After sparring for dozens more rounds, Anya could clearly feel her swordsmanship becoming much more refined.
She no longer forced her techniques like before; every move now flowed far more smoothly.
This kind of clarity honed through actual combat was something Teacher Kassan could never impart, yet Iris had managed to do it.
The two entered a brief rest period.
Anya turned to the fluffy white-haired ball beside her and asked, “Iris, your swordsmanship is this amazing—why are you only telling me now?”
Iris rolled her eyes at her, her tone carrying a hint of disdain: “With the state of mind you had a few days ago, you couldn’t have practiced swordsmanship properly at all. Your thoughts were a tangled mess. Actually, I wanted to teach you back then. After all… helping you is helping myself, too.”
“I get stronger and you benefit from it too?” Anya blinked, looking at her with some confusion.
Iris stared at Anya for a few seconds, and a glimmer of light flashed in her eyes: “Yeah, didn’t I tell you long ago? The Fame Points you earn can be exchanged for rewards. Once you’ve saved up enough, I’ll get my share of benefits too. The most important part is, I’ll be able to have a True Body. Then it won’t be just you who can see me.”
“Iris can get a True Body?” Anya was taken aback, but a strange sense of displeasure rose within her.
It was as if, once Iris had a True Body, she would no longer belong solely to her.
This inexplicable sense of possessiveness was so odd that even she found it strange.
But thinking about it the other way around, if Iris never gained a True Body, Anya would only be able to meet her in the System Space—there was always a sense of passiveness to that.
Her little mind spun quickly. Iris, seeing her so absent-minded, couldn’t help but poke her: “Little Anya, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” Anya snapped back to herself, shook her head, but in her heart, a decision had already formed.
She looked up, her gaze especially earnest: “Iris, I’ll help you obtain a real body.”
“Oh? Then I’ll be waiting.” Iris gave a faint smile, her grin nearly reaching her ears.
Honestly, whether or not she had a True Body wasn’t that important. Getting the Comic and Game started and being able to slack off as soon as possible—now that was what really mattered!
With their own thoughts, the two didn’t sit for long before Anya proactively suggested continuing their spar.
While exchanging blows with her, Iris also noticed that Anya’s sword was far more decisive than just a few days ago, no longer hesitant. At the end of the day, her mindset had truly changed.
Looks like all that talking hadn’t been in vain—little Anya had finally thrown off those distracting thoughts!
After a lengthy bout of sparring, Anya’s swordsmanship improved by leaps and bounds.
From the very beginning, when she couldn’t even block a single strike from Iris, to now, when she could steadily parry two moves—this was already a huge breakthrough.
“Little Anya, you’ve made progress, but you still haven’t found a sword that’s truly yours.” Iris easily parried her attack as she smiled and said, “Right now you’re just imitating my techniques, responding to each move as it comes. You need to quiet your mind and develop a Sword Technique unique to you.”
“What should I do?” Anya was still somewhat lost. She could grasp a faint sense of it, but the true mystery remained elusive.
“What your teacher said about finding your own sword is right, but how can that come just by thinking?” Iris casually waved and knocked Anya’s Heavy Sword out of her hands. “I have a method to improve quickly, though… it might hurt a little.”
“Go ahead, I can take it.” Anya picked up the Heavy Sword, her eyes filled with determination.
“The fastest way to improve is to be tempered at the edge of Death.” Iris’s tone grew serious.
“Your sword hasn’t seen blood—in other words, it’s just for show. On the real Battlefield, you have to rely on instinct to counter every move from an Enemy Soldier on the spot. That’s the fastest path to growth.”
She snapped her fingers, and the space around them changed abruptly.
In the next second, Anya heard deafening shouts and screams.
Muddy ground was beneath her feet, and she was surrounded, front and back, by soldiers clad in armor—they had actually appeared directly on a Battlefield where two nations were at war.
“This is my Ability, which can simulate the most realistic events and battles,” Iris told her. “The pain you feel here is absolutely real, little Anya. Are you sure you want to temper yourself here?”
“I can do it.” Anya didn’t say more, just nodded slightly.
“Good. Then, good luck.” Iris smiled, and added, “One last reminder, little Anya: the Heavy Sword is cumbersome, but its balance of offense and defense is the best among all swords. If you truly understand the meaning of ‘Choice’, your swordsmanship will rise to the next level.”
As her words faded, the fluffy white ball vanished from the Battlefield.
With her departure, what had been just a set piece instantly came to life—the chaos and clash of battle crashed down upon her.
“New Recruit! What are you spacing out for? Pick up your Heavy Sword and fight!” An Armored Soldier bellowed at Anya.
No sooner had he spoken than a cold flash of steel swept past her, aiming straight for her neck.
Anya didn’t have time to think. Her body instinctively raised the Heavy Sword to block.
But her opponent’s killing intent was fierce. Seeing her defense was solid, he immediately circled behind her, and with a single thrust, pierced her undefended back.
Agonizing pain flooded her body in an instant. Anya cried out, her vision went black, and she lost consciousness.
When she opened her eyes again, she was still on that same familiar Battlefield.
“I… just died?” Anya clutched her chest, her back already soaked with cold sweat.
But the Battlefield never gives anyone time to breathe. Before she could recover, another Enemy Soldier charged at her, sword in hand.
Anya forced herself to stay alert and respond, but as Iris had said, her sword was nothing but fancy moves.
After just a few feints, her opponent slashed a bloody line across her neck.
“The third time…”
Upon waking again, Anya was less dazed and panicked than before, her gaze now sharper, constantly on guard for a sudden attack.
That pain of Death, that hollow emptiness as her soul was torn away—these were etched deep into her bones, filling her with profound awe for “Death.”
This time, Anya parried all of her opponent’s attacks, then sent him flying several meters with one strike.
But she still underestimated his killing intent. In his dying throes, the soldier lashed out madly and dragged her down with him.
On her fourth attempt, Anya anticipated her enemy’s last-ditch counterattack, but then another of his allies ambushed her, and before she could react, her throat was slit.
Fifth time, sixth time, seventh time…
She couldn’t remember how many times she had died. Anya was nearly numb.
The pain of dying again and again gradually stopped feeling so excruciating, and instead became an instinct ingrained in her very bones.
And her swordsmanship, under this ultimate threat of Death, improved at a blistering pace.
From being able to hold out only a few moves at first, she soon became able to take down several Enemy Soldiers alone.
Meanwhile, Iris was having a thoroughly relaxing time.
She sat atop the city wall on Anya’s side of the Battlefield, holding a Comic in her hands, reading with great relish.
“Good luck, little Anya.” She glanced down at the figure fighting fiercely below, quietly cheered for her host, then bowed her head again, lost in the world of Comics.