Drawing Cards in the Middle Ages to Rise in Ranks-Chapter 504 - 283: Demon Swordsman

In the pitch-black tent, Prajna looked expressionlessly at the book on the table, its pages rapidly flipping.

It seemed like she saw something interesting, as a faint smile curled on her lips.

At this time, Losa was being thrown against the mountain wall by a Demon Hunter's Alder Rune.

He rubbed his shoulder as he got down from above, looking at the stone wall with a human-shaped imprint, and rubbed his shoulder helplessly: "Geralt, that move of yours is too much, we agreed it was just swordsmanship sparring. If you keep this up, I'll breathe Dragon Breath at you."

Something's not right, definitely not.

The strength of these Demon Hunters is too high. Even if they are all mutated beings far surpassing ordinary human combat power, it shouldn't be this ridiculous.

And their Seals, clearly auxiliary tools in the original writings, are being played so skillfully in their hands.

It's just that he has fire immunity and high enough Spiritual Power to ignore the opponent's Igni and Yakexi Runes, or else he might not even last ten seconds under the onslaught of these three "Demon Swordsmen".

In short, these three Demon Hunters, each having combat power no less than Hans in his usual state, and cooperating so seamlessly, are very challenging.

However, after several days of training, Losa's ability to withstand their attacks has increased, slowly allowing him not just to block and parry but unexpectedly counterattack as well.

Geralt gave a faint smile: "I don't know what happened either. Recently, the power of the Seals has gotten stronger—I think this is the power given to us by the Lady to temper you."

Escal added: "That's right, Losa, just take it. It's better now than if we suddenly bring it out during the assessment."

"Well, you guys are right, okay?"

Losa rolled his eyes. It must be Prajna's doing.

...

Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, it was already the tenth day.

After breakfast, the five of them went to the martial arena in the courtyard, where the old man Vesemir stood with his arms crossed, solemnly saying, "Today is the last day, Losa."

Losa nodded and said, "I am ready."

Lambert teased: "The Lady said she would assess the results of our training today, but didn't specify when today. Shall we warm up first?"

"No need, let's begin directly."

All of a sudden, a gentle female voice came down from the half-collapsed tower.

Prajna, clad in snow-white attire, looking ethereal, with her beautiful brows, gazed at him smilingly.

"Lady."

The Demon Hunters saluted one after another.

"Then let's begin."

Losa appeared full of confidence.

Escal worriedly asked, "Losa has been progressing quickly, he should be able to pass, right?"

Geralt shook his head, indicating he didn't know either.

Lambert shrugged: "In front of the Lady, we can't possibly hold back. We can only wish Losa manages to endure."

Prajna supplemented: "Give it your all, don't worry about your opponent's safety; I will ensure it."

"Yes."

"Understood."

All the Demon Hunters' gazes toward Losa instantly became dangerous, without a doubt about Prajna's assurance being reliable.

"Let's begin."

Losa assumed a balanced plow technique. Against the onslaught of the three masterful swordsmanship Demon Hunters, choosing an offensive style was certainly suicidal—but merely defending would also mean a slow death.

These three, once gaining the advantage, would snowball bit by bit without giving Losa a chance to counterattack, so in defensive mode, Losa could hold on for less time than in attack mode.

In attack mode, the Demon Hunters would worry that Losa, with his formidable defense, might take one of them down.

The three surrounded Losa, with Geralt attacking, Lambert and Escal closing in on his flanks and rear, respectively.

Losa had to retreat; even if there was a rock wall limiting his body technique, he absolutely couldn't let these three surround him. With no eyes on his back, there was no chance of winning one against three if surrounded.

After many days of battling, not only did Losa understand their tactics more, but the Demon Hunters also knew that Losa could immunize against the effects of Igni (flame) and Yakexi (mind-bending).

Therefore, Geralt led with an Alder attack.

A powerful impact headed straight for Losa.

Losa raised his sword, and flames instantly engulfed the blade, slashing through the energy impact and splitting it down the middle.

He smiled subtly; during this time, he honed not just his swordsmanship.

But also, from these Demon Hunters, how to blend the Seals into from the nimble and varied "Magic Sword Technique."

You know, although clumsy, he is a Wizard too!

...

The sky was brightening.

Just about to leave the prayer room to attend the sword-giving ceremony, Derum coincidentally saw Urding leaving.

"Father Urding!"

He called out instinctively, but regretted it upon seeing Urding's meticulous face.

From appearances alone, Urding didn't look like an approachable person, which initially brought him great difficulty in his missionary work.

"What is it, child?"

"In my free time, can I listen to your sermons?"

"Of course, I'm just seldom free."

Urding smiled, pointing to the vestment robe he was wearing: "After overseeing the ceremony, I'll have to head to the Wounded Soldier Camp again."

Derum found himself at a loss for words in shock: "You mean, even you work at the Wounded Soldier Camp?"

"Of course, we are all the children of Christ; there is no high or low among us."

Derum remained silent for a moment, then solemnly traced a cross over his chest—this time, it was genuine devotion. He sincerely admired this Bishop, marked with untold hardship.

Only those who have experienced life and death know the greatness of a skilled doctor.

"Praise you, Bishop."

Urding returned the gesture with a smile: "May God bless you, child."

Gazing at Urding's slowly retreating figure, Derum instinctively called out: "Bishop Urding!"

"What is it?"

The Bishop was just about to leave the temporary Holy Hall. Sunlight glistened on his white hair, and despite the lack of gold and silver ornaments, in Derum's eyes, there was an indescribable sanctity about him.

"Can I find you at the Wounded Soldier Camp after the ceremony?"

"Certainly, the Lazarus Order welcomes everyone."

Derum's mouth fell open, stammering: "But I mean..."

He had no intention of joining the Lazarus Order. If his parents knew he had become an unmarried Monk of the Cross Sect, they would surely disown him even if he became a Knight.

"Haha."

Father Urding's stern face broke into a smile: "Child, feel free to visit, without worrying about being forced into monkhood. The Lazarus Order has many unofficial members, some even being a married couple."