The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed out from a ruined cathedral.
The ground quivered beneath each dull clang, accompanied by the sharp, rhythmic pants of a young man and woman locked in combat.
The young woman was a golden beauty—quite literally.
She moved with the grace of royalty and the force of a tempest, clad in golden-inlaid armor. Her long, flowing hair shimred like molten tal, matching the glow of her piercing golden eyes. In her hand, a rapier glead, darting forward to clash against the blade of her opponent.
The young man facing her was her opposite in every way. His eyes were like lightless abysses, his hair a ss of raven-black strands. He wore regal, muted armor with a dull, ashen crown hovering just above his head like a halo—an eerie echo of nobility.
Damon stepped back with calculated calm, narrowly evading a swift jab from Evangeline. He parried with a subtle twist of his wrist, smirking faintly, then reached forward to grab her wrist mid-motion.
But Evangeline switched hands in an instant, driving her elbow toward his face. Damon dipped his head, dodging cleanly.
She leapt back, boots scraping dust across the cracked stone floor, and drew in a deep breath to steady her rhythm.
She smiled. "You really should have taken up my offer back when I first asked… you'd make a great sparring partner."
Damon scoffed, the mory of her proposition at the academy flashing through his mind—the one he'd casually brushed off.
"And give you the satisfaction of getting what you want… not a chance."
Evangeline raised her sword, the blade suddenly radiating a blinding flash of light.
"Let's see how you do without sight…"
Damon didn't hesitate. He moved forward, blade in hand. Relying on his shadow sense, he didn't need eyes. His body moved through muscle mory, the dark sensing skill guiding his steps.
He t her strike and parried again. She lunged, ramming her shoulder into him, knocking his sword loose.
His hand dropped instinctively to his daggers, aiming them toward her chest—but she simply smiled.
"You lose."
Damon exhaled and ca to a stop. Right. This was a swordsmanship lesson, not a kill-or-be-killed fight. He slid his dagger back into place. Evangeline had outmatched him—with the sword, at least.
Applause echoed across the chamber.
The others sat watching from the stone pews of the ruined cathedral.
Leona grinned. "You almost had her there…"
Sylvia nodded, her smile subtle. "That was a close match if I've ever seen one. A sha you're only good at defensive swordsmanship. Your attacks leave too many openings."
Xander glanced toward Matia, arms folded.
"He's using those techniques from that Mist Knight… or at least a ssy mix of them. Also seems like he's obsessed with following every rule. That's not how he usually fights…"
Matia nodded thoughtfully. "He actually seed more flexible the mont he lost his sword." She tilted her head.
"You're far too rigid. You focus more on form than anything else—as if obsessed with perfection. Normally, you only care about the end result: killing your opponent. But when you use a sword, suddenly the ans matter."
Evangeline crossed her arms, brow furrowed. She had taught him a lot these past few days. It made her feel... oddly pathetic. It took her years to be this good.
"You're really good with a sword. Your basics are perfect, and you learn fast—too fast. Why didn't you take a swordsmanship class at the academy?"
Damon sighed, frustration etched across his face. His swordsmanship had improved, but his mastery hadn't increased.
"I feel like sothing's missing. I can imitate what I see… but I don't have a technique that's truly mine. I can only be other people…"
He hesitated, biting his lip before speaking further.
"I'm rigid because my father taught with strict rules. Only by following them perfectly could I beco perfect… but—"
"That's not you," Leona interrupted. "You're not perfect. And you'd have had to practice for years to make it that ingrained."
He shook his head.
"No, not really. I only practiced when I felt really frustrated with life… which was a lot, so I guess so…"
Matia rubbed her chin and stood. "I think you're in too much of a rush. Honestly? You're a prodigy with the sword—but don't rush success. It takes a thousand battles to be a master. You've fought a lot, so you know how to kill, but not how to do it with a sword…"
She looked at him seriously.
"One real battle is better than a thousand practice swings."
Evangeline nodded, her tone just as serious. "It'll take ti to beco a master. Until then, I'll keep teaching you my family's sword style."
Damon nodded, sighing again. Xander gave Evangeline a look.
"Wasn't that technique perfected by Grand Duke Damian Brightwater? Passed down only to direct descendants of the family? Are you sure it's a good idea?"
Evangeline shrugged. "What Grandfather doesn't know won't hurt him."
Damon suddenly didn't like the idea of learning her swordsmanship anymore.
"Erhm… I think—"
Evangeline sneered. "Don't tell you're scared of a noble… wow, that's real maturity. Finally, he learns fear…"
Damon clicked his tongue. He knew exactly what she was doing—but his mother didn't raise a wimp. Might as well put on a princess dress if he backed down now.
"As if I'd be scared of any noble. Even an old monster at the seventh class advancent who can destroy a continent…"
Evangeline gave him a flat look.
"You didn't have to ntion the last part. That was so unnecessary."
He smiled " mama didn't raise a wimp."
Xander seized the mont, his grin sharp. "Yeah, she didn't raise a wimp… she barely raised you at all. Probably why you're so feral."
Damon scoffed, then smiled. "I'll take that as a complint."
He turned to Sylvia, his voice dry. "Now that your eye's all healed up… when do we set out?"
She nodded, glancing at the crumbled altar and the pristine goddess statue behind it.
"Tomorrow would be good. But first, we should investigate the underground stairwell beneath the altar. We may yet have a fortuitous encounter…"
"Or et a horrible demise." Damon muttered.
User Comments
0 comments from readers