Mushoku Tensei: Sword, Magic Hats, and Romance!

Roxy blinked.

"...Wait. D-does he know... magic?"

Rudeus' serious expression instantly loosened, as though he'd just found a lifeline. He let out a chuckle.

"Luckily, Allen's completely hopeless when it comes to magic. If he were talented at that too, you'd be stuck as his teacher, Roxy—and that'd be way too dangerous for me!"

"Ah... I see."

Roxy exhaled with relief, not realizing what kind of "danger" Rudeus was referring to. She turned her eyes toward the two figures in the courtyard, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.

Rudeus, watching her, had the vague feeling that something wasn't quite right—but he couldn't pinpoint what.

Beside them, Sylphy blinked, quietly sneaking glances at Roxy, then fluttered her lashes as she shifted her gaze toward Allen.

In the courtyard, Allen and Paul had just finished warming up.

A three-meter gap stood between them. Unlike his relaxed posture when sparring with Rudeus, Allen now adopted a fully guarded stance against Paul, a fellow swordsman.

His legs were braced in a deep stance, rooted firmly to the ground. Both hands gripped his sword, blade poised over his shoulder—its spine nearly brushing his right shoulder.

Paul, by contrast, held his sword with casual ease, a relaxed smile on his face.

"Ready? Then I'm coming."

Allen drew a deep breath. His pupils narrowed sharply as the nascent core of Dragon Saint-level battle aura compressed within him, sending a surge of primal energy flooding through his body.

He sensed the motes of dust drifting between them—and smiled.

"Ready. Let's go."

The moment the words left his lips, Paul's blade was already arcing toward his unguarded left shoulder—from outside his line of sight.

[Longsword of Silence].

In the next instant, the two passed each other.

Paul stumbled mid-step, his eyes wide as he turned.

Allen hadn't moved his feet at all.

He hadn't even turned around—he simply twisted his head slightly to look at Paul over his shoulder. The blade, which had been poised over his right shoulder, now rested in front of him—its hilt lifted just so above his left.

"That was a miss?!" Zenith gasped aloud.

Paul's easygoing smile faded into a frown as he answered her, voice heavy.

"...No. It wasn't."

He squinted at Allen's blade, positioned just above his left shoulder, and recalled the feedback from the clash in that flash of steel.

He'd definitely made contact.

But it hadn't worked.

Allen's defense had been too perfect.

He had shifted his stance just enough, raised his blade just enough, and caught Paul's sword exactly at the point of impact—deflecting it smoothly.

Not with strength.

But with precision.

So precise, in fact, that there was not a single wasted motion.

Like a rock standing firm in a raging stream—steadfast, unmoving, without a single crack.

Paul stared at Allen for a long moment, then spoke.

"Not gonna turn around?"

Allen continued to glance at him over his shoulder, blade resting once again near his right.

"No need. This stance is enough to handle attacks from all directions—as long as I can sense them. And that [Longsword of Silence] just now? I just happened to catch it in time. Got lucky."

Paul chuckled.

"An ultimate move built from refined perception and Water God Style's Flow Techniques, huh… Then what if I go just a bit faster—fast enough to strike before you sense it?"

Allen squinted, lips curving upward.

"Feel free to try, old man."

Paul let out a carefree laugh—and vanished.

The next instant, he appeared at Allen's side, sword poised half a meter from his forehead.

But Allen's blade moved with him, already shifted up in front of his brow.

Their eyes locked for a breathless moment.

Clang!

A crisp echo rang out as Allen subtly deflected the blade with a Flow Technique redirection, shifting the force of Paul's strike ever so slightly.

But Paul only grinned.

Suddenly, he let go of his sword mid-strike—and in the same motion, his leg whipped toward Allen's chest.

A feint!

That earlier "what if I go faster" talk had just been bait—to make Allen assume a Sword God-style assault was coming.

But from the start, Paul had intended to drop his sword and rely on this whip-like kick for the true strike.

And yet—even this maneuver failed.

Allen pivoted his blade once more. Just as Paul's foot neared his chest, Allen used the hilt to brush against it, redirecting it with [Flow], sending the kick off toward his ribs.

And then—in a flash of brilliance—their eyes met again.

Paul's grounded foot twisted suddenly, absorbing the redirected force of his kick to spin him forward.

At the same time, he caught his falling sword from behind Allen—using the momentum to plant his foot and twist his waist into a powerful slash at Allen's back.

Another feint within the feint!

Allen didn't even have time to turn.

Paul's blade raced toward his spine, victory gleaming in his eyes.

This is the fastest [Longsword of Silence] I've ever pulled off. He hasn't even turned. I've got him!

—Or not.

Just as the blade was about to land, Allen's shoulder dropped.

A ghostlike flash of steel flicked out from above it—his blade slashing backward to intercept Paul's.

A high-pitched screech cut the air, vibrations rippling through the courtyard like a stone dropped in a pond.

CRACK!

Paul's sword flew from his grip, whirling past his ear and burying itself deep in a nearby tree with a resonant hum.

Zenith and the others all turned to stare at the quivering sword.

Then they turned back to Allen and Paul, bewildered.

From the perspective of those without aura-enhanced vision, it had just looked like the two suddenly got right in each other's faces—twitched once or twice in a flurry of steel—and then Paul's sword shot off like a joke into a tree.

It looked like something out of a parody fight.

Paul blinked in disbelief. He turned to the sword now lodged in the tree, then looked back at Allen—who had dipped his shoulder and was now smirking at him with quiet amusement.

Still speechless, Paul watched as Allen straightened and sheathed his blade. Then Allen waved a hand in front of Paul's face, teasingly.

"You really love using North God Style, huh?"

Paul finally snapped out of it, sheepishly glancing down at his empty hands. He still couldn't quite believe he'd been disarmed—twice—even after springing two feints.

But his mouth remained stubborn.

"Ugh… it was tactical, okay? Still, that move of yours is really something. A flawless Water God-style technique—airtight defense, no gaps. Unless your opponent can overwhelm you with pure power, they'll never land a hit."

Then his tone shifted, frustration creeping in.

"But seriously—if that's already such a perfect Flow Technique, what more 'inspiration' are you looking for?! What, you gonna deflect a blade and decapitate your opponent in the same move?!"

Allen blinked innocently.

"Well, yeah. Why not?"

Paul froze, staring at Allen's completely serious face.

He was speechless.