SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant - Chapter 257

Chapter 257: Chapter 257: Sparring in the Snow
Lysandra’s breath spilled into the night air in a thin white cloud as she turned fully toward him. The snow around them muted every sound, turning the forest edge into a silent, frozen arena.

“Ready, little brother?” she repeated, her tone a soft taunt beneath the falling flakes.

Trafalgar didn’t answer immediately. He lifted his right hand instead, letting mana surge through his fingers. Shadows rippled around his palm, twisting and folding inward until a blade materialized—Maledicta, cold and hungry, settling into his grip with a familiar weight.

His expression remained flat. “Ready,” he said. A slight smirk ghosted across his lips. “You, dear sister?”

Lysandra’s eyes gleamed. She raised her hand in a smooth motion, and a pillar of pale mana coiled upward like a ribbon of moonlight. When it cleared, her white longsword rested in her grasp—radiant, pure, and frighteningly sharp. The air around it hummed with pressure.

The moment she shifted her stance, Trafalgar felt it.

A spike stabbed into his skull—sharp, sudden, vicious.

[Sword Insight] activated.

‘Fuck… here we go again.’

He exhaled through gritted teeth, doing his best to make the motion look natural. Lysandra hadn’t even attacked yet. All she’d done was move. One clean, perfect Morgain-form stance, and his brain already felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Lysandra tilted her head. “You good?”

“Peachy,” Trafalgar muttered. “Just admiring the view.”

“Mm.” She slid one foot back, lowering her center of gravity. “Try not to blink.”

The snow hissed beneath her boot as she pushed forward.

Trafalgar barely had time to brace before her blade cut through the air—clean, straight, merciless. He brought Maledicta up and caught the strike, the impact reverberating through his entire arm. Her strength was controlled, almost gentle, but it still pushed him a half step back.

She didn’t slow.

Three more slashes came in rapid sequence—testing, measuring, prying at his defenses. Trafalgar deflected each one by inches, sparks of pale mana scattering into the snow.

‘She’s holding back. Obviously. Sixth core vs third? If she weren’t, I’d already be on the floor.’

He slid sideways, creating space, boots sinking slightly in the powder.

Lysandra followed with a small grin. “Not bad. But warm-ups don’t count.”

Trafalgar tightened his grip on Maledicta.

“Then stop warming up.”

Snow swirled between them as the real duel began.

Trafalgar didn’t wait for Lysandra to dictate the rhythm. He swept Maledicta in a sharp arc, channeling dark-blue mana along the blade. The wave burst forward as [Arc Slash], splitting the falling snow as it raced toward her. It should have forced distance—at least for a second. But Lysandra merely angled her wrist, a subtle adjustment of blade and stance, and the attack cracked apart like wet paper, dissolving into harmless wisps.

Trafalgar clenched his teeth. ‘Perfect. First move and she already made me look like an idiot.’

She advanced before he could reposition. Her first cut came diagonally toward his shoulder, clean and economical. Trafalgar raised Maledicta and caught it, sparks flaring between steel. The second strike followed instantly—an upward slash telegraphed only by the faint drop of her shoulder.

[Sword Insight] hit him like a spike to the skull, his vision trembling with pain, but he forced his torso to twist aside, ducking under the rising blade. He countered with a tight, horizontal swing aimed at her ribs. Lysandra rotated her hips and let the attack slip past by a hair’s breadth, already lining up her next blow.

Her third strike descended in a vertical arc, deadly in its simplicity. Trafalgar blocked it, boots digging into snow as the impact drove him back two steps.

Lysandra’s expression edged into a pleased grin. “You’re faster than before.”

He wiped a small trail of blood from his lip. “Still getting my ass kicked, but hey… progress.”

She didn’t deny it. Her blade spun once in her hand, white mana gathering along the edge, and the pressure of her stance made Sword Insight pulse again behind his eyes. ‘Fantastic. She’s just warming up and I already feel like my brain is melting.’

Then she struck. Two perfectly synchronized slashes traced mirrored arcs, glowing trails intersecting mid-air to form a radiant sigil. [Morgain’s Dual Crest] ignited in a burst of crackling light.

Trafalgar threw himself sideways just as the symbol detonated, kicking up a violent shockwave that blasted a cloud of snow across the clearing. He rolled, pushed off the ground, and emerged with Maledicta gripped tightly in both hands, chest heaving in the freezing air.

Lysandra landed softly, barely out of breath, watching him with the patient intensity of a predator studying prey that refuses to break. “Come on,” she murmured. “Don’t hold back.”

Trafalgar steadied his footing, feeling the cold bite through his armor as adrenaline surged through him. “Wasn’t planning to,” he shot back. With no other choice, he sprinted forward again into the storm she had become.

Trafalgar didn’t wait for her to reset her stance. He pushed mana into his legs, the world bending for a split second as he used [Severance Step. His body blurred in a sharp curve through the snow, reappearing behind Lysandra with Maledicta already descending in a diagonal cut.

She pivoted at the last moment, intercepting the strike with a clean parry that sent a ripple of force through the clearing. Even so, her eyes lit up—not surprised, but pleased.

He vanished again. Another curved dash. Then another. Each Severance Step left faint streaks in the snow, afterimages flickering like shadows trying to catch up to him.

Trafalgar aimed low this time, sweeping for her knee. Lysandra stepped over the blade with infuriating grace, twisting into a countercut that he narrowly ducked. ‘She’s reading me like an open book,’ he thought, irritation spiking. ‘Well… let’s see if she reads this.’

He darted back, boots carving lines in the snow, and raised Maledicta with both hands. Dark energy spiraled along the blade, compressing, tightening, gathering into an inverted arc of crushing force. [Morgain’s Final Crescent] shouldn’t be used so early—it drained too much mana—but Trafalgar didn’t care. This was the only move in his arsenal that could break through her guard.

Lysandra’s eyebrows rose the moment she sensed the pressure. “Oh? Using such an advanced skill already?” Her tone sharpened with genuine interest. “Not bad at all.”

He stepped forward and unleashed it.

The crescent exploded from Maledicta in a violent sweep, tearing a gouge through the snow and ripping air into a distorted ripple. Lysandra couldn’t dodge; the angle was too tight, the timing perfect. For anyone else, that would have been checkmate.

But Lysandra wasn’t “anyone.”

White mana burst from her feet as she invoked one of her personal techniques— [Pale Spiral.] Her body spun with the precision of a dancer, her blade carving a circular arc of pale light. The Final Crescent collided with the formation, detonating into a storm of dark shards that scattered across the clearing. The shockwave pushed both siblings apart, snow spraying up like an erupting geyser.

Trafalgar skidded backward, boots digging trenches in the frost. The moment Pale Spiral fully unfolded, a white-hot spike lanced through his skull. His vision blurred, and for half a second he felt like his brain was being split open.

A faint, merciless chime echoed in his head:

[Skill Understanding: Pale Spiral — +15%]

Trafalgar clenched his jaw as another wave of mental static pulsed behind his eyes. ‘Shit… I didn’t ask for a fucking tutorial.’ His arms shook from the recoil, mana draining faster than he liked. Lysandra, however, landed smoothly, a faint flush of excitement brightening her expression.

“That’s twice you almost caught me,” she said softly. “Keep going. Show me everything you’ve learned.”

Trafalgar tightened his grip on Maledicta, lungs burning, mind throbbing as Sword Insight continued scraping information into his skull like broken glass.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just don’t cry when I actually hit you.”

He vanished again—another [SeveranceStep], sharper and faster than the last.

Trafalgar reappeared behind Lysandra in a burst of curved momentum, Maledicta already descending in a vicious overhead strike. She didn’t even turn. A simple sidestep—barely a whisper of movement—and his blade cut only air. The snow around her hadn’t even shifted.

‘Of course,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Why would it be easy?’

Before he could reset his footing, Lysandra’s aura pulsed—not violently, but with the slow, inevitable force of a tide pulling back before it crashes. Her sixth core stirred. The air thickened, mana humming with a pressure that made the branches overhead tremble. Trafalgar felt his lungs tighten, his heartbeat stutter.

Then she stepped forward once.

The forest floor cracked.

He didn’t even see the swing—only the aftermath. Lysandra’s blade flashed past his ribs, grazing his armor with just enough force to numb the entire side of his body. Trafalgar stumbled back, pain sparking along the nerves, but refused to fall.

He triggered [Severance Step] again, body snapping sideways in a distorted arc. The movement saved him from the follow-up strike, though her blade carved a trench where he’d stood an instant before.

Lysandra’s eyes shone with quiet intensity. “Good reflexes. But you’re still moving too slow.”

Trafalgar reappeared several meters away, panting. His skull throbbed, Sword Insight flickering to life every time her stance shifted. The pain was constant—like someone dragging rusted nails through the inside of his head. ‘If my brain starts leaking out of my ears, I’m blaming her.’

But she didn’t give him time to recover.

White mana burst from her legs as she invoked another skill — [Morgain’s Linebreaker].

She shot forward in a straight line, a spear of pure force. Trafalgar barely reacted in time, slamming Maledicta into the ground and triggering [Earthsplitter]. A shockwave burst upward, colliding with her charge, splintering the snow into jagged fragments.

It wasn’t enough.

Linebreaker tore straight through Earthsplitter’s aftershock, smashing into Trafalgar with brutal clarity. Maledicta shook violently in his hands. He was thrown backward, rolling across the frost until he dug his heels into the ground to stop the momentum.

His ribs burned. His fingers tingled from the vibration. His vision trembled.

Lysandra appeared in front of him an instant later—not via a dash, but a simple forward step, faster than logic allowed. She swung again, and Trafalgar parried only by instinct, Maledicta ringing with the force.

Three more strikes followed.

One slashed across his thigh.

Another clipped his side.

The third hit his forearm and sent Maledicta flying from his grip.

Trafalgar cursed and immediately resummoned the sword in his hand, dark mana rippling as it reappeared.

Lysandra watched him with a calm, almost proud gaze.

“You’re strong,” she said softly. “But this is what separates third core from sixth.”

He wiped blood from his lip, forcing a grin through the pain. “Yeah… well… guess I like suffering.”

She lifted her blade again.

“Then suffer a little more.”

Trafalgar shifted his stance, mind racing through everything he’d seen—every angle, every pivot, every subtle change in her center of gravity. His skull throbbed with the remnants of Sword Insight, but he pushed through it. If he couldn’t overpower Lysandra, maybe he could outthink her. Maybe.

He inhaled sharply, then blurred forward with another aggressive [Severance Step], vanishing into a curved dash that mirrored her earlier movements. He intentionally copied her approach—the footwork from Pale Spiral, the angle of her shoulders during Linebreaker, the guard transition she used before heavy hits. For a brief moment, the imitation was almost perfect.

Almost.

Lysandra saw it instantly.

“Oh?” she murmured as he appeared behind her with a downward cut. “Copying my footwork now?” She pivoted, her blade snapping up to intercept his strike. The force rattled his bones, but he pushed harder, chaining into a second blow and then a third, each one echoing fragments of her own style. The snow churned under them in chaotic bursts.

For three seconds—just three—he almost matched her rhythm.

Then she broke it.

Lysandra slid past his guard with a single, fluid step, tapping her blade against his shoulder with pinpoint control. The strike wasn’t deep, but it cut his momentum—and his pride—clean in half. A final push sent him stumbling backward, boots scraping through the frost until he caught himself.

His chest heaved. His vision pulsed. Maledicta trembled in his grip.

She lowered her sword, satisfaction softening her expression. “Good. You’ve grown, Trafalgar. More than I expected… and faster than the others ever did. Well that’s thanks to your talent but I’m glad.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Lysandra had already lifted her hand. A ripple of pale mana gathered in her palm, condensing into shape. In an instant, a small crystal vial flashed into existence—materialized straight from her system inventory. The potion shimmered with swirling silver-gold liquid, warm against the freezing air.

She tossed it lightly toward him.

Trafalgar caught it, blinking. “What is this?”

“A potion,” she said. “Drink it. Unless you want the others to see you half-dead when you walk back. You don’t, right?”

Trafalgar snorted. “Right. Definitely not. Last thing I need is more eyes on me.” He uncorked the vial and drank it in one pull, feeling the warm pulse spread through his ribs and thigh as the pain receded.

As he wiped his mouth, he asked, “By the way… when are all of you leaving my mansion?”

Lysandra raised an eyebrow, lips curling with amusement. “Your mansion? You get comfortable fast. But yes… Euclid is technically yours now.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. I think Father said they’d be leaving soon. Although…”

Trafalgar’s gaze sharpened. “Although what?”

Lysandra met his eyes with a calm, almost solemn look. “Although he may want to speak with you before we go. You’re the future of our house—whether you like it or not. With that talent of yours.”

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, jaw tightening as snow drifted quietly around them.

‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Just what I needed.’