Chapter 63: Herald Vs. Mudrel
"Mudrel!" Herald called out, his voice echoing in the confined space. "A quick duel. Let Show him how it’s done."
Mudrel sat on a stool in the far corner, carefully running a cloth along the length of his broadsword. His face, marked with old scars and weathered by years of fighting, was calm and focused. When Herald stepped forward and spoke, Mudrel looked up. His gaze shifted briefly to me before returning to Herald, a knowing glint in his eyes.
He recognized what this was. Not a fight. A demonstration. A lesson.
"As you wish, Herald," Mudrel said, his voice low and gravelly. He folded the cloth neatly and set it aside before rising to his feet. For a man his size, his movements were surprisingly fluid. He was broad and thickly built, but he didn’t carry the stiffness that often came with old wounds. He moved like someone who had spent his life in armor, who had fought in mud, fire, and blood, and had come out alive every time.
Herald didn’t reach for the broadsword strapped to his back. Instead, with a flick of his fingers, a small dagger appeared in his hand.
Herald’s left eye stayed shut, the Mythic Dragon’s Eye dormant. He wasn’t using power today. He didn’t need to.
Mudrel let out a quiet laugh when he saw the dagger. He tapped the flat of his broadsword against his palm. "A dagger? That’s generous of you," he said. "Might stand a chance if you fought me blindfolded and without arms. Even then, you’d probably still win."
There was no bitterness in his voice, just a hint of humor—maybe even respect. He knew the gap between them wasn’t something he could close.
Herald didn’t respond. He simply rolled his shoulders and settled into a loose, almost lazy stance. The dagger hung loosely from his fingers like it was barely worth holding. Mudrel, on the other hand, shifted into a battle-ready posture. His broadsword was raised, feet set apart, his expression serious now.
Then it started.