"The master himself is the one fighting…" Anissa muttered under her breath.
Geist cracked his knuckles and stepped forward eagerly, but before he could take his stance, Colt swaggered past him with a wide grin. "Oi, no cutting in line!" Geist barked.
Colt only glanced back with a smirk. "Relax, boss. Leave this one to me."
He twirled the wooden daggers in his grip and crouched low, while William stood tall and calm, wooden blade resting lightly at his side.
"Before we begin," William's voice carried through the courtyard, "you will use only the weapons provided. No runes. No exceptions. And remember, if your opponent yields or is injured, the fight is over."
A hush fell over the watching students.
Without waiting another breath, Colt lunged. His daggers carved two intersecting arcs through the air, forming an X meant to cleave through any guard, gasps rose from the onlookers at the speed of his opening strike.
But William was gone from the line of attack, his step timed to perfection, body flowing just out of reach as if he had read Colt's intent before the motion even began.
Cael's crimson eyes flickered, that footwork… I've seen this before.
Colt's grin widened, instead of faltering, he pressed harder. A sweeping slash from the left, feinted into an upward strike, parried with the smallest tilt of William's wrist. Colt leapt, twisting in midair, a boot lashing out like a whip, followed by a storm of spinning cuts.
The crowd erupted at the sheer ferocity, but William did not yield ground, his gaze tracked, until the faintest opening revealed itself.
One step, a precise lift of his foot.
Colt's landing staggered, lost his balance in an instant. His daggers clattered as William's wooden blade touched lightly against his chest.
Thud, Colt dropped to the dirt.
Silence, then an eruption of cheers as William's students leapt to their feet, chanting for their master.
Colt groaned, rubbing the back of his head, then gave a crooked grin as he pushed himself upright. He smacked the wooden blade aside with a begrudging laugh before trudging to the sidelines. "Tch… guess I'll take that loss."
William lowered his weapon, nodding once as if to mark the lesson learned.
Before silence could settle, Geist eagerly stepped forward. "Finally, my turn…"
But Fran suddenly strode past him. "I got this!"
Geist groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Ugh… will it ever be my turn?"
The fight began and ended almost swiftly, William's blade moved like water, and Fran collapsed to his knees, panting, before raising a hand in surrender. "I give up…" He shuffled to the sidelines beside Colt, both wearing grim but respectful expressions.
Geist puffed his chest, about to reclaim the stage, when a quiet voice cut through the courtyard.
"Mind if I spar next?"
Cael.
Geist froze, then sighed with exaggerated defeat, waving his hand. "Fine… go ahead."
Cael approached the rack, lifted a wooden sword, and turned to face William. His stance looked loose, almost fragile yet something about it, William's brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. "He leaves no opening…"
As they raised their blade, slowly, Cael began to advance, step by step, the sound of wood scraping dirt echoed across the training ground.
Seconds stretched into an eternity. Neither attacked.
Rebecca leaned toward Geist, whispering, "Why aren't they moving?"
Geist's expression tightened, his eyes wide in rare admiration, a bead of sweat trailed down his neck. "They are, they're fighting with their minds… sizing each other up."
Even the students, once rowdy, held their breath. A single drop of sweat slid from one boy's chin and struck the stone floor.
Clang!
In that instant, wood met wood in a blur, the clash was so sharp, so sudden, it ended faster than the crowd could process, Colt and Fran leaned forward, stunned.
"What was that?" Fran muttered, eyes darting between the two fighters now locked in place.
The air trembled as Cael and William closed the gap, wood meeting wood in a storm of furious strikes. Each stance mirrored and countered, neither yielding, each clash echoing like thunder across the training yard. Students held their breath as the two combatants pushed past human limits, their movements masterful yet terrifying to behold.
Then, as though by unspoken accord, both stepped back, shifting into new stances, not of defense, but to end in one attack. silence swallowed the field.
In a single, blinding instant they crossed, the impact rang sharp, both swords shattered, splinters scattering like sparks in the wind.
A stunned hush fell. The duel was called. A draw.
Geist stand and clap his hand as others were snapped back to reality and praised both for their wonderful display of skill, Geist rested his arms on Cael's shoulder and gave a wink and thumbs up.
The training ground quieted, the group gathered around a low table set with steaming cups of tea. Geist still sulked, chin in his hand, muttering about how unfair it was that he hadn't gotten his turn to spar. Rebecca leaned against him, murmuring comforts that he only half-listened to.
William, seated opposite Cael, set down his cup and asked the question that lingered on everyone's mind. "Where did you learn to move like that?"
For a moment, Cael said nothing. His gaze was distant, shadowed by memories. Finally, he answered. "I… learned it from someone dear to me."
William studied him, catching the flicker of pain in his eyes before Cael turned away. The moment broke as William's wife entered, carrying a tray of tea and rice-biscuits. The sweetness softened the air, filling the silence with something warm.
Fran leaned forward. "Can you teach me that? You were amazing!" The others chimed in quickly, voices tumbling over one another with admiration and curiosity.
Cael smiled faintly, though sorrow still edged the curve of his lips. "I'm not as good as you think. I failed my team before… they all died. I am the only one left."
The group hushed, the weight of his confession settling around them. Then Geist, refusing the silence, reached over and ruffled Cael's hair with a laugh. "Then all the more reason you should join us in Albiz Phiria! You'd fit right in."
The others cheered at the idea, their smiles returning, but Cael brushed Geist's hand away with a sigh. "I didn't agree to that."
Geist only grinned wider, throwing an arm around his shoulders in mock celebration.
William and his wife walked with the group as they prepared to leave, the warmth of the day slowly giving way to the hush of evening, but then William called out to Cael.
"If it wasn't too much, can I borrow you for a minute, Cael?" he said.
The others paused, waiting just down the path, while Cael followed William a few paces farther. They stopped where the light of the setting sun. William's face, usually so composed, seemed carved with something he kept for a long time.
"I had a brother once," he began quietly, his gaze locked on the horizon. "His name was Arthur. We were attacked by the Veyrith almost a decade ago… and I never heard from him again."
At last, William turned, eyes sharp with conviction as they met Cael's. "Tell me. Do you know his whereabouts?"
The question hung heavy in the air, the silence remained until Cael bowed his head. His voice, when it came, was low but sincere.
"Yes," he said gently. "I did. He was… a hero."
For a moment William did not move, then his shoulders eased, and a faint smile touched his lips, fragile, but genuine smile. His eyes lingered on the setting sun, its light spilling across the horizon like the closing of a chapter.
Though his heart bore the weight of grief, he accepted Cael's words with quiet dignity. "Thank you," he murmured. "For your honesty."
Together, without another word, they turned back toward the path where the others waited, the fading light casting long shadows behind them.
Back in the city, Geist led his squad through the lively streets until they found a modest inn tucked along the main road. Keys exchanged, laughter traded, and soon the group split into pairs for the night. Geist, without hesitation, claimed Cael as his roommate.
Their quarters were simple, two beds, a small desk, and a lantern casting its soft, flickering glow across the walls, Geist threw himself onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh of satisfaction, arms spread wide.
"Ah, finally after a long day." he declared with boyish grin. Turning his head, he added more sincerely, "Thanks for sticking with us today."
Cael gave a small nod. "And thank you… for letting me come along."
Later that night, when silence settled over the inn and even the lantern had dimmed to embers, Cael's eyes opened. he rose without a sound, slipped to the window, and vanished into the night.
His mask materialized in his hand, the moment he placed it over his face, black miasma poured forth, wrapping his body. Chitin coiled around, layering into jagged plates of dark armor. With a ripple of energy, his form blurred and disappeared entirely.
Unseen, he darted across the rooftops like a wraith, from the city's edge he leapt beyond the walls, into the forest where his target is. Below, a cluster of Veyrith gathered in secret, seemingly plotting bloodshed.
Cael's claws extended with a sickening hiss, then in a storm of violence, he tore through them, scattered limbs across the earth. One by one, their essence bled into him, absorbed by the abyss that dwelled within.
When the last fell, the night grew still again, he returned the same way he had come, slipping back into the inn's window. But as he landed inside, a voice broke the silence.
"Where have you been?"
Geist leaned against the window, arms crossed, the faintest of grins on his lips, but his eyes were sharp.
But Cael dismissed it and went past him to his bed, raising Geist suspicion, Geist lay on his bed and told Cael "You can tell me, anything, Cael, you can trust us." Cael turned his back on Geist and turned to sleep.
The next morning, the squad found themselves wandering through the bustling plaza. A restless crowd had gathered, their voices rising in waves of excitement. Curious, Geist bounded forward with childlike enthusiasm, dragging the others along in his wake.
At the center, a merchant dressed in finery raised a bulging sack high above his head. "Come one, come all! Behold!" he cried. With a flourish, he unfurled the cloth and revealed what lay within, a gleaming weapon etched with glowing runes.
Cael's eyes narrowed, "that weapon…" he recognized it. One of the very same runed blades carried by the Veyrith he had slaughtered in the forest last night.
The merchant's voice boomed over the awe-struck crowd. "This is no ordinary weapon. Forged by the finest of Veyrith artisans, claimed only after a brutal and costly victory! And now, it shall belong to one worthy among you!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, hungry for the chance. Geist's eyes practically sparkled, entranced by the intricate craftsmanship, the shifting glow of the runes that seemed alive in the light.
"But!" the merchant paused, raising a finger, "such a weapon cannot be sold, nor bartered for coin. It must be earned! A contest of strength will be held in the arena. Whoever triumphs shall claim this weapon as their prize!"
Excitement rippled through the plaza.
Annisa, standing at Geist's side, tugged his sleeve with unease. "Squad leader, perhaps we should"
But it was already too late, Geist had impulsively grabbed the ballot from the registrar, scribbled down their squad's name with a flourish, and dropped it into the box.
The others groaned in unison.
Later that afternoon, the arena roared with life. Stone seats filled quickly as crowds flooded in, merchants shouting over one another while vendors sold food and trinkets. The air vibrated with anticipation, and the ticket stalls could barely keep up.
On the stone wide platform, contenders assembled in their respective teams, each squad lined up under banners flapping in the wind. Murdoc's towering form was unmistakable; he spotted Geist among the participants and sneered as he passed. Geist, unfazed, merely stretched his neck with a casual roll of his shoulders and walked by as though the man were little more than background noise.
The announcer strode to the center, "Welcome, citizens of Drosmir, to the Grand Contest of Strength!" The crowd erupted, cheers echoing against the walls of the coliseum. "Ten teams, each with five fighters, will prove their might today! The rules are simple: no non-combatants, weapons will be provided, and no quarter until your foe yields or falls!"
As he spoke, an enormous bracket was unveiled on a hanging board, names and insignias burned into the parchment with enchanted ink. The chart divided the contestants into two main brackets, A and B, with the victors of each set to clash until third, second, and ultimately first place were decided.
Geist and his team gathered in their designated block. The energy of the crowd was infectious, but not everyone shared the same enthusiasm. Annisa slumped on the bench with her arms crossed tight. "Squad leader… what stupid idea is this now?"
Rebecca groaned beside her, resting her chin in her palm. "Well, he is stupid, so this is no surprise."
Albert muttered quietly over his notes, clearly uninterested, while on the other end of the bench, Fran and Colt practically vibrated with excitement. Colt was grinning ear to ear. Fran bounced on his heels, eyes scanning the opposing teams with eager curiosity.
Meanwhile, Geist was all smiles, hands behind his head as though they were here for a festival instead of a bloodsport.
"Relax, you guys. This'll be fun!"
The first bout began with a clash of raw talent, two agile fighters darting across the arena with blades sparking. The crowd howled as the dust rose, cheering every blow and counter. In the end, the combatant in grey robes landed a decisive strike, sending his opponent sprawling. The announcer declared him the victor, and the audience roared their approval.
Then came the next match, a team of hardened veterans squaring off against Murdoc's squad. The challenger was a hulking brawler, scars carved across his chest like medals of survival. Across from him stood Murdoc's assassin, a wiry figure cloaked in tattered cloth, his chained sickle glinting wickedly in the sun.
The fight was brutal from the first step, the brawler charged like a bull, fists cracking the stone beneath him, but the assassin danced around him. Every swing of the sickle drew blood, not deep enough to kill, but enough to wear the giant down little by little.
The crowd booed at the assassin's evasive tricks, yet the referee raised his hand in victory all the same. Murdoc's squad howled with laughter while their opponents tended to their battered comrade.
From the sidelines, Colt's grin faltered into a scowl. His fingers twitched at his daggers, itching for a fight. "Tch!" he clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. "Underhanded trash…"
Next came the veterans' striker against Murdoc's sorceress. She stepped onto the arena with wavy hair spilling past her shoulders, her violet robe trailing like a veil of shadow. In her hands she carried a serpent-headed staff, with a whisper, the arena air thickened, snakes of violet flame lashing out at her foe. The veteran striker fought bravely, weaving through her barrage, but each dodge forced him closer to exhaustion. One misstep was all she needed, the serpent's fangs struck his chest with a burst of energy, sending him sprawling in defeat, Murdoc's team claimed another victory.
Then came the final bout of the round, Murdoc himself strode onto the platform. Across from him stood the opposing leader, a burly warrior with jagged metal fangs and twin protruding saws fixed to his forearms, the air buzzed with anticipation.
The referee raised his hand, signaling the fight. The warrior bared his teeth and lunged, only for the crowd to blink in confusion, in that instant, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his arms clattering uselessly against the stone.
Gasps erupted from the audience, even Colt and Fran, who prided themselves on their agility, were left dumbfounded.
"Did you see that?" Colt hissed, his grin replaced with unease.
Murdoc stood over his fallen opponent, unfazed, brushing invisible dust from his gauntlet as the crowd erupted in a mix of awe and fear.
Geist's team is called into the arena to face a band of rogue fighters, Geist enters first, full of energy and theatrics, drawing cheers from the crowd while his teammates groan at his antics, Cael, however, watches him intently, eager to see his true skill. The match begins as a knife-wielding rogue steps up against Geist.
Geist draw his sword and the referee gave the signal, and the match began.