Chapter 27: Duel
I roll my shoulders, gripping the saber tightly, feeling its balance settle in my hand. Across from me, Howard stands with perfect posture, his feet planted in a textbook stance, his sword held at just the right angle, rigid, disciplined, the kind of stance drilled into nobles and soldiers who have spent their entire lives training in polished halls under expert tutors.
It's almost amusing. He's confident, completely sure of himself. He expects this to go like every other sparring match he's had. A test of skill, an elegant exchange of swordplay. But real fights don't work like that. He's not fighting one of his father's knights. He's fighting me.
I grew up in the outskirts. There, fights aren't about form or honor—they're about survival. They're fast, brutal, and end the moment someone lands a decisive blow. There's no time to dance around, testing an opponent's defenses. I can't rely on my powers. Not unless I suddenly develop a deep hatred for the kid in the next few seconds. That means I need to end this fight quickly, before he has a chance to use his mark against me.
Kirper raises a hand, his voice carrying over the silent courtyard.
"Begin!"
I move.
One moment, I'm standing still. The next, I explode forward like a bullet.
The packed dirt beneath my boots barely scatters, my entire body a blur of motion. Gasps echo from the watching soldiers as I close the distance in an instant, faster than any of them can react—any of them, except Cain, whose gaze follows me with ease.
Howard doesn't even have time to blink before my blade is already swinging toward his neck.
His eyes widen in pure shock, a flicker of fear flashing across his face as he instinctively raises his sword. He manages to tilt it just enough to deflect my strike, our blades colliding with a sharp clang. But I don't stop. I don't hesitate.
I pivot sharply, my foot twisting into the dirt, and before Howard can regain his footing, my fist is already crashing into his unguarded face.