As he said this, the staff member loosened her grip, ready to let the girl rush to the seemingly unconscious boy—ready to admit the duel was over. But then her hand tightened again. Emilia turned to ask why, and the staff member replied, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with disbelief:
"The duel… isn't over yet!"
At that moment, a mix of confusion and discomfort appeared on Emilia's face. She turned her gaze toward Ace, and the same expression settled on her features. The man, who had been walking away, suddenly halted, tightened his grip on his sword, and slowly turned around to look back through the fading dust — where Ace was beginning to rise, brushing the dirt off his clothes as if, just moments ago, he hadn't been a lifeless body sprawled on the ground.
His expression still held the same calmness, yet something about it had changed. There was no sign of pain or even fatigue — only a chilling indifference. A shiver crept down the man's spine. And how could it not? The scene was anything but normal. He muttered under his breath:
"This... is impossible."
His voice trembled in his throat as he clutched his sword tighter. He was certain he had used enough force in that strike — enough to break a rib or two. He was equally sure he hadn't seen any aura surrounding the young man's body, nor the faintest indication of a concealed barrier beneath his clothes. When the blade struck, he had felt it sink into flesh and hit bone.
As he sank into silent thought, Ace briefly held his side and spoke sarcastically:
"It happened again..."
Then, he began walking toward the man, still holding his wooden sword — he hadn't let go of it even after taking a direct hit. The man found himself wondering just how tightly the young man had gripped his weapon to hold onto it through that kind of impact. In that moment, silence reigned. No sound, no movement — even the air seemed to stand still.
The man noticed something new in Ace's eyes — a kind of smoldering intensity. It wasn't anger, nor was it hatred. It was something else, something that made the air feel heavier, as if the gravity of the space had shifted, centering entirely around the person walking toward him.
He felt smaller, weaker, in the presence of those eyes. Yet he still tried to collect himself, swallowing hard as he realized — a bit too late — that he was in trouble.
Sweat began to bead slowly on his forehead. His eyes flicked toward the two girls standing at a distance. He didn't want to show weakness in front of them. He couldn't allow himself to be seen as vulnerable under watchful eyes that noticed every detail.
He thought quickly. From years of battle experience, he knew that some moments called for swift, difficult decisions. Sometimes, retreating was wiser than fighting — especially when one's body had grown weaker from being away from combat for too long. Though he didn't show it, pain was coursing through his limbs.
So, he made his decision. He forced a confident smile and called out in a voice that wavered slightly despite his effort to keep it steady:
"Y-You've passed the test, boy!"
As soon as he said it, Ace's expression softened, even showing signs of surprise. The man watched as Ace relaxed his grip on the wooden sword, seemingly accepting the words without suspicion or hesitation. Still, there was no sign of triumph on his face, no joy — just calm composure, as if the outcome didn't mean much to him at all.
On the other hand, the female staff member stood speechless, her mind struggling to process how the test had ended in such an unexpected way. She had no time to dwell on it, however, as she was interrupted by Emilia's cheerful voice, giggling and bouncing in place as if the only thing she saw in the entire scene was her friend's success.
The man remained standing where he was, staring at Ace in silent astonishment, wondering how he had managed to stay on his feet after that blow. The question echoed in his head, relentless. He exhaled slowly, then asked, his tone laced with curiosity:
"Tell me, boy... Did you use some special skill to block my strike?"
"I don't know what you mean. I didn't do anything. Your strike was too fast for me to block."
Ace replied in an even, unassuming voice, then placed his hand over his side, where a dull tingling had begun to set in — as if his body had finally decided to register the pain. He drifted into thought for a moment before adding,
"It was a strong hit. It caused me a bit of pain."
Those words struck the man and the staff member like a bolt of lightning, shaking the very foundation of their understanding. How could a strike of such magnitude — one that would flatten any silver-ranked adventurer — be described as "a bit painful"? It was closer to madness than logic.
In response, the man laughed — but it was a forced laugh, more like a feeble attempt to convince himself that what he heard wasn't real. Shaking his head slightly, he muttered:
"Looks like I've been drinking too much this time."
Then, with sluggish movements, he returned to the wooden barrels, lay back atop them, and raised his copper flask for one last swig — trying to wash away the bitterness of the moment — before surrendering to drowsiness.
Meanwhile, the staff member struggled to regain her composure after the shock. She glanced at Ace and Emilia and said in a voice that lacked its usual firmness:
"P-Please, follow me."
The formality of her words couldn't mask the uncertainty in her eyes. Still, her steps were steady as she led the way back to the administrative floor. Behind her, Ace walked with a calm stride, while Emilia eyed his side with concern, asking anxious questions. He responded with reassuring smiles, thanking her for her care.