Magic Academy Bans Harem

Chapter 409 The Broken Sword
As Roland drew the extremely long sword, which was several inches longer than his own height, from its sheath, he was filled with emotion.

In fact, he had not used this very famous swordsman's sword for more than ten years.

As Roland grew older, he found it increasingly difficult to wield this distinctive weapon. Thus, the "fishing rod" long since became more of a decoration, or perhaps a symbol.

When Roland decided to retire, his first thought was to let his "old buddy" who had accompanied him through half his life retire first. And when he was forced to return to the front lines, he did not repair the many nicks and dents on the longsword or forge a new one.

So, what is Freud's purpose in handing him this sword, which is just as old and worn as his own?
Is it a way of weakening him, just like not letting him eat or rest for several days in a row?
Or was it due to Freud's characteristic arrogance?
Based on Roland's understanding of his younger brother, it is indeed possible that the other party was unaware that he had not used a "fishing rod" for many years.

Similarly, they disdained to torment him to gain an advantage. They simply didn't take him seriously and were unwilling to waste their energy on him.

"How did things get to the point where it's either you or me who has to die? Freud."

Roland, closing his eyes slightly and ceasing his thoughts, used his longsword to cut the remaining chains binding him as he asked. Although the "fishing rod" wasn't quite as easy for him to use anymore, it was more than enough for simple tasks.

"Is he begging for mercy, Roland?"

Freud drew another sword from his waist and let it hang naturally, without assuming a fighting stance.

The long-dormant arena, though surrounded by tens of thousands of spectators, lacked its former fervor and excited roars.

At the front of the stands, heavily armed border guards surrounded the arena. It was as if they were warning the people behind them that the two gladiators in the center of the arena were not there to entertain them. It also confirmed what Ritas and his butler Dino had predicted: regardless of whether Roland won or lost that day, Freud would not allow him to leave alive.

"I'm just a little curious. Because... you've probably disliked me since you were very young. This has always puzzled me, and I can't find a reason for it."

As Roland spoke, he assumed a stance, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly with both hands.

In the next instant, the two figures crossed paths, accompanied by a fierce metallic clang, leaving behind a large number of messy sword marks in the surrounding area.

The match between Roland and Floyd is perhaps the type of game least suitable for ordinary people to watch.

Not to mention that their movements, after they launched their attack, were so fast that they were barely visible, only a blur of sharp light flashing everywhere. Even the destruction caused by the scattered sword beams was not something that could be easily withstood.

Perhaps initially, some people questioned whether it was unnecessary for the frontline border troops to set up a shield wall nearly a hundred paces apart.

But seeing that even the aftershocks easily shattered the metal shield, the doubts naturally disappeared.

The Elson style of combat dictates that swordsmen within the school will not engage in prolonged battles. Even if they cannot win with a single blow, they will create distance from their opponent after a brief exchange, seeking the next opportune moment to strike decisively.

So, even though the number of "touches" was somewhat high, and the manner was rather intense, after a short while, Roland and Floyd each stepped back, distancing themselves from each other.

The outcome of this exchange seems to have demonstrated the difference in strength between the two at this moment.

Freud seemed to greet him casually, as if he had shaken off some of the dust that had been clinging to his clothes. Roland, on the other hand, was already panting heavily.

In terms of age, Roland is actually in the transition period between middle age and old age.

However, the lingering ailments from years of fighting, as well as the depletion of his body by Elson-style swordsmanship, have left his disheveled hair almost entirely white, devoid of its golden luster.

But more than the difference in raw strength, what Roland sensed during the clash of swords made his expression turn exceptionally grim.

"Sophia? What are you thinking?"

"It seems that your 'superpower' is real."

With an expression that suggested he had only just realized this on this day, Freud spoke calmly.

"I will never forgive you, Roland, for watching Sophia die!"

Freud, who had basically not shown any emotion, suddenly rebuked.

That's my wife!

"You just happened to meet Sister Sofia before I did."

As he spoke, Floyd launched another attack.

This time, the sound of their swords clashing was much heavier than before.

Perhaps out of anger, Roland, in a moment of sudden brilliance, abruptly began to spin his "fishing rod" in all directions.

A full moon, seemingly reflected in a lake, appeared around him. This full moon marked the "inviolable" area of ​​Roland, causing Freud, who was trying to approach, to retreat repeatedly and once again jump far away to create distance.

"What do you even know?"

Gasping for breath and coughing a few times, Roland unleashed the anger that had been buried deep within him for years at Floyd.

"Indeed, Sofia is a wife who is impeccable in every way. But that's only true for her as a person! The problem is, she was never truly alone; she carried terrible side effects! Can you imagine the horror of arriving at the island she was supposed to meet, only to find it had been completely evaporated? Can you imagine the helplessness of an unknown plague spreading throughout the engagement ceremony and the wedding? Can you imagine the agony of having her genitals turned to stone, forced to expel water only through sweating?!"

Roland roared, and a tear of blood actually escaped his lips.
"Since you know nothing, don't just casually spout your foolish teenage fantasies!"

Roland's words already conveyed a sense of determination to fight to the death with his sword.

In the next instant, a crescent moon, missing a corner, suddenly stretched out and occupied the entire interior of the arena in a short moment.

The previously quiet audience seats were thrown into brief chaos as the lowest level collapsed.

Even with incredibly sturdy shields protecting them from a distance, some border soldiers were still caught in Roland's sword strikes, causing blood to splatter everywhere at the edge of the arena.

Within this crimson expanse, the crescent moon, expanding horizontally, was suddenly met with a powerful resistance.

With his body lowered, Freud forcefully plunged his left-hand longsword into the ground, catching Roland's desperate attack head-on. Then, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes, and he charged straight at Roland.

Facing the sword tip that seemed to ignore the intensity and was already close to his brow in an instant, Roland immediately discarded his longsword and blocked the straight-piercing blade with his palm. In the instant his palm was pierced, he twisted his wrist and desperately deflected the direction of the blade.

Only when his attack was truly deflected did Floyd realize he hadn't perfectly caught Roland's desperate sword strike. He staggered slightly and retreated again to create distance. Floyd's attack had caused a deep wound to Roland's side of the head, and his left hand, which had caught the sword, was now a bloody mess. The spot where he retreated was instantly splattered with hot blood.

Not wanting his hand to be wasted, Roland tried to briefly blind Freud with his own blood, hoping to give his opponent a final push before he was in dire straits.

Unfortunately, Freud didn't even give Roland that chance.

The burden of the desperate sword strike, along with his rather serious injuries, caused Roland to kneel on one knee.

The wise Freud, having retreated, picked up his twin swords again and looked at his opponent, who had little power left to retaliate.

Although Freud was arrogant and dismissive of Roland, he was never careless from beginning to end.

"I never imagined that my 'superpower' would have such a flaw."

Lowering his eyelids, Roland looked at his "younger brother," who had surpassed him in every way, and couldn't help but sigh.

This time, when their swords clashed, his "mind-reading" ability revealed a completely different side of Freud's mind than before.

Clearly, as long as one expends a great deal of energy, attention, and strong will, the inner thoughts that Roland's supernatural abilities can read can actually be modified.

However, no one has ever had the composure to compose their thoughts in the presence of the Sword Saint.

"Bloodline? The uncrowded barrier between us is merely bloodline?"

Roland still felt that he had not fully understood Freud's mind.

However, the answer presented from the corner he had already read was one that was utterly unbelievable to him.

"What a disgusting ability."

Freud frowned, realizing that Roland had already crossed a layer of disguise that was not entirely a pretense and had discovered part of his true thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Floyd turned and surveyed the still somewhat chaotic audience.

When he closed his eyes and opened them again, Freud's eyes were filled with unvented anger and hatred.

“Ah, that’s right! Unlike you, who have savage blood flowing through your veins, I am 'Elson,' born noble. Therefore, from the very beginning, there has been no room for reconciliation between us!”

"Was it for this inexplicable reason that you initially planned to relocate your family from the Western Regions?"

Roland coughed a few more times, gazing at his former successor whom he had personally nurtured, only to feel an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity.

“Since I am the head of the family, my family has no need for any impurities or filth! As nobles, we do not need to shed blood and sweat for some weeds that only know how to absorb nutrients, guarding this land that we will never get anything in return no matter how hard we try!”

As he spoke, Freud raised the sword in his right hand, pointing it towards the four stands surrounding the arena.
"Do not worry, as your servants, I will lead you to the land of migration. This is my mercy towards you, and also the sin and debt you must repay for enjoying the favors of 'Elson' for so many years. I'm sure no one will dare to say a word of 'no'!"

Freud's sword sliced ​​across the gauntlet on his other arm, engulfing it in blazing, rising flames.

In contrast to the panic of the people of Horo, a unit within the border ranks began to raise their weapons and respond to Floyd's cheers. These cheers seemed contagious; the fervent shouts within the arena gradually transformed into a frenzy directed at Floyd Elson personally.

"Like these people, our brothers and sisters will also follow in my footsteps. After all, following the strong is the only rule you have set for this family over the decades."

"Floyd!"

Roland, struggling to straighten up, still wanted to question the other's true intentions, only to see Freud charging towards him with two burning swords crossed.

Instinct ingrained in his body caused Roland to immediately pick up the sword from the ground and assume a fighting stance.

But this time.
The moment the blades clashed, the world's longest sword, the "fishing rod," broke into three pieces and fell to the ground.

Old friend.
Feeling the weight on his right hand, Roland, who suddenly felt so light, was somewhat dazed.

In the seemingly frozen moment of time, Roland recalled many things and many faces appeared before his eyes.

And then time began to flow again.
Roland, who was holding the broken sword, was completely engulfed by the raging flames.

In the city of Horus, the battlefield where Ritas and Miriam are located.

With the brown-skinned girl Hecate, Miriam's two holy weapons became powerless.

Unable to attack or activate their shields, Ritas, along with Miriam who had lost his offensive capabilities, found themselves in an extremely unfavorable situation.

The clinking of gold bars hitting the ground continued at Ritas's feet.

The middle-aged man kept lamenting that he was going bankrupt, but the weight of his gold bars never diminished.

Unlike Hecate, who possesses exceptional physical abilities visible to the naked eye, the middle-aged man seemed like an excellent opening. However, it was precisely Ritas's incredibly sturdy magical shields, which could be considered his signature skills, that firmly protected his opponent's weak point.

Gazing at the incredibly thick shield on the opposite side, Ritas's mind raced, and he quickly constructed another shield.

This time, just like before, the magic barrier was replaced with gold bars, which were placed on the opponent.

But unlike before, this time the magical barrier is pitch black, completely sealed, and no light can penetrate it.

"Alas!?"

Amidst the middle-aged man's surprised voice, Ritas revealed another of his special skills.

The flying white disc landed at the center of the ground and began a rapid rotation that tore and displaced the surrounding space.

(End of this chapter)