The sound of a sharp blade piercing wood rang out. One of them casually tossed his dagger, which only hit the outer edge of the target.
The clumsy trick drew laughter. Even the person making the fool of himself laughed.
"After playing for so long, you still don't know how to throw, buddy?"
The young man in gray threw down his half-eaten apple and gradually walked into their group, carrying a dagger in his hand.
With a casual flick of his wrist, the blade flew from his hand and struck the bullseye, which was very close to the center of the target, in the blink of an eye.
It hit accurately from five meters away. However, because it was just a casual throw, the force wasn't very strong, and the dagger only lightly pierced the wooden block without penetrating deeply.
"Hey, Finchley, how did you do that? Do you have some kind of trick up your sleeve?" The burly man holding the wine jug paused for a moment and teased.
Finchley returned to his seat and said dismissively, "I was just aiming for the center."
His profound words made the big man squint and put on a puzzled expression.
Without a doubt, Finchley is the best dart thrower here.
"If the target ahead is a monster's head, it will kill it regardless of whether it hits the bullseye or not, right?"
His words drew another round of laughter from the crowd.
Monster...
It turns out they still retain a desire to hunt monsters. Having confirmed this, they are still knights.
However, what they are doing now is completely inseparable from their own decadence.
The young man, who had just stepped onto the training field, thought to himself.
No one noticed Alphonse's arrival.
No one would have thought to notice Alphonse's arrival.
"Ah, Captain Brother—" Oliver, who was the first to notice Alphonse, called out in greeting.
The samurai surrounding the target turned their heads and looked at the young man called "Commander" with complicated expressions.
The sharpest thing about him was Finchley's cheetah-like eyes, filled with dissatisfaction and contempt.
The room fell silent immediately.
It was clear they weren't intimidated by the "commander's" imposing manner, yet no one spoke.
What is the leader doing here? Is he here to give them a stern reprimand and order them to start training immediately, or does he want to join in the fun?
Without uttering a word, Alphonse picked up one of the daggers that had fallen to the ground with his toe and skillfully caught it with his dominant left hand.
He threw it with great force, making a large movement. Common sense dictates that the larger the throwing motion, the more openings there are, and the lower the accuracy.
The crowd, not understanding why, assumed he was just a novice who was picking up darts for the first time.
It wasn't until his dart also hit the bullseye, almost touching Finchley's original one, that they changed their minds.
The force was great, piercing deep into the wood, and the resulting shockwave even dislodged the dagger that Finchley had previously thrust into the target.
In fact, his movements were as fluid and seamless as those of a seasoned samurai. As for the control over the amount of force, it was simply to meet his additional needs.
The samurai who had been about to burst into laughter swallowed their jeers, fell silent, and stared wide-eyed at the astonishing young man.
"We must not only target the central government, but also eliminate other competitors."
The training ground was so quiet that almost everyone could hear Alphonse's words.
Finchley stared at Alphonse again with a sharp gaze, sharper than the dagger in his hand, his anger transforming from cold and stern to burning flames.
Everyone was quite surprised. The newcomer had actually managed to outdo him in dart throwing.
This incident also made them realize that the person in front of them was not a mere greenhorn, but a warrior with considerable strength.
What surprised everyone even more was that this person could reignite Finchley's fighting spirit, a samurai who had been depressed ever since the captain's death.
Alphonse seemed to be deliberately provoking them.
He was very dissatisfied with Finchley's words and actions at yesterday's meeting, especially his rudeness and arrogance. Since you do not obey me, I will use my strength to completely defeat you and force you to submit.
Finchley was not only fueled by fighting spirit, but also by a burning rage. To date, only one person had surpassed him in strength.
However, that person is no longer alive. No one is qualified to be above him anymore. And this young man before me—not only is he qualified to inherit the position of commander of the Fierce Eagle Knights, but he also dared to provoke me in front of everyone today?
This was intolerable to the ever-unruly Finchley.
The dispute between the two began from there.
Alphonse returned to the training ground seven days later.
The night before, Finchley "invited" Alphonse to spar with him once again.
At this point, his contempt for Alphonse had completely vanished.
Although she didn't fully acknowledge him as the leader of the Knights in her heart, she felt a competitive spirit instead.
Today, it's another showdown in the roundabout.
Finch used a rag to polish the sharp blade in his hand.
Even the slightest bit of dullness or rust, including the thrower's own slowness, is not allowed to exist.
From the scene of throwing darts last time, it can be seen that the opponent in front of him, named Alphonse, is a warrior whose strength is on par with his own.
As before, Finchley was the first to throw. His blade was as precise as ever, but this time it was even more ferocious, as if the target was not just a target, but the head of a living monster.
The tip of the dagger, almost half its length, hit the target.
Finchley's skillful throwing technique drew gasps from the crowd.
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