MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The air crackled between them, the pressure from their locked blades sending ripples through the atmosphere.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved, only the hum of tension, the silent anticipation of the next strike.

Anthony's eyes flickered briefly to 'Anthony' then back to their blades.

There was no sweat on his brow, no tightness in his chest.

His body was still as a mountain, poised, calm.

His katana remained as steady as a river's surface, reflecting the purity of his will.

But something had shifted.

As he studied the movements of his opponent, he began to notice the subtle but undeniable flaw.

'Anthony', this shadow of his battle prowess, was no longer adapting.

Its movements, while technically flawless, lacked the fluidity of a mind that continuously evolved in battle.

It fought in patterns, as though mimicking the memory of techniques once used, without progressing, without shifting or improving.

Anthony's thoughts swirled, and the realization hit him with the force of a wave.

It wasn't growing.

It was static.

'Anthony' had no ability to learn in the heat of battle, no ability to push beyond what it had absorbed in the moments before the fight began.

Every move, every feint, every counterstrike came with the same rhythm, the same predictable intervals.

It was using the battle experience it had gathered earlier through the mana signature, nothing more.

No innovation. No evolution.

Anthony's own blade sang with quiet confidence, its arc tracing a smooth line through the air.

He saw where it was going long before it landed.

His footwork was perfect, his body poised with the elegance of a predator.

But now, as he moved with intent, he couldn't shake the thought that this trial, the so called test of improvement, was fundamentally flawed.

The military had hoped for one thing: growth under pressure.

A warrior who could not only fight but adapt and improve.

That was the heart of their trial.

But Anthony… he had something they could never account for.

A battle experience skill.

Not a skill that merely remembered past encounters, but one that fused those encounters into his subconscious, merging them seamlessly into his being.

Every fight he'd ever had, every opponent, every movement, was ingrained in his mind.

But unlike 'Anthony,' Anthony could take that knowledge and push it beyond its boundaries, elevate it.

He didn't just match his opponent's experience; he assimilated it, internalized it, and transcended it.

Every battle made him better, and he never stopped improving.

Anthony's lips twitched.

He was holding back.

He had been holding back for the sake of the trial, for the sake of understanding the purpose behind it.

But now, the purpose became clear.

This test wasn't for him.

It was for the other recruits, to test their ability to grow in the moment.

Anthony didn't actually need to grow in battle.

Anthony had no true need for growth in battle.

His battle experience skill bestowed him with the combat expertise that rival even the Gods themselves.

This extraordinary ability granted him the accumulated knowledge and battle acumen of every being he had known in his life, prior to his reincarnation.

On the blue planet, no individual possessed a greater wealth of combat experience than he, a fact that placed him beyond the reach of anyone else.

Throughout his life, Anthony had often matched his opponents' experience, deliberately lowering himself to their level, finding amusement in the challenge it presented.

He had done precisely the same with 'Anthony.'

This version of "Anthony" was limited to only the battle experience Anthony had chosen to wield thus far.

Thus, this trial was ultimately irrelevant, holding no true challenge for him.

So, he decided to take it further.

In that instant, he shifted his focus.

His battle experience expanded.

Every movement became more deliberate, more intentional.

He wasn't just matching the rhythm anymore.

He was overwhelming it.

His sword became an extension of his will, a blur of steel and intent that sliced through the air with impeccable precision.

It was no longer a duel.

It was an execution.

'Anthony' couldn't keep up.

The moment Anthony raised the bar, 'Anthony' faltered.

Its movements, once seemingly synchronized with his, now appeared sluggish, stiff, clumsy in comparison.

Each strike Anthony delivered was faster, sharper, more brutal.

His katana cut through the air with greater speed, and his blade landed with an accuracy that seemed almost supernatural.

Every movement flowed seamlessly into the next, as though choreographed in some divine dance of war.

The environment around them seemed to tremble as Anthony's aura flared in response to his increased power.

The ground cracked beneath their feet as he moved, the earth groaning under the force of his presence.

Trees bent under the pressure, their trunks snapping like brittle twigs as their branches were torn away.

The sky seemed to darken, as if even the heavens could not bear witness to the brutality of his ascent.

'Anthony' tried to compensate, its blade moving in desperation now, barely managing to parry a few strikes.

Its movements were too predictable, too mechanical.

It was outclassed.

Anthony didn't need to think anymore.

He was operating on pure instinct, on the muscle memory of every fight that was engrained in his very being.

His movements were a symphony of combat, each slash, each thrust, each block performed with divine precision, like a blade that could cut through time itself.

With every strike, the gap widened.

A cut to 'Anthony's' arm.

A riposte to its shoulder.

An impossibly fast slash that barely missed its throat.

With each near miss, Anthony closed in on the final moment, the culmination of his strategy.

It wasn't just about his physical ability.

No, it was his mind, the way his experience poured into the fight and accelerated beyond its original form.

He was taking everything he'd ever done and forging it into something more.

And now, the fake was drowning under the weight of his perfection.

'Anthony' was not just being outclassed.

It was becoming irrelevant.

The fake's defenses weakened.

The blocks became slower, the counters less effective.

Anthony's blade came faster, slashing with such pinpoint accuracy that 'Anthony' could no longer keep up.

He could hear the fake's breathing, shallow and ragged as it it was a real human, but it wasn't fear that had entered it, just sheer inability to keep up with the onslaught.

The first real strike landed.

Anthony's blade sunk into 'Anthony's' side with surgical precision, carving through its defense like a hot knife through butter.

Yet there was no blood, no scream of agony, just the hollow, broken sound of a body failing to keep pace with its master.

'Anthony' tried to retreat, but it was too late.

A second strike landed, this time at the hip, tearing into what passed for flesh.

'Anthony' flinched, attempting to heal.

But Anthony's aura surged forward in a violent crescendo, breaking through the healing attempts with the force of his will.

He wasn't just striking the body anymore.

He was striking at the essence of 'Anthony's' existence.

'Anthony' stumbled, unable to regain its composure, and Anthony pressed forward, blade moving faster and sharper.

Each strike that landed was more precise than the last.

The fake's ability to parry or block was slipping, its once great coordination dissolving in the face of Anthony's flawless execution.

And then, Anthony found it.

The core.

With a final, devastating thrust, Anthony pierced through the defenses of the fake and found the core, the heart of 'Anthony's' existence.

It was a singular point, a fragile nexus of its being, and with a single thrust, Anthony destroyed it.

The fake's body convulsed once, then collapsed, falling apart with a final, hollow whimper of defeated energy.

It was over.

And Anthony stood, utterly unscathed, without a single drop of sweat on his brow.

His blade was perfect, gleaming in the aftermath of the battle, not a speck of blood to mar its surface.

He had won.

Not just through strength, but through sheer mastery.

The trial had never been a challenge.

He had never needed to improve on the spot, because he had always been beyond the test.

The ground was littered with shattered trees, cracked earth, and the remnants of 'Anthony's' form.

But to Anthony, there was no victory in it.

It had been too easy.

His thoughts turned briefly to the test, to the military's expectations.

But none of it mattered.

He had already surpassed their standards long before this trial.

Anthony's eyes briefly lingered on the restriction bracelet, a subtle frown etching across his face.

'Perfect. Now I'm forced to remain idle for the next forty minutes. Perhaps I should have held back until the fifty-ninth minute'

He thought, releasing a resigned sigh.