CHAPTER 133: SHOWING OFF

The dim torchlight flickered across the smooth stones as Calien and Erik watched Chief Varros step toward the oncoming humanoid twin-tentacle octopus creatures, his grip tightening around the slender knife. The hall was alive with a tense energy—each scrape of monstrous limb against the ground, each glistening glint of dark eye and slick skin making the very walls seem to ripple.

And then he moved.

It was seamless—as if his very feet glided rather than stepped. A whisper of metal flashed as Varros shifted sideways, letting one tentacle whip past him before his blade carved a deep, decisive strike across the nearest octopus’s head. The thing shuddered and fell without a sound, crumpling into a grotesque heap at his feet.

"Oh! Did you see that?" gasped one of the attendants, hands clenched together in awe as he leaned toward his companion. "That’s Chief Varros for you. Absolutely precise!"

The other nodded eagerly, fists pumping like an excited boy at a festival. "He’s a true Mana Knight of the Black Vale, after all! That kind of skill doesn’t come easy. Even if there’s some draining formation at work here, it’s like it doesn’t matter at all!"

Calien gave a faint grunt in reply, eyes tracking the chief’s movement as he slipped between two more of the monstrous foes. Erik, standing at his side, wore a similarly distant expression, gaze sharp but strangely detached.

"You see that feint, Calien?" the first attendant whispered again, barely able to contain his thrill. "And the way he cuts upward as they lunge? Absolutely textbook. I mean, I could never manage that kind of timing."

"Mm," Calien offered with a vague nod, not looking away.

"You guys must be so proud," the second attendant continued breathlessly, eyes bright. "Training under someone like him... can you imagine how much you’d learn just watching him fight like this every day?"

Erik simply let out a quiet hum, lips twitching at one corner as he followed Varros’s next move.

"Look, look! Another one’s going in," the first attendant whispered again like a commentator in a thrilling arena match, his hands gesturing at the next twin-tentacle octopus as it bunched its grotesque muscles, preparing to strike. "See the way the chief angles his shoulders? He’s about to—"

Before the attendant could finish, Varros was already there, sidestepping with impossible grace. His knife shot up like a silver viper, finding the one vulnerable spot at the crown of the octopus’s smooth skull with practiced ease. The creature didn’t even have time to shriek before its legs buckled, toppling heavily into its own dark ichor.

"Perfect hit!" the second attendant crowed, eyes alight. "That’s what I mean! Did you see the angle? Even with these creatures regenerating like crazy, one clean strike to the head and they’re nothing. Absolutely nothing!"

The first attendant nodded furiously, then glanced back at Calien and Erik, his voice more subdued but hopeful. "Isn’t that incredible? Chief Varros really knows his stuff."

Calien finally broke his gaze long enough to offer another polite nod. Erik made a similar gesture, their brief acknowledgments clearly appreciated as the attendants turned back to the fight, still chattering animatedly.

"Still," the first one mused, hands on his hips as he drank in every deft motion the chief displayed. "I wonder if this is even a challenge for him. I mean, it looks like he’s holding back, doesn’t it?"

"Oh, definitely," his companion agreed readily. "There’s no way this is pushing him at all. Chief Varros could probably clear the entire tower alone if he felt like it."

"You really think so?"

"Of course! Just look at him! The chief of the Mana Knights of the Black Vale! Nothing can touch him."

Calien and Erik exchanged a subtle glance but kept their thoughts to themselves.

By this point, Varros had noticed the slight detachment on their faces. The fight wasn’t drawing them in like it was his subordinates. A knowing smirk tugged at the chief’s mouth as he ducked under another slashing tentacle, twisting up into a smooth pivot before driving his knife into the monster’s brow with unerring aim.

He paused after pulling the blade free, breath steady as his sharp eyes flicked toward the two students.

"You two look a bit bored," he observed lightly, his voice carrying easily over the scrape of dying octopuses.

"Not at all, sir," Erik replied, shrugging one shoulder. "Just watching."

"Mm," Calien added in agreement, his expression politely blank.

The chief chuckled under his breath, clearly undeterred. "Well then," he mused, flexing his fingers around the hilt as more shapes began to shift at the edge of the light, "let me show you something a bit more proper."

Without further preamble, he was moving again—this time faster, smoother, as if a hidden reservoir of energy had sprung to life in his tired bones. The air around him shifted subtly, and though there was no visible flare of magic, a faint shimmer of disciplined power pulsed in the arcs of his swings.

"By the spirits," breathed one of the attendants, stepping forward despite himself, "he’s using one of the Fifth Star techniques!"

"Chief Varros is serious," the other agreed, awe-struck. "This is the famous style of the Mana Knights that only elite warriors in the Black Vale ever master."

The chief seemed to dance now, each cut measured and controlled, weaving around each writhing beast with an almost effortless rhythm. A tentacle lashed toward him—he ducked and spun past it without breaking stride, then snapped his wrist to fling his knife up in a graceful arc that sent the blade clean into the creature’s skull. Another rushed him from behind, but he pivoted before it could come close, catching its reaching limb with his free hand as if it were nothing more than a branch and using its own weight to swing himself up, bringing his heel crashing down into its slick cranium.

"You see that?!" the first attendant exclaimed, his voice trembling with admiration. "That’s what a chief from a Fifth Star Baron territory looks like in a real fight! Every move is measured—no wasted energy."

"Chief Varros is a legend," his partner murmured in awe, fists trembling in his eagerness. "Imagine facing him on a real battlefield. It would be like standing before a storm."

And this time Calien and Erik were no longer just politely listening. They tracked every stroke of his blade with focused eyes, their earlier detachment melting into genuine interest. They could feel the weight of Varros’s experience in every cut, every feint, every smooth sidestep that kept him forever out of reach of those monstrous limbs.

The chief seemed to notice their sharpened attention, and his lips quirked into another faint smile as he spun once more. With a deft flick of his wrist, he sent his knife whistling across the narrow hall to strike an octopus dead-center in its crown before it could even register his movement.

And then, one by one, he dismantled the remaining creatures—each kill neat and efficient, his breathing measured and steady as if this was nothing more than a training drill.

By the end of it, the hallway was strewn with motionless shapes, their once-thrashing tentacles reduced to stillness. Chief Varros paused, hands braced lightly on his knees as he caught his breath. His gaze traveled back to Calien and Erik—no longer detached but visibly more invested than before.

Straightening up with a quiet chuckle, he wiped his blade on a shred of torn cloth and held their eyes as he asked, voice smooth despite his exertion, "So? How’s that?"