I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1313  Oblivious To Social Dynamics

The wind carried a strange quiet, the kind that pressed against the ears like held breath. Duke Amene stood hunched over his sword, clutching it against his chest like a talisman. Northern stood opposite him, straight-backed and loose-limbed, his expression somewhere between mild interest and inconvenience.

‘This is going to be a bother… how do I even control my strength in this case.’

He focused on the Duke and said:

“I’m simply going to fight you with one talent and a dual-based sword ability. Is that okay?”

Duke Amene tilted his head, visibly confused.

‘One talent… he says… isn’t it supposed to be so to begin with?’

Northern noticed the confusion creasing the gentleman’s brow and chuckled lightly.

“I’m a strange one, you see… I can copy people’s talents. In fact, I very well might copy yours…”

‘I don’t have enough talent fragments, but he doesn’t have to know that.’

The news only deepened the Duke’s bewilderment. His expression—eyes closed, face scrunched—was almost comical. He looked genuinely lost, as if Northern had spoken in a language he didn’t know existed.

It was oddly endearing, in a way.

Then, slowly, Duke Amene drew his blade. He held the sword in one hand, the scabbard in the other, gripping the sheath at its midpoint like a secondary weapon. His garment rippled in the wind as he widened his stance and tilted his head, attuning himself to something beyond sight.

To the sound of the silence.

Northern opened his hand. Darkness swirled up from his palm, coiling and extending into two long blades—each one looked brutally heavy, the kind of weapons that should have required two hands and a planted stance. He wielded them like they weighed nothing.

He spun both swords through the air, the blades carving an intimidating rhythm against the silence. The sound announced his position, his movement, his threat. That was the point. Northern wanted to know if, even with every advantage stripped away, the blind man could touch him.

Because Northern was fast. Terribly fast. Faster than this, if he pushed. His eyes caught everything before it arrived, and nothing touched him unless he allowed it.

This man was different. He lived in a different reality entirely—one built from sound and vibration, from the tremor of footsteps and the displacement of air.

And his talent… there was something strange about it.

The moment Northern stilled his blades, the Duke vanished.

Northern stood there, mildly surprised.

‘Oh well… at least he’s fast.’

He brought one sword down as the Duke collided with him. The impact shattered outward—glass cracking, sand scattering from their circle in violent waves.

Northern arced the second blade toward the Duke’s neck. Lazy. Almost dismissive.

But that lazy arc would have taken the man’s head.

Duke Amene heard it coming. Barely. He ducked, the edge hissing past his scalp—and Northern’s leg was already swinging. The kick caught the Duke square in the face and launched him backward like a cannonball, his body carving through the air before he caught himself mid-flight and landed on his own terms, skidding to a halt nearly a hundred meters away, near the far edge of the yard.

His arms were crossed in front of his face. Smoke—or something like it—rose from his forearms where he’d blocked the strike.

A small frown etched itself onto Duke Amene’s face. He lowered his arms, tried to grip his sword.

His hands were shaking.

‘What?’

Northern gazed at the man from a distance and shook his head.

“It was a very bad decision to block my attack head-on. Next time, make sure you dodge. I’m saying this for your own good.” He lifted the longsword in his right hand, testing its weight absently. “I’m really trying to hold back, but there’s no way to know if the amount I’m releasing won’t still kill you.”

The dark blade messed with the ray of light as he angled it toward the Duke.

“I presume you’re a resource to the Kingdom of Ryugan. It’d be a shame to… mistakenly kill you.”

‘Granted, I could still own him as an echo. So it’s not all a loss on my side.’

Duke Amene gave Northern a scathing frown despite his closed eyes.

“Is that supposed to be a taunt, young sir?”

Northern blinked, genuinely confused.

“What? A taunt?” He tilted his head. “Who taunts with words? If I wanted to taunt you, I’d simply use the talent ability I created for that. Taunting with words is such a lame thing to do. I’m merely sharing facts with you.”

He paused, studying the Duke’s expression.

“Wait. Are you… offended?”

Duke Amene said nothing.

He had been ridiculed before. Many times. It was something he had learned to endure — the whispers about the blind swordsman, the doubts, the patronizing praise that never quite believed in him.

But this was different.

Northern wasn’t mocking him, he wasn’t sneering. The young man was simply stating, with absolute certainty, that Duke Amene was outclassed. Not as an insult, as a fact. The way one might note that water was wet.

Acknowledged and insignificant in the same breath.

He was the best in Ryugan and it didn’t matter.

The Gentleman leaned forward, both weapons shifting behind him — sword and scabbard held in a stance that coiled his entire body like a drawn bowstring. Ash began to ooze from his skin, rising in pale wisps toward the sky.

Northern felt the shift in the atmosphere.

He smiled.

He took a side stance and raised one longsword, the edge pointing skyward. The other he held loose, its tip angled lazily toward Admiral Yan, who stood frozen at the edge of the yard, face pale with terror.

Duke Amene bolted forward.

Ash and sparks of flame trailed in his wake, his speed astonishing — a blur that would have given Northern serious trouble once… before Kryos. Before he understood what real speed looked like.

Now it was just movement.

Northern activated a talent without thinking.

[You’re using Tempest Cadence — First Blood Rhythm]

[First Blood Rhythm: Your dual swords move in perfect synchronization. No awkwardness or interference between blades. Attack speed increases by 10% after landing your first hit. Buff stacks every 2 seconds of continuous combat.]

Like a whirlwind of darkness, Northern danced forward with unfair speed and utterly devastated the Gentleman’s momentum.