The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son' Chapter 220 - Those Who Can’t Do, Teach? Does... That Really

Renja adjusted the grip on her practice glaive for the third ti. The weight wasn’t quite what she was used to, but complaining would only make her look unprepared or self-important. Everyone was subjected to the sa rules and she had known about competition weapon picking for months.

Her gaze kept drifting to where the Yecine heir - their first opponent - tested form with a blunted greatsword. The tall cultivator’s swings each cut through the air and ended exactly where intended despite the unfamiliar blade. Even in light practice, the teenager carried that particular polish that spoke of endless drills.

’Another entitled family heir.’

The thought didn’t quite hold its intended bitter edge. Not after watching how he had warned others during the tower climb when he didn’t have to. Facing soone trained by that family was both intimidating and... exciting. A chance to test herself against their vaunted heavy sword style.

Elua appraised the person from afar that was watching her Qat. A female, near two decades old. Out of dozens of competitors waiting their turn, this one’s focus felt particularly sharp. Their intent carried an edge of sothing beyond re competitiveness.

’Only a thin edge of negativity.’.

It wasn’t lust or enough resentnt to worry about, so mint eyes went back to pretending to care about being placed on standby. There were too many people watching to bother with ’faking’ it with illusions.

The heavy polearm user steadied her breathing as she watched a match conclude on their assigned field. Her own weapon choice had drawn a few looks - most of their regional fighters preferred straight blades or short axes. However, she had grown up helping defend rchant caravans from prowling beasts.

A job where reach mattered more than any other tradition.

The three judges’ final hand signal indicated the next set of combatants would have their turn now soon. She caught the winner of the tower event glancing her way. Those pigeon-blue eyes held no arrogance or contempt, just... careful assessnt.

That was almost worse. Being dismissed would have made it easier to feel righteous about wanting to prove sothing. Instead, she felt like she was being placed in the sa category of attention given to checking the practice blade’s balance.

The previous match ended with a formal bow between competitors. Their field’s head judge gestured for the next pair to approach. Renja wrapped her spirit tightly around herself as she stepped into position, the way her old caravan master had tried to teach her.

This caused an attention she probably *didn’t* want. A montary press of spirit verified she had missed nothing. The ’check’ levied on her once again by Elua went unnoticed by all but her husband-wife.

’If I’m going to lose, I’ll at least make him work for it.’

Renja felt no point in letting an opponent read anything in her emotions before the match began. Though she wondered if that would matter against soone trained by a family that wielded sword techniques older than any of her living relatives.

Her grip shifted one final ti on the blunt bladed glaive. At least she wouldn’t have to hold back any for fear of doing serious damage. That thought steadied her more than any breathing exercise. Against soone with real training, she could finally see how far-

The sharp sound of a whistle cut through her thoughts and the judges raised their flags in unison. The Yecine heir rested in a deceptively relaxed stance - their borrowed blade held at an angle that could shift quickly to guard or strike. Everything about their posture suggested patience.

Renja had watched enough matches to know how the scoring system worked. Clean hits were worth more than pressing for ring control, but maintaining tactical pressure could add up to a point. Her weapon’s reach advantage ant she should have an advantage at keeping up her opponent’s guard without trouble.

The spear darted forward in a test. It was not a serious attack, but one with enough motion to gauge the cultivator’s reaction speed. The practice greatsword moved only slightly - deflecting the thrust with very minimal movent. No wasted energy... no telegraphed intent.

’Just like the rumors then.’

She had heard other caravan guards talk about the Yecine style. How they taught control to their offspring only to further the display of aggression. So claid it made them direct and simple. Others warned about mistaking their use of strength to overwhelm as re simplicity.

When they did go on the offensive, their brutal aggression proved that they did it in ways that couldn’t be stopped. Dismantling the potential control of the flow of combat their enemy might exert. Which is why the glaive wielder wanted to get a point lead as early as possible.

A series of quick thrusts seed to force her opponent to actually move. Each deflection remained efficient, but she caught the attempted adjustnts in their stance. The Yecine was reading her timing and learning her patterns.

Renja almost missed the counter that followed her attempt to score with a slash. The heavy blade stopped her weapon’s haft and swept upward. The arc it made would have scored on the polearm wielder if she hadn’t already been stepping back.

If she were asked, she had expected more aggression from soone wielding such a heavy weapon. Instead, each of their movents seed to flow from the last like they were daring her to slip up. No single strike seed dangerous, but the pressure built steadily.

It almost wasn’t like fighting a heavy weapon at all.

The next exchange forced Renja to give ground. She kept the spear in constant motion, trying to disrupt her opponent’s rhythm and create an opening. The practice weapon’s reach should have made this easier, but sohow the duel favorite in terms of odds always seed able to negate her positioning advantage.

’Where’s the overwhelming display of force I was warned about?’

Most Yecine she had seen fight charged forward like avalanches. Their strength was used to simply overpower defenses. Yet this one moved like they were solving a puzzle. Each strike testing a different angle of approach.

A flag dropped horizontal - marking her now continued retreat as tactical pressure in Qatrand’s favor. She wanted to regain ground, but rushing in would be exactly what her opponent wanted. The woman tried a feint, pulling back on what looked like a sure thrust to slide into a sweep.

The practice greatsword caught her weapon mid-motion again. Not a powerful block, but positioned perfectly to redirect her montum. She barely managed to recover her stance as their blade whispered next to her shoulder.

All three judges’ flags rose. First blood, as it were. A point advantage had been decided in favor of the Yecine.

Renja’s spirit churned with frustration. The next clash ca faster than the start of the first. Her blade tip wove patterns ant to create openings, but the heir simply waited. Patient. Learning.

She had thought she understood what she was facing - had prepared for the legendary direct assault that she was sure she could manage to win a single point against. Instead, she felt like she was being studied and dismantled.

Each exchange revealed more of her own style and impatience while her opponent remained unreadable and capitalizing. Their large blunt blade moved only when necessary, and...

’They’re morizing my sequences.’

The actual realization ca a fraction too late. Her opponent’s stance changed and she recognized her own pattern of thrusts being turned against her. The practice greatsword’s eventual sweeping arc won against her polearm’s reach perfectly. They had learned exactly how far she could strike - and how far to step inside that range.

A second set of flags rose into the air.

The glaive user circled warily on the final reset, keeping her guard high. She had expected to test herself and instead she felt like she was the one being tested. Not only that, but she imagined that she was coming up short.

Her next series of strikes grew more aggressive, almost desperate to prove that her strength and efforts were enough to pressure the other fighter. The judges’ flags remained level as she pushed forward, but she could feel the tide of their match had already risen in a single direction.

Not through the brutal exchange of forceful blows that had occurred for the heavy matches so far. Just impactful, well placed applications of sword technique. The practice weapon moved in a familiar pattern - yet another of her own combinations from the match played back at her.

She recognized it too late. Even if she reacted a little quicker, she felt it would have still devastated her guard. Her defensive motion felt clumsy and anticipated against the force used before the blade stopped an inch from her chest.

The light tap that pressed forward after the pulled strike was like a soft swat on the rear as a child. Three flags snapped upward, ending the match.

Renja lowered her weapon slowly. It was evident by the way she stood when they turned to exchange formal bows that she was frustrated. Before she could step off the little arena, the Yecine heir’s low voice caught her attention.

"Thank you for the match."

The words sounded genuine. Sohow that made it worse and the woman couldn’t stop herself from asking a question she didn’t want to hear an answer to.

"Was I not worth taking seriously then?"

"It was because I was taking you very seriously that I felt I needed to learn what I could."

The few years older cultivator stilled, really looking at those pigeon-blue eyes. Still not dismissive or arrogant - just a little distant compared to before. With a focus that had clearly turned inward. Qat was carefully filing away everything they had learned from the fight.

Understanding struck harder than any of the practice blade’s touches.

’They weren’t just learning my moves to win this fight. They were learning for... later.’

As she moved to return her borrowed dueling glaive, Renja wondered how many other competitors would mistake that patience they had shown for the sake of growth as *hesitation*. They moved forward and grew more sure with each step. Qatrand er Yecine clearly didn’t hesitate about much of anything!

"Alright. I’ll do better in the exhibition matches!"

The fragnt in the swordswoman’s chest ward with ’pride’ that definitely wasn’t their own. Her wife was being dramatic with her praise and she tried not to smirk about it out in front of so many eyes.

From sowhere in the dical staff section, a certain heiress was already making calculations over which of her fortress’s opponents might need attention later. Not from the dical staff, but from *anyone* who could nurse their egos.

After all, once Qat finished studying their patterns, those matches wouldn’t be quite so gentle. Her ’fortress’ was brilliantly designed to last through sieges. She had made sure that the girl developed more of the skills that made that possible.

But... a Yecine’s role was to put down threats.

’Once there is nothing that can’t be defended against, she clearly won’t wait to starve inside her steel ard barricade~’