Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 7: Vice-Captain

A full year had gone by since Kyrian joined the soldiers. This day marked something extraordinary.

Kyrian had matured somewhat, yet his stature remained quite short against the others. Childish traits lingered on his face.

His gaze appeared even keener now. During the last year, he worked hard to master every one of his skills.

Yet the particles kept flooding in without pause, showing no hint of hitting a cap.

On the morning marking one year in the city guard, the courtyard buzzed with people.

The twenty-five recruits who started alongside him, the seasoned troops, and all the rest gathered for just a single purpose.

Kyrian faced off against Rurik, mirroring their very first bout.

This round, though, iron spears were in play. Kyrian wielded a somewhat shorter one, made just for his build.

Kyrian locked eyes with Rurik, focus blazing with resolve.

'One year down... today I'll beat him and show everyone my growth.'

In Rurik, Kyrian beheld more than a captain—a mentor, perhaps even a comrade. Yet he viewed him as a rival to overcome, and rest would elude him until victory came.

After all, without toppling him, true strength stayed out of reach.

That drove him to train and clash not just with Rurik, but with every veteran and fresh face too.

He absorbed their moves, their combat styles, etching them into his sight and claiming them as his own, honing his spear mastery ever sharper.

Now, victory over Rurik felt within grasp, prompting Kyrian to challenge his captain outright.

Rurik, naturally, grinned and agreed.

"Don't hold back," Kyrian warned Rurik, met only by that grin. Excitement lit the captain's face too.

They eyed one another intently, grips tight on their spears.

The courtyard fell utterly still as onlookers held their breaths.

While spectators froze, the pair drew deep, steady breaths—then exploded into motion.

Boots slammed the stone as they charged together. Their initial collision rang out, jarring every ear.

Rurik's spear arced down with crushing force, its steel tip slicing the air like a blade through gale.

Kyrian lifted his spear at the final second—not from slowness, but foresight of the strike brewing in the captain's limbs before the point budged.

He maximized the instant to build power and parry right on time.

The jolt raced up his arms; Rurik's might still outmatched his, like a barrier crashing down. Yet this time, no flight through the air.

Just two steps back for Kyrian, boots scraping stone, balance intact.

"Good! Good! You've improved again!" Rurik praised, whirling his spear into a sideways sweep.

Kyrian dropped low as the shaft whipped past his former spot, then darted aside, thrusting at the captain's exposed flank.

Rurik effortlessly twisted his spear's length, halting the blow with the haft.

Another thunderous clash echoed, but both held firm.

The duel's pace ramped up steadily; with each blow, Kyrian perceived more.

Muscles coiling, hips subtly turning, left hand clenching before an upward lash.

To Kyrian's sight, motions crawled, granting precious seconds to react.

And he wielded this edge flawlessly.

Suddenly, he closed in tight, his spear's edge whispering perilously near Rurik's chest.

But "near" misses felled no foes.

Rurik eased back a touch, twirling his weapon and shoving Kyrian away too.

Then the barrage resumed—thrusts pouring like a storm, each quicker than the last, raw power unleashed.

Kyrian met them squarely, body weaving like a minnow in current, though the mounting strain taxed his arms.

"Brat, you've gotten faster, I admit... but it's still not enough," Rurik taunted with a wide grin, sweat beading on his brow.

Another overhead smash followed.

Kyrian parried, yet Rurik poured extra force, driving him earthward.

No option but to drop low, pivot sharply, spear clanging stone in a shower of sparks and clangor.

In that instant, Kyrian spotted the flawless gap.

One step, two steps.

The spear's tip thrust straight at Rurik's neck after he stumbled when his own weapon struck the ground.

Rurik lifted his gaze, spotting the approaching spearhead, and his left hand let go of his spear to seize Kyrian’s shaft just centimeters away from striking him.

The entire courtyard fell silent in anticipation.

Since Kyrian wielded a shorter spear, he needed to close in, positioning himself perilously near Rurik.

With raw power, Rurik clamped down on Kyrian’s spear using his grip. Meanwhile, his right hand poised his own spear, pointed squarely at Kyrian’s form.

Kyrian could abandon his spear to evade, yet that would cost him his weapon and seal his defeat.

Aware of this, he allowed the strike to draw nearer, feigning a desperate tug to wrench his spear free from the captain’s hold. As Rurik’s spear dipped lowest toward his head, Kyrian vaulted upward.

Rurik’s attacks always swept low due to Kyrian’s stature.

Exploiting that, Kyrian sprang high ahead, gripping his spear—which Rurik clutched tightly—with his right hand for leverage. Rurik, who’d been straining against the shaft with full force, abruptly faltered, sensing the boy no longer resisting.

Kyrian twisted his compact frame mid-air, driving his right heel down at Rurik’s head with maximum power.

A grin crossed Rurik’s face; he released his spear and whipped up his right arm swiftly to intercept the kick with his forearm.

His left hand then freed Kyrian’s spear, launching a punch straight at the boy’s torso.

The fist hammered forward like an anvil, forcing Kyrian to cross his arms in the nick of time. It hurled him back onto the stone pavement, his boots skidding a touch, though he emerged unscathed—merely his arms quivering slightly.

Rurik staggered back from the kick’s force as well. The block had numbed his arm, and his heavy breaths revealed the strain.

’Tsk, this little monster’s power nearly matches mine already. When he first came, I held back, but now...’

’I figured it’d take two years for him to best me, yet in a month or two more, I might not stand a chance against him.’

’Haha, perhaps I’m just aging.’

Rurik mused, yet nothing thrilled him more than witnessing Kyrian grow ever more formidable.

The pair locked eyes, spears discarded on the ground. Neither moved first.

’Even after all that, I couldn’t beat him. I believed I was prepared, but... Captain Rurik has strengthened further during this period too, right?’

’Rurik isn’t simple to overtake,’ Kyrian reflected inwardly. Voicing it aloud would leave the others bewildered.

At just five years old, Kyrian matched his forty-year-old captain blow for blow after only one year.

Both appeared to concede, recognizing continued combat would end in deadlock. The onlookers then grasped the bout had concluded in a tie.

Applause erupted suddenly. The soldiers’ cheers rang out wildly, thrilled by the epic display they’d beheld.

The captain grinned at the reaction, amused, while Kyrian maintained his stoic face, pondering alternative moves from the clash.

Yet then, Rurik advanced gradually until mere meters separated them.

"Brat," Rurik intoned gravely, silencing the crowd.

"I have nothing left to teach you."

Silence enveloped all.

"From today on, you are the vice-captain of Falk’s city guard."

Kyrian stared at Rurik in astonishment, met by the captain’s warm smile.

He nodded assent; in his straightforward thinking, it fit perfectly. After all, he rivaled the captain as the mightiest there. Despite his youth, Kyrian deemed himself sharper than the dim-witted troops.

Abruptly, every guard dipped in a bow.

"VICE-CAPTAIN KYRIAN!"

Rurik bellowed with laughter, clapping Kyrian’s shoulder repeatedly. The sight of a child as vice-captain tickled him, but satisfaction filled him.

…

Once the crowd scattered, Rurik summoned Kyrian to his office.

Upon entering, Kyrian sensed the heavy mood.

Concern weighed on Rurik.

Kyrian halted before the desk, patient.

"I called you here because of the bandits," the captain started, rubbing his chin.

"A year ago, they were merely annoying. Now they endanger our entire supply lines."

Kyrian listened quietly; he knew bits about the bandits, though not deeply.

"That’s why I haven’t pursued them lately. Their leader’s a formidable fighter—not my equal, but tough."

"Plus his brother matches him in strength. One alone would be manageable, but together they’re unbeatable."

"No soldier but me can pin down his brother for long, and even then, the losses would pile up."

"I haven’t even included those other thirty bandits, or possibly more if they’ve gained new recruits," Captain Rurik spoke deliberately.

"That sounds straightforward enough, right? Just the two of us taking them down," Kyrian stated bluntly, failing to grasp the issue.

"It’s simple enough in words alone. However, Kyrian, you lack experience in true life-or-death combat. Your fellow soldiers from the barracks—friends you know—might perish, no, some certainly will. Steel yourself for battle, resolve to wipe out the foes, and ensure that casualties don’t shake your focus."

"Should your thoughts waver then, even you might fall if you’re not locked on the vital actions," Rurik warned gravely, inwardly questioning if dragging a kid into this was wise.

Despite such power, wasn’t he just a boy at heart?

"No need for concern there. I understand my duty. Skipping this means no rations, and I require food to grow stronger. Correct?" Kyrian answered straightforwardly.

"...."

Gazing upon Kyrian’s resolute expression, Rurik let out a heavy sigh.

"We depart in two days."