Lord blessed by the elves

Chapter 32 Reserves

Rezal clearly didn't understand the significance of that statement.

After all, Wilstone had always been the first valet of the territory, and all he knew was that he was a knight. In addition, his father was a gold knight, so when he heard that he was a silver knight...

For a moment, I didn't think it was a big deal.

Kruze slowly said, "In the Earl's castle, those with the strength of a Silver Knight are at least nobles of the baronial rank, and may even be viscounts who are the Earl's trusted confidants. And Wilstone..."

Kruze lowered his voice, which carried a hint of meaning, "He rarely goes all out. Most of the time, he prefers to hide in the shadows and use his longbow to deliver a deadly arrow when the enemy least expects it. Therefore, many people outside, and even many people in the territory, do not know that we have such a powerful figure hidden away."

This is also the biggest question that has always lingered in Kruze's mind: Why would a master like Wilstone, who has the strength of a silver rank and can be valued wherever he goes, willingly stay in a poor and remote knightly territory like Lion Fang Territory and play a role that is almost like a male servant or butler?

What kind of past and secrets lie behind his loyalty?
This trump card cannot be used lightly, but its very existence is a reassurance.

After listening, Rezal took a deep breath, and the anxiety in his eyes was finally replaced by a determined light.

He had a clear mission and knew that his side was not without support.

"I'll go prepare right away!" Without further hesitation, he got up and walked towards the door, his steps much more steady than when he came in.

"No rush! If you go hunting too often, it will attract the attention of attackers. Just keep the frequency the same as usual," Kruze reminded him.

Rezal nodded and then began to eat his dinner.

The next morning, as the faint light of dawn dispelled the chill of the castle, the brothers Kruze and Rezal were already standing on the flat open ground in front of the castle.

Two training swords were gripped tightly in their hands, and the air was filled with a solemnity and anticipation unlike any other sparring session.

This was the first formal confrontation between the two brothers since Kruze successfully condensed his vortex and entered the realm of apprentice knight.

Although Kruze deliberately restrained his fighting spirit and fought purely with swordsmanship, the invisible pressure still made Rezael, who had not yet condensed his aura, feel slightly suffocated.

"Let's begin." Kruse's voice was calm as he took the first stance.

His posture was somewhat strange, unlike any school of knightly swordsmanship that Rezael knew.

Rezal gave a low shout and strode forward.

His swordsmanship was inherited from his father, Sir Reyes, and was a typical medieval knight's practical swordsmanship—steady footwork, powerful strikes, and a straight-lined sword path, pursuing the simplest and most efficient attacks and maximizing lethality.

Every slash, cut, and thrust of the sword was accompanied by the sound of wind breaking through the air; it was simple and unadorned yet full of power, like a heavy hammer charging on the battlefield.

However, his attacks repeatedly missed.

Kruze's approach was completely different. His movements were light and agile, as if he were not clashing head-on, but dancing with the air currents created by Rezaar's sword.

The training sword in his hand is often not used for parrying, but rather for guiding and deflecting force at subtle angles, or for striking out suddenly from an unexpected angle like a venomous snake, directly targeting the weakness that Rezaar has created after exerting his power.

This swordsmanship, which incorporates Eastern techniques from his past life, places greater emphasis on footwork and timing, using skill to overcome brute force and softness to defeat hardness. "Too straightforward! Change your move!" Kruze's voice came as he moved.

Rezael felt incredibly frustrated.

The elder brother's sword style was unpredictable and eccentric, always attacking from the angles that were hardest for him to reach, making his powerful attacks feel like they were hitting cotton, with nowhere to land.

He felt like a clumsy bull being toyed with by a nimble hummingbird, possessing great strength but being completely outmaneuvered, forced to retreat step by step, desperately parrying the non-lethal attacks aimed at his wrists, elbows, and shoulder blades like a storm.

His rhythm was completely under control, and he couldn't unleash his proud offensive swordsmanship at all.

Wilstone, who was watching the game with his arms crossed, had a glint in his gray-blue eyes, and his originally calm face showed an undisguised surprise.

He could tell that Kruze hadn't used any battle aura; it was purely a crushing victory through swordsmanship.

"Watch your left, Reza! His feint!" Wilstone warned at the right moment, but his gaze lingered more on Kruze.

This young master's swordsmanship... is very novel and unprecedented.

It abandoned the knightly swordsmanship's pursuit of force and head-on confrontation, instead pursuing ultimate efficiency and surprise.

Many of his moves may seem flashy, but when executed by Kruze, they possess a fluid beauty and deadly practicality, especially in one-on-one or small-scale grappling, where their power may even surpass that of many orthodox knightly sword techniques.

Wilstone was secretly alarmed: What exactly did the young master encounter during his time at the Earl's castle?
Could it be, as he claims, that he learned it from the ancient books of some monks?
This swordsmanship system is by no means ordinary.

With another exquisite spin and step, Kruze's training sword tip, like a nimble bird pecking at food, gently touched Reza's exposed armpit, which was exposed from his vigorous slash.

"Alright." Kruze sheathed his sword and stepped back, his breathing steady.

Rezael was drenched in sweat, leaning on his sword and panting heavily, his face full of resentment, yet he had no choice but to submit.

Looking at his older brother, whose breathing was deep and seemingly just warmed up, his desire to become stronger burned even more intensely.

Wilstone stepped forward, first patting Rezal on the shoulder in encouragement, then looking at Kruze with undisguised admiration and inquiry: "Brilliant swordsmanship, young master. Agile and graceful, with a perfect blend of reality and illusion, especially in capturing and creating openings in your opponent's defenses, it's truly exquisite."

Kruze, whose swordsmanship was exposed by Wilstone, simply waved his hand casually, a vague smile on his face: "It's not that it's exquisite, it's just that I'm faster than Rezael, so I took a shortcut."

He couldn't explain the origin of this half-baked footwork that incorporated fragments of memory, so he could only gloss over it.

You can't exactly say you saw it on TikTok.

He quickly shifted the topic to the most pressing matter at hand, his expression turning serious as he asked, "Have the newly selected reserve militia been formed yet?"

The concept of "reserve militia" is quite novel in the world.

Traditional militia systems often involve farmers working during busy seasons and being called up in times of war, lacking systematic training and thus having questionable combat effectiveness. Meanwhile, full-time professional soldiers are a luxury that small territories like Lion Tooth Territory simply cannot afford to support.

(End of this chapter)