Isekai'd Into The Wrong World-Chapter 89: Ch - Steel on Steel

Steel clattered against steel in the downpour.

Ryan’s blade arced through rain-thick air. The movement was sharper than it had any right to be, after two days without sleep.

His opponent’s sword intercepted and turned the strike aside. Water sprayed from the impact.

Ryan pivoted and drove a low slash toward the legs.

Blocked again.

Ryan could barely see the opponents sword in the torrential rain.

His opponent forced him back. He was faster, stronger, and more experienced than Ryan... by decades.

Even still, Ryan wasn’t going to let the man dictate the fight. He went on the offence, for as long as he could.

His muscles screamed with every movement. Fire spread through his shoulders, his back, and his thighs. Two days of this. No rest. Only meditation and mana circulation keeping him upright.

The opponent pressed forward with three quick strikes—high, middle, and low.

Ryan parried the first and dodged the second, but the third caught his ribs.

Pain exploded across his side.

Thankfully, it was just a training sword.

Ryan gritted his teeth and countered with a thrust toward the man’s chest.

The man batted it aside effortlessly and kicked Ryan’s lead leg out from under him.

Ryan fell face first into the mud.

The blade stopped an inch from his throat.

"Many issues," the man said.

Ryan stared up at him through the rain. It was the same man who’d broken up the fight between James and Navius at the fountain.

"But this is the longest you have lasted, yet," the instructor continued. He lowered his sword and extended a hand.

Ryan took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.

His legs nearly gave out.

"Over a minute," Garsen said. "Monday you lasted ten seconds before I disarmed you."

Ryan spat mud and wiped rain from his eyes. "I could’ve done way better."

"Show me." Garsen sheathed his sword. "In five minutes. Then we go again."

Ryan sank to his knees in the mud.

Five minutes. That’s all he’d get.

He closed his eyes and let the rain trickle down his face.

It was wednesday morning. Two days down. Two nights until the Trial.

His body should have collapsed by now. Forty-eight hours of constant training. No sleep. A six hour long meditation-session replaced a night’ sleep. Between bouts was time for circulating mana through exhausted muscles and forcing his body to repair faster than it broke down.

Ryan’s training wasn’t helped by the crowds of onlookers that swarmed.

The revelation of a trial of twelve happening on academy grounds shocked the students. By Wednesday, every single student and their mothers had heard of the Trial of Twelve happening at dawn of this Friday.

Thankfully, it was too early, and the rain was too heavy for a crowd to form.

A few minutes passed in what felt like seconds.

Garsen’s footsteps squelched through the mud, moving away toward the equipment shed.

Ryan focused on his breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Rain mixed with sweat on his skin.

The footsteps returned.

"On your feet," Garsen said.

Ryan opened his eyes and looked up.

Garsen stood over him holding a metal breastplate and chainmail. Steel pauldrons dangled from one hand. A helmet in the other.

"Put it on," Garsen said, dropping the armour at Ryan’s feet.

Ryan stared at the pile. "Now?"

"You think you’ll fight naked on Friday?" Garsen’s tone was flat. "Armour changes everything. Your balance. Your speed. Your endurance. You need to know how that feels before you step into an arena."

Ryan pushed himself to his feet and reached for the cuirass.

It was heavier than it looked.

He strapped it over his soaked training clothes. The metal was stiff and cold against his chest. Then the chainmail—Links rattling as he pulled it over his head. The weight settled onto his shoulders like a yoke.

The pauldrons next. Then bracers. Greaves.

By the time he finished, his arms felt like lead.

"Move," Garsen commanded.

Ryan took a step. Then another. The armour restricted his movement quite a bit. It was even worse because of the rain.

"Swing your sword."

Ryan raised his blade and cut downward.

Clumsy. The weight of the armour threw off his balance.

"Try again."

Ryan swung. Better this time. But still awkward.

"You’ll get used to it," Garsen said. He drew his own sword and settled into a fighting stance. "Now we fight. And this time, I won’t hold back as much."

Ryan’s grip tightened on his hilt.

Garsen moved, his blade arced into Ryan’s own sword.

Steel clattered against steel—

————

His entire body felt like it had been trampled by horses. The armour had made everything worse.

Garsen had destroyed him. Though that was expected.

He’d lasted quite long. Even with the armour weighing him down, he’d held his ground for nearly a minute before Garsen disarmed him. Once I get more used to the armour, I think I could stay up for two minutes versus him.

Progress. Painful, brutal progress.

Ryan let the door close behind him and immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed.

The mattress had never felt so good.

"Rough day?" James’s voice came from across the room.

Ryan turned his head. James and Jared were both sprawled on their own beds, looking just as wrecked. Bruises covered James’s arms. Jared’s arm was no longer covered in linen.

"My instructor made me spar in full armour," Ryan muttered into his pillow. "For hours."

"Could be worse," Jared said. "Our instructor made us fight versus multiple people at once."

"Multiple people?"

"I was fighting three versus one." James groaned and shifted position. "I got hit in the face six times."

Ryan almost laughed. Almost. But he was too tired.

Silence settled over the room for a moment. Just three exhausted bodies trying to remember what rest felt like.

Outside, rain continued to hammer against the window. You wouldn’t even be able to tell that’s it’s the middle of the afternoon, because of the unrelenting swarm of grey clouds.

Ryan’s mind drifted back to the training yard. To Garsen’s relentless attacks. To the weight of the armour dragging him down with every movement. His body had evolved over the past two days—faster reflexes, stronger strikes, better endurance—but it still wasn’t enough. He needed more, he needed a new light spell.

I should go to Malick’s classroom and borrow that light spells book. He won’t mind.

Ryan continued meditating. It wasn’t long before another thought popped into his head.

Navius has been training since he was a young child. I’ve had a week.

The thought should have been terrifying. It was. But beneath the fear was something else. Stubbornness. The same thing that had kept him standing in the rain while Garsen beat him into the mud over and over.

I’m not going to die in that arena. None of us are.

"Did you hear about the crowds?" Jared asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Ryan opened one eye. "Which crowds?"

"Outside the training yards. The students that are watching us." Jared’s voice was bitter. "Like we’re some kind of entertainment. I saw people taking bets on how long we’d last."

"How long did they give us?" James asked.

"Most said under five minutes," Jared muttered. "One generous soul gave us ten."

Ryan felt anger flare in his chest. Not at the students. Not even at the situation. But angry at himself for not being strong enough to make those bets look foolish.

"Let them watch," Ryan said quietly. "Let them bet against us. When we win, they’ll remember."

"When we win?" Jared’s tone was skeptical. "You sound pretty confident."

"I’m not confident," Ryan admitted. "But I’m certain. There’s a difference."

James looked over at him. "What’s the difference?"

"Confidence is thinking you’ll win because you think you’re better," Ryan said. "Certainty is knowing you’ll win because you don’t have any other choice."

Then Ryan remembered business too important not to address.

"Did you two get any closer to finding a sixth fighter?" he asked.

"No," Jared said flatly.

"Not yet," James said optimistically, as he sat up slightly. "But we will. Marcus and Jeremy have been searching too, and they’ve also both been training hard. Jeremy’s actually decent with a spear—better than I expected. And Marcus..." He paused. "Marcus is strange, but he’s committed. I’ll give him that."

"I saw him fight with a sword, he’ll be a worthy ally." Jared interupted.

"So then we have five confirmed," Ryan said. "Just need one more."

"One more," James repeated. "By Friday morning."

"Two days," Jared added quietly.

The weight of it hung in the air.

Two days to find their sixth fighter. Two days to prepare. Two days until they faced Navius and whoever else Arcturus had paid or pressured to stand beside him.

Ryan closed his eyes.

We’ll find someone. And they’ll have to be good, or I’ll need to give up my spot or maybe we’ll just give up on the accusation.

"Get some rest," James said, lying back down. "Tomorrow’s our last day to train."

"I’m not sleeping," Ryan said. "Meditating."

"You’re insane... you will need sleep eventually," Jared muttered.

Ryan didn’t respond. He was already in his rhythm now and there was no taking him out of it.

Mana flowed in. Exhaustion slowly eased.