The Poet's System
Chapter 46: Act of Adaptation 2

Chapter 46: Act of Adaptation 2

Daylan was left restless by the news Bruce delivered—not because he feared the duel, but because of the tone and expression Bruce used. It was as if Bruce held a personal grudge against him and had finally found the perfect chance to unleash it.

He trained intensively throughout the day, using every attack he could think of to counter Lieutenant Bruce’s ability.

However, he trained all through the night, unaware of how quickly it passed him by.

Exhaustion finally took over, and he collapsed to the floor, drifting into sleep the moment he hit the ground.

Barely three hours into his sleep, Medora walked into the training room. She gave him a calm yet disappointed look as he lay carelessly on the ground, then shook her head. Stepping closer, she gently woke him up.

Rubbing his eyes as he woke, Daylan felt Medora take his hand and pull him to his feet. "It’s almost time for your duel. Lieutenant Bruce will be here any moment now," she said.

Daylan nodded and gave a lazy stretch, his body still heavy with sleep.

Astara walked in at that moment, a disappointed look etched on her face. "You two don’t need to worry," Daylan said. "I won’t end up like either of you—I’m definitely going to win."

Astara and Medora shared a look and shook their heads—clearly done with Daylan always pretending to be overly confident.

Daylan began teasing them about their own duels, especially when they refused to share any insight on Lieutenant Bruce’s abilities. Their playful banter went on for a while, eventually bringing cheerful, amused smiles to all their faces.

As they spoke, Bruce suddenly entered. His presence was grim and intimidating—far more intense than the day before. Perhaps he was still unsettled by his struggle against Medora’s ability, or maybe he simply held a grudge against Daylan.

Without another word, Astara and Medora stepped outside, taking their places by the entrance to give them the space they needed for the duel.

They stood face to face as Lieutenant Bruce rolled up his sleeves. Daylan refused to show even a hint of fear—this was his battle. And once his name was in it, victory was never far behind.

In the blink of an eye, Daylan was slammed into the floor. Bruce hadn’t even finished rolling up his sleeves, catching him completely off guard.

Daylan wasn’t fast enough, but in that split second, he managed to shield himself and lessen the impact. His hands hurt badly, though he hid the pain.

Gritting his teeth, Daylan pressed himself against the ground, forcing his body through the pain. He staggered to his feet—pretending to struggle—then suddenly kicked off the wall to build momentum.

Sliding across the floor, he closed the distance, planted his hands down, and launched himself into the air. With a feint from his left leg, he struck out with his right, aiming straight for Bruce’s head.

Everything happened in a flash, and from Lieutenant Bruce’s expression, he clearly hadn’t expected Daylan to recover so quickly.

But Daylan’s speed was child’s play to him—Bruce effortlessly dodged the strike, still casually rolling up his sleeve.

But Daylan hadn’t expected to land the strike—he knew better. The moment his feet touched the ground, he launched another attack. Then another.

What initially seemed slow and effortless for Bruce soon caught his attention. With time—and a few well-placed jabs—what began as easy dodges turned into narrow escapes.

Daylan didn’t want to rely on Dark Spiral, knowing that came with its own disadvantages. Still, he was certain that if Spiral Edge was used properly, it could bypass Bruce’s ability to adapt—because it had no fixed limit and kept evolving. And that was exactly what he was doing.

Before long, Bruce could no longer dodge all of Daylan’s attacks. He blocked some and narrowly avoided others—each one coming within a hair’s breadth.

Daylan knew he couldn’t get too cocky—his limbs would eventually give out, even if his strikes and movements kept evolving. And more importantly, Bruce was a lieutenant for a reason.

He couldn’t have been more right. Caught in his thoughts for just a moment, he took a swift yet devastating blow to the gut, sending him sliding backward across the floor.

Lieutenant Bruce cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. "Now," he said coolly, "let’s get started."

Before Daylan could even process Bruce’s words, a blow slammed into his gut—followed by another to his jaw. And before the pain could register, a third strike crashed into his ribs.

He wasn’t this fast yesterday... so how?—he thought and spat blood on the floor.

It doesn’t matter now. I mustn’t go down easily.

Daylan stared at Bruce, who stood casually at a distance, fury blazing in his eyes. He didn’t have a clear plan, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t let Bruce strike first.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dashed forward and struck at Bruce—but it was easily dodged. He followed up with another attack, and as Bruce evaded once more, Daylan slipped in with a peek-a-boo maneuver, catching him off guard and landing a powerful blow to his chin.

The hit wasn’t enough to knock him down, but Lieutenant Bruce quickly created distance.

Daylan was right on him. Bruce’s speed was overwhelming—but through relentless repetition, Daylan was beginning to catch up.

Medora, Astara, and a few chivalries stood at the entrance, watching intently—though it was nearly impossible to follow their movements. Without sharp eyes, all anyone could see was the aftermath of each clash, and that’s exactly what most of them were witnessing.

Daylan stayed on Lieutenant Bruce’s tail, striking whenever he got close. Though only a few hits connected—and even those were blocked—his attacks were growing stronger by the minute.

It was clear that Bruce had figured out Daylan’s ability—he knew Daylan’s movements evolved through repetition, and that if he could force him to stop, everything would reset to zero. That was exactly what Bruce was planning to do—and Daylan knew it.

To the bystanders, it looked like Daylan had the upper hand—but in reality, he was struggling. He took Bruce’s blows head-on, just to avoid resetting his momentum. And while Lieutenant Bruce held back with measured strikes, they were still powerful. Worse yet, Daylan’s limbs were beginning to give out.

Daylan didn’t want to burn through all his energy. Nearly thirty minutes into the fight, he knew he needed something—anything—he could use to his advantage.

His eyes were sharp, and though his strikes remained powerful, his movements were growing sluggish. His body endured Bruce’s blows in agony, dodging only when it could.

As for his mind—he was completely lost in thought.

In an instant, he took a blow to the jaw—then suddenly, something clicked. Lieutenant Bruce had a pattern. Just before each strike, he paused slightly... and his body would almost always feint to the right.

A quiet thrill of triumph sparked in Daylan’s mind as he tried to put distance between himself and Bruce. But for some reason, Bruce wasn’t allowing it anymore—he kept pressing forward, unrelenting, refusing to give Daylan even a second to breathe.

With no other choice and only a shallow breath left, he summoned every ounce of strength to seize the brief moment between Bruce readying his strike and actually delivering it.

His eyes lit up in an instant—the moment had come. With more power and speed than ever before, he swung his fist, launching a strike straight at Bruce’s head.

Before the strike could land, Daylan collapsed to the ground—unconscious.

Astara and Medora rushed over to check on him, but Daylan was completely unconscious. Lieutenant Bruce stood upright, braced himself, and told them to take Daylan to the infirmary before leaving the hall.

Daylan had poured every last ounce of energy into that final strike—but his body gave out before he could land it, ending the fight exactly as he had feared.

Everyone who witnessed the duel was left with the same question: Daylan’s strike looked powerful—but if it had landed, would he have won? It was safe to say even Lieutenant Bruce wondered that himself.

After Daylan was taken to the infirmary, Astara and Medora returned to their training.

They knew he wouldn’t be up anytime soon—Daylan always slept for a while after exhausting his ability. More importantly, they had less than two days left before returning to the Phantom mission; every moment counted.

After nearly a full day of unconsciousness, Daylan finally woke up. A sharp ache pulsed through his head as he reached up to massage it. But knowing himself, he could tell he’d been out for too long—and he didn’t have the luxury of resting any longer.

The moment he stepped out of the room, he ran into Lieutenant Bruce—who, by the looks of it, had been on his way to check on him.

"Hey, you’re up. Great fight the other day—you’re really something, huh?" His expression darkened slightly. "Anyway, take care. I’ll be sharing some good news with you soon."

Daylan looked at him, a bit confused but grateful for the praise. "Uh... okay, thanks."

Still, he was quietly rejoicing—being acknowledged by a lieutenant meant a lot. It felt like he was finally standing on equal ground.

But deep down, a question lingered. Was he really their equal? Had he ever truly stood a chance? After all, neither of them had gone all out.