My Second Chance in Life in Another World-Chapter 64: THE MASKED SWORDSMAN

LEONARDO’S POV

Let’s go back in time a bit to when Will had just entered the fighting ground.

I was crouched in the bushes, my legs starting to cramp from the awkward position I’d been holding for what felt like hours. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of purple and orange. Shadows stretched across the grounds, and the cold night air began to settle in.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait. Will had mentioned earlier that there might be some kind of bullying incident happening tonight—something about Alad. But so far, there had been no sign of either of them. I tapped my fingers impatiently against the hilt of my sword, the faint sound blending into the rustling leaves.

Beside me, Fia was as still as a statue, her eyes scanning the area with the sharpness of a hawk. She had been eerily quiet for most of the evening, but I could tell she was getting restless too.

"They’re not coming," Fia said suddenly, her voice low but tinged with frustration.

"Yeah, maybe Will was just lying to us," I said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Her reaction was immediate. She turned to me, her expression one of indignant disbelief. "No! Will would never do that!" she retorted, her voice a little too loud for someone trying to stay hidden.

Her conviction took me by surprise, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I raised my hands in mock surrender. "I’m sorry, it was just a joke," I said quickly, though a small part of me felt a twinge of irritation.

Why does Fia get so worked up whenever Will’s involved? I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of jealousy. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed how much she seemed to care about him.

Fia sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Maybe something didn’t go according to plan," she said, her voice softer now. "What if... what if Alad found out?"

The thought sent a chill down my spine, but I quickly shook it off. "If that’s what happened, it means they’re in danger right now," I admitted. "But let’s not jump to conclusions. I know Alad, and he wouldn’t stoop that low."

I said it with confidence, but the truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. Alad had always been a complicated figure in my life. I’d known him since our first year. He was arrogant, sure, and he had a temper that could rival a raging storm. But he was also competent—damn competent.

Back when we were younger, he’d often help train our classmates, especially the ones who struggled the most. He had a way of pushing people to their limits, of dragging out their potential even when they didn’t think they had any. Of course, his methods weren’t exactly gentle. To the untrained eye, he might have seemed like a bully. But I knew better. Alad wasn’t cruel; he just didn’t know how to express himself properly.

That’s how I saw him. So when I heard rumors about him bullying someone, I found it hard to believe. Will’s claims didn’t sit right with me, and I knew I needed to see the truth with my own eyes. If Will was lying, if he was playing us for fools, I’d make sure he paid for it.

"I can’t wait any longer," Fia said suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. She stood up, brushing leaves off her skirt. "I’m going to look for Will. If something’s happened, I need to know."

"Wait," I said, rising to my feet as well. "I’ll come with you. I need to talk to him too."

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable for a moment, before giving a curt nod. Without another word, we began moving through the underbrush, our footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath us.

The forest around us was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. My hand hovered near the hilt of my sword, a habit born out of years of training. There was a tension in the air that I couldn’t shake, a sense that something wasn’t quite right.

As we approached the edge of the clearing, Fia suddenly froze. Her eyes darted to a nearby tree, and her body tensed like a coiled spring. Before I could ask what was wrong, someone leaped from the branches above, landing gracefully in front of us.

The figure was shrouded in shadows, but even in the dim light, I could see the glint of steel at their side. They straightened, their posture relaxed but their presence imposing.

"Who are you?" Fia demanded, her voice sharp and unwavering. She shifted into a defensive stance, her hand on her pocket to get her wand.

The person in front of us wore a mask that completely covered his head, leaving no part of his face visible. From his stance and body proportions, I could guess he was a man, but that was the only clue we had. The way he stood—calm and unflinching—radiated confidence, as if he had no intention of backing down.

Fia stepped forward, her stance shifting slightly, ready to strike. "I’ll ask again," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. "Who are you?"

The masked man didn’t answer. Not a single word escaped him. He just stood there, motionless, as if her question hadn’t even registered.

The tension was unbearable. Fia’s fingers curled tighter around the her wand. The air between us and the masked stranger felt heavy, like the calm before a storm.

"Maybe he has no business with us," I said, trying to diffuse the situation. "Let’s go. We have matters to attend to." I moved to walk past him, hoping to avoid unnecessary conflict.

But then, out of nowhere, he unsheathed his sword. The unmistakable sound of steel scraping against its scabbard sent a chill down my spine. Instinctively, I jumped back, my hand flying to the hilt of my own sword.

"What are you doing? Are you looking for a fight?" I demanded, unsheathing my wooden blade. My voice betrayed a mix of frustration and caution.

The masked man still didn’t answer. He held his sword in a firm grip, his posture poised for combat. His silence wasn’t just unnerving—it was maddening.

"What’s wrong with this guy?" I muttered, glaring at him.

"It seems like I can’t pass unless I beat you," I said, my voice growing colder.

To my surprise, he nodded.

So that’s it. He doesn’t want his voice to be heard. He’s hiding something—not just his face but his identity altogether.

"Are you out of your mind?" I asked, trying to mask the unease creeping into my voice. "Are you really challenging the Ace Swordsman and the rank one magician of this school?"

He didn’t reply, of course. He just stood there, silent and unmoving, like a statue with a blade.

"I don’t have time for your farce," Fia interjected, her voice icy. Her patience was wearing thin. "I have matters to attend to, so please leave, or I’ll fight you seriously."

The masked man gave no indication he’d heard her.

"It seems like you really want to get hurt that much," I said, my grip tightening on my sword as I prepared myself for a fight.

Fia sighed, the sound tinged with annoyance. "I warned you," she said. She raised her wand, and I immediately recognized the spell she was preparing.

"Rock Bullet!" she shouted.

A sharp clump of rock materialized in front of her, its pointed end aimed directly at the masked man. It shot toward him with incredible speed, whistling through the air like a deadly arrow.

He’s done for, I thought. When Fia gets serious, it’s over. You either run, apologize, or brace yourself for what comes next. I’d seen her fury firsthand before—and that was the moment I realized just how much I admired her.

But then, something impossible happened.

With a swift motion, the masked man swung his sword. The blade cut cleanly through the rock bullet, splitting it in two. The halves fell harmlessly to the ground.

"What?" Fia gasped, her eyes wide with shock.

I stared at the man in disbelief. Did he just slice through Fia’s spell? How is that even possible? This guy isn’t just skilled—he’s dangerous.

"It looks like you have the skill to back your arrogance," I said, trying to steady my voice. "Challenging us wasn’t just an empty boast."

Without waiting for a response, I charged toward him. My body moved on instinct, my training kicking in as I shouted, "Sharp Nail!"

The skill activated, and my speed doubled in an instant. I closed the distance between us in the blink of an eye, aiming my blade at his torso.

But he was ready.

With impeccable timing, he raised his sword and blocked my attack. The clash of steel rang out, reverberating through the clearing.

My eyes widened. How strong is this guy? Sharp Nail is one of my best skills—it doubles my speed, making it nearly impossible for most people to react in time. Yet he blocked it as if it were nothing.

Is he a saint-class swordsman?

Before I could recover, he moved to counter. His foot shot out, aiming to kick my sword from my hands. But I saw it coming. At the last moment, I jumped back, putting some distance between us.

I landed in a defensive stance, my heart pounding. "Just who are you?" I demanded, my voice sharper now, tinged with a mix of anger and curiosity.

As expected, he didn’t answer.

Instead, he stood there, his masked face giving nothing away, his sword still raised and ready.

I glanced at Fia, who was already preparing another spell. She wasn’t going to let this go unanswered. Neither was I. Whoever this guy was, he had picked the wrong people to challenge.

But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were in over our heads.

***

WILL’S POV

After my first win, I managed to defeat thirty more opponents who came after me. Each fight felt like a battle not just against them but against my own body. My muscles screamed with every move, my chest heaved with exhaustion, and my grip on my sword faltered with every strike. Yet, I pressed on.

The first ten matches were almost too easy—none of my opponents landed a single hit. I had moved swiftly and decisively, making quick work of them. But by the eleventh match, things started to change. My body began to falter. Cuts and bruises adorned my arms, legs, and torso. None of the wounds were deep enough to stop me, but they were enough to slow me down, enough to make every step and swing of my sword a reminder of how much farther I still had to go.

If only this body were at its peak, I thought bitterly, flexing my fingers around my weapon. I wouldn’t have these cuts and bruises, and these opponents wouldn’t stand a chance. Most of them weren’t that strong; their desperation to win made their movements predictable. Yet, here I was—fighting not just them, but my own limits.

Alad’s voice rang out over the arena, booming with a cheeriness that grated on my nerves. "Now for the 32nd match, let’s welcome the fourth-year student, Jabal!"

Jabal stepped into the arena with a calm confidence that immediately set him apart from my previous opponents. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp eyes that scanned me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. His movements were deliberate, measured. Not like the reckless swings of those I’d fought before.

Alad’s voice echoed again. "Now, the 32nd match begins!"

I tightened my grip on my sword, my eyes locked on Jabal. My body felt like lead. Every muscle begged me to stop, to rest, but I couldn’t. Not yet. There were still eighteen matches to go. Eighteen more obstacles standing between Crestia and me and our freedom. I had to keep going, no matter what.

Jabal didn’t make a single move as the match began. He stood still, his sword at the ready, his eyes never leaving mine. I could tell he’d been paying attention to the previous matches. He knew every opponent had rushed at me, eager to take the offensive, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

Smart, I thought, suppressing a grimace. I didn’t like this. He wasn’t desperate, which meant he was thinking clearly. That made him dangerous.

The audience grew restless, their shouts filling the air. "Hey! Why aren’t you both moving?" someone yelled.

I ignored them, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. My chest rose and fell heavily, and I felt the sweat trickling down my back. Jabal seemed to notice what I was doing. His grip on his sword tightened, and he stepped forward, breaking the stalemate.

He started with basic slashes, no skills, just clean and precise attacks. I parried each one, the clang of our swords ringing out like a chorus of steel. Occasionally, I dodged, but I could tell he was testing me, waiting for an opening. He wasn’t going to waste his energy until he saw an opportunity to strike.

Fine, if that’s what you want, I thought, narrowing my eyes. I’ll give you your opening.

After deflecting another slash, I deliberately staggered, pretending to lose my balance. My feet slipped on the floor, and I let my guard drop for just a moment.

Jabal’s eyes lit up. He moved quickly, abandoning his careful slashes and activating a skill.

But he didn’t count on me being faster.

"Shit!" he cursed as realization dawned on him. He had fallen into my trap.

"Single Shot!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise of the crowd.

My strength doubled in an instant, and I swung my sword with all my might. The force of the blow struck him square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but I barely heard them. My focus remained on Jabal as I moved to disarm him, aiming a kick at his sword.

But he wasn’t done yet.

As I kicked, he rolled away, his sword still in his grip. He slashed upward, and I felt the blade bite into my left leg. Pain shot through me like fire, and I stumbled back, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out.

"I won’t fall that easily!" Jabal shouted, still on the ground but grinning defiantly. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he didn’t seem to care.

Before he could rise, I acted. Ignoring the searing pain in my leg, I raised my right foot and kicked him square in the face. His head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

For a moment, I just stood there, breathing hard. My leg throbbed, and I could feel the warm, sticky sensation of blood seeping through my pants. I’d tried to end this quickly, using only one skill and disarming him, but it had cost me.

"The winner of the 32nd match is none other than Will again!" Alad announced, his voice brimming with excitement.

The audience erupted into cheers, their voices a cacophony that barely registered in my mind. My leg screamed in protest as I shifted my weight, but I forced myself to stand tall.

I couldn’t show weakness—not here, not now. Crestia and I needed to escape, and there were still more opponents to face.

As I turned to wait for the next opponent, I couldn’t help but glance down at Jabal’s unconscious form. He’d been strong, smarter than most of my previous opponents, but not strong enough.

And neither was I, I realized grimly. Not yet.