pride!"
"Let’s see how you handle a dual thrust!"
"My grandmother taught me this move—you won’t see it coming!"
The younger knights weren’t driven by fury or desperation. They wanted something far more precious: the chance to experience the same helplessness their commander had endured.
Facing the Hero under such restrictions felt like a rare gift—a lesson in humility, a glimpse of true mastery they had never witnessed before.
The veterans, hardened by countless real battles, approached with different intentions.
Even if victory was impossible, they wanted to prove their worth by lasting longer than anyone else. Every second they stood against him was a badge of honor.
The next challenger charged in with a fierce battle cry. Luca sidestepped her strike with fluid grace.
"You’re overextending your right shoulder." He observed calmly. "It leaves your ribs completely exposed."
She stumbled back, stunned by how instantly he had read her.
Before she could recover, another centaur rushed in to support her. Together they pressed the attack, blades flashing in coordinated arcs.
Luca’s voice cut through the clash of steel like a teacher correcting students.
"Your timing is off by half a beat. You’re just anticipating my movements instead of reacting to them."
He deflected both strikes simultaneously and tapped the second knight’s wrist with the flat of his blade.
"And you—your grip is far too tight. It’s slowing your recovery between swings."
The two centaurs fell back, breathing hard, while fresh challengers already moved to take their place.
The circle also around Luca grew tighter and tighter. Centaur after centaur stepped forward, swung their swords, yelling their signature lines.
"Your guard is open!"
"Meet your fate!"
"This battle ends with me!"
"Witness the edge that ends wars."
"Bankai!"
"Santoryu!"
"Excalibur!"
But Luca showed no signs of strain.
He wore the same casual, faintly amused expression throughout, swinging his twin blades left and right with practiced ease.
He even called out corrections as though conducting an ordinary training session rather than fending off dozens of armed opponents.
CLANG!
"Your left foot committed before your blade did."
CLANG!
"You’re chasing my blade instead of controlling the center."
CLANG!
"You shifted your weight onto your front foot too soon."
CLANG!
"Your momentum is carrying your sword farther than you intended."
No one could look down on him anymore. Even stripped of his legendary power, he faced them without a hint of concern, treating the entire exercise like a game he thoroughly enjoyed.
And strangely, none of them felt disrespected by this. They understood, with growing clarity, exactly how outmatched they truly were—and there was no shame in acknowledging strength this genuine.
Whispers rippled through the ranks as combatants rotated in and out.
"I genuinely believed we’d humble him easily." one murmured.
"It made sense that we would." Another replied. "But who could have predicted he’d turn even this into something we’d lose at?"
"The human Goddesses above must be furious." A third added dryly. "They probably hoped to see him suffer today. Instead, he’s proving just as formidable as ever."
"Where did he learn all this?" Someone else wondered aloud. "He’s being so mysterious about it."
"Honestly, I wouldn’t mind asking him to be my teacher." Another admitted, only half-joking.
Despite their varied thoughts, a singular sentiment united them all: respect.
And beneath that respect, something unexpected had taken root—genuine enjoyment.
Every centaur who dueled him, however briefly, walked away smiling, energized in a way sparring among themselves rarely achieved.
Every correction Luca offered mid-fight became an immediate lesson, absorbed in real time.
"You’re leaning into your cuts. Your hooves should anchor you."
"Good feint, but your eyes gave away the real target."
"Too much arm, not enough shoulder. You’re swatting, not cutting."
Each piece of advice was a gem, absorbed with rapt attention. The younger knights glowed at the personal feedback; the older ones nodded, mentally revising years of habit.
It was no longer a duel for stakes; it was a spontaneous, exhilarating masterclass.
And just like that, what had begun as a duel to settle a dispute had transformed, somewhere along the way, into an impromptu training session led by the finest instructor any of them had ever encountered.
—
Meanwhile, Poppy, standing several yards back atop Thea’s shoulders, watched the scene unfold with a look of pure bewilderment.
Centaurs were laughing. Cheering. Practically lining up for the privilege of losing.
Finally, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.
"WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!?"
The sudden authority in her voice made several nearby centaurs, including whoever was currently engaged with Luca freeze and turn toward her.
"I understand everyone’s excited to fight the human."
Poppy continued, disbelief evident in her tone.
"Clearly all of you get thrilled at the mere prospect of battle. Meanwhile, at the tea parties I personally arrange, not a single one of you wants to attend!"
She snorted. "Even when you do show up, you all look like you’d rather be somewhere fighting instead."
She crossed her arms with an exaggerated pout.
Several centaurs looked away, unable to argue the point.
"But." Poppy continued, her tone sharpening, "Did everyone completely forget what happens if we lose this?"
Hearing this, the festive atmosphere froze, then shattered. The smiles vanished. The eager light in the knights’ eyes dimmed, replaced by dawning horror.
The bet! Sigrid’s dignity! The ride!
A panicked murmur swept through the ranks.
"We...We all lost. Every single one of us."
"He fought forty of us without moving!"
"Commander Sigrid is going to be...ridden. By a human."
"We played right into his hands! We were having fun while our commander’s honor was sold!"
They had gotten so swept up in the thrill of testing themselves that the original terms of the wager had been entirely forgotten.
Even Sigrid, who had been standing with her arms folded, analyzing every single one of Luca’s movements with the intensity of a scholar studying sacred texts froze in place.
She, too, had forgotten. She had immersed herself so completely in observing his techniques, cataloguing every advantage she might use in the future, that the bet had slipped her mind entirely.
Pandemonium erupted.
"What are we going to do?!" One centaur wailed. "Practically every single one of us has faced him now! Not one of us lasted more than five seconds!"
"Our Commander is going to be ruined." A second moaned. "Her dignity, completely trampled—she’s going to be ridden like a common mount!"
"We’ve buried ourselves." Someone else groaned. "We dug our own grave and jumped right in."
Thea closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her features.
She had sensed this was heading in a disastrous direction. She had tried to stop it, to intervene before things spiraled out of control.
But events had slipped through her fingers like water, and now here they were—staring down the barrel of utter humiliation.
She couldn’t help but glance at Sigrid.
The commander’s face was flushed a deep, burning crimson.
Her mind had clearly wandered to the same image haunting everyone else: Luca seated upon her back, that insufferable smirk on his face as he—
’Noo!’
She squeezed her eyes shut, shame flooding through her with an intensity that rivaled those dreams.
She was dreading what was to come.
But just as despair reached its peak, Luca’s voice cut through the gloom, laced with what sounded like genuine sympathy.
"Honestly, looking at all of you." He said, shaking his head, his sword-hands gesturing vaguely, "I’m starting to feel a little bad. It’s like I’m kicking a bunch of enthusiastic puppies."
The statement landed with such absurdity that a wave of embarrassed flushing spread through the group.
Because in truth, they were the ones who had been ganging up on him—dozens of them, taking turns, while he fought one-handed, restricted from targeting their lower halves, refusing to move from a single spot, without so much as pausing to catch his breath between opponents.
He’d been at a considerable disadvantage this entire time.
And yet here he was, framing himself as the aggressor.
"I can’t bear to see you like this." He said, shaking his head. "You’re supposed to be dignified centaurs—proud warriors. Watching you wallow in self-pity is genuinely painful."
"So...I’m going to give you a proper chance. A real one."