We had ventured far from the inn to Strike Point Ground, a training field where warriors honed their craft, where the echoes of countless battles lingered in the air like ghosts of the past. Chara had draped a new cloak over my shoulders, and vanished.
“I win.”
The bore grinned, a glimmer of satisfaction lighting his ruby-hued eyes.
The duel had ended before it had truly begun. Five seconds—that was all it took. One moment, he stood two feet away, the next, the tip of his blade hovered at my nape, an unspoken command halting my breath. I had fought before, but never one who moved with such effortless precision, as though the air itself parted to make way for his form.
My heart thundered in my chest, my pulse roaring like the tides. My lips parted, drawing in a sharp breath—then, a revelation. This is it. The purpose I had sought, the meaning I had cast into oblivion, had found me at last. To defeat him.
"Once more!" I called, the fervor in my voice betraying my exhilaration.
The bore scoffed. "Very well. This time, without blades—bare fists only."
I exhaled, steadying my stance. Then, I lunged. My fist cut through the air, swift and precise—yet it met only emptiness. He evaded with ease, his movements effortless, his reflexes honed to a level beyond my comprehension. How could I match him? How could I reach him? My mind raced, searching for an answer, for a crack in his form, for a thread of weakness to grasp—
Pain. Sudden. Unforgiving.
A brutal impact crashed against my face, splitting my lip, forcing the iron taste of blood onto my tongue. I spat. But rather than recoil, I laughed—loud, unrestrained.
The bore arched a brow, equal parts amused and perplexed. "Do you mock your own defeat?"
I did not answer. Instead, I charged once more, feigning recklessness, allowing instinct to guide my limbs. Again, I swung, and again, he dodged—but this time, I anticipated it. The moment he ducked, I brought my raised fist crashing down toward his exposed gut. The blow connected.
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He staggered, falling to one knee.
“I laughed,” I said, a grin pulling at my bruised lips, “because I realized something. My raw strength surpasses yours, just as your speed surpasses mine.”
He studied me for a moment, then barked out a short, knowing laugh. “I had anticipated your realization, yet I did not expect you to act upon it in such a manner."
I extended my hand, and with an exhale, he clasped it, allowing me to pull him to his feet.
"You must already know—I am the daughter of an Edel and a Boshaft," I murmured. "My purpose had once been to find a place where I belonged. But after I learned of Barrett’s deeds—the man who shaped my very existence—I discarded that purpose into the abyss. Now, I drift with the current of fate, without meaning, without direction.
But just now—just now—for the first time in a long while, I felt it. A pull, a need. I must defeat you. Not in a battle to the death, but with a sword in my grasp."
I stepped forward.
“So, sir, could you aid me?” I asked, bowing my head.
He regarded me in silence, weighing my words, reading something beyond them.
“Hah, this is the first time I ever heard you speak so much.” he said, picking up my sword.
“I intended to train you regardless," he admitted. "You needn't have asked.”
Then, after a pause, he added, "And cease calling me ‘sir.’ We are but of the same age."
I studied him. "You bear the years poorly.” I murmured.
The tips of his ears burned crimson. "I am eighteen!"
I narrowed my eyes. His hair was neither dark nor light, but a deep crimson that shimmered in the sun like tempered steel. And his eyes were as red as the rubies I saw in the books of Library of Whispers. He was a year older than me and was not much taller than me—perhaps three inches at most—yet he carried the weight of a man who would one day be formidable.
“If your observation has ended, I pose a question for you," he said. His gaze was no longer teasing. It was piercing.
"Are you ready to forsake your life to master the blade?"
The weight of his words pressed upon me. Forsake my life?
“No. I would not. But if sacrifice is the price of strength, if it would bring me closer to the prowess you displayed—then yes.” I said. "I am willing to wager. To spill blood and tears."
He smiled. A slow, knowing smile.
"Then so be it."
He offered me the sword, its weight now burdened with promise.
"I will train you, Zilar."
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