Rigo stared at the child before her, surprise hidden behind her emotionless face.
The boy’s small sword—simple and worn—was raised firmly. Determination burned in his eyes, while his small body looked utterly mismatched against Rigo’s taller, battle-hardened figure.
Yet something about him unsettled her.
A feeling she rarely experienced anymore.
Uncertainty.
For a brief moment, the boy felt like a reflection of herself—like a shadow emerging from both her past and her future at the same time.
“Why don’t you surrender?” Rigo asked coldly, her voice cutting through the tension hanging between them.
The boy did not answer.
Instead, he lunged forward with startling speed.
His sword moved in swift, precise arcs, almost invisible in the fading light of dusk. Rigo deflected the strike easily, but something about his movement stirred an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
The way he moved…
It was eerily similar to her own style.
In some ways, it was even sharper—more cunning—almost as if he had studied every movement she had ever made.
Their blades collided with a deafening clang.
The sound of metal echoed across the silent courtyard.
The boy attacked relentlessly, his strikes aggressive yet calculated. Every movement aimed for the smallest gap in Rigo’s defense. Within seconds, the intensity of the duel escalated far beyond what Rigo had expected.
This child wasn’t fighting on determination alone.
He had skill.
Real skill.
His sword style was distinctive—fast, light, and fluid, yet surprisingly powerful despite his small frame. His attacks flowed in unpredictable patterns: spinning cuts, deceptive feints, and low sweeping strikes designed to destabilize his opponent.
Rigo, accustomed to battling larger and stronger enemies, found herself adjusting to the boy’s unconventional but highly effective movements.
He fought like the wind—unpredictable, striking from every direction.
Rigo stepped back slightly, her eyes locked onto the boy.
Curiosity began to stir within her.
A feeling long buried beneath years of indifference.
“Who are you?” Rigo asked again, her voice quieter now, though still firm.
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The boy answered only with a fierce glare. His lips remained tightly sealed.
The battle resumed.
This time with even greater intensity.
Rigo launched a counterattack, her blade flashing forward with deadly speed. Yet the boy did not retreat—in fact, he seemed even more energized.
His small sword parried her strikes with surprising precision.
Again and again he dodged her attacks with quick movements only someone highly trained could perform.
They circled across the courtyard, now littered with the bodies of the Baron’s fallen guards.
Each clash of steel sent sparks scattering into the darkening air.
The boy moved with astonishing agility, his small body bending and twisting in ways difficult to anticipate.
At one moment he swept his blade low, aiming for Rigo’s legs with a swift, dangerous strike.
Rigo blocked it with the edge of her sword and immediately countered with a slash aimed at the boy’s neck.
The boy barely evaded it.
But he did not falter.
With a motion uncannily similar to Rigo’s own fighting style, he spun into a sudden counterattack. His sword rotated swiftly, striking with impressive precision.
Rigo blocked it with a firm twist of her wrist.
For the first time—
She felt pressure.
He’s not just copying my technique… Rigo realized silently.
He’s executing it well.
Amid the increasingly brutal duel, the boy suddenly unleashed a surprising maneuver.
He spun into a leaping slash—a technique usually mastered only by elite assassins.
Rigo had to move quickly to avoid it.
Yet before she could recover, the boy followed with a sharp thrust aimed directly at her abdomen.
Rigo deflected the strike in a flash, her eyes narrowing.
How could a child know this technique?
Confusion mingled with curiosity.
Their eyes met again in the middle of battle.
And in that moment, Rigo saw something that shook her.
The boy’s gaze burned with life.
Yes, there was darkness there—something familiar to her—but unlike Rigo, who had long been swallowed by emotional emptiness, the boy still carried a living flame.
He wasn’t fighting merely to survive.
He was fighting for something greater.
“Why do you fight like this?” Rigo asked, her voice slightly rough now though her blade remained steady.
“Who taught you?”
The boy blocked her strike and finally spoke.
“I fight for the people I love!”
His voice rang out with raw emotion.
“I fight because I know what it means to lose!”
The words struck Rigo like an unseen blow.
Emotion.
Real emotion.
Something she had not heard since the distant days of her forgotten childhood.
The battle continued.
Strike after strike.
Clash after clash.
The boy never stepped back—even though exhaustion was clearly beginning to weigh on him.
Sweat streamed down his young face.
Yet his eyes still burned with unwavering determination.
And within Rigo…
Something strange stirred.
Something dangerously close to admiration.
Perhaps even respect.
Suddenly the boy leapt high into the air, delivering a powerful vertical strike.
Rigo blocked it with her blade, the impact exploding with a loud crack.
But it was a feint.
Mid-air, the boy twisted his body and aimed a sweeping strike at Rigo’s legs.
Rigo evaded just in time.
Yet the clever maneuver revealed something undeniable:
The boy was truly well trained.
Rigo slowly realized that this battle was no longer about strength.
It was about spirit.
The boy was a reflection of who she once had been—
Fearless.
Relentless.
But with one crucial difference.
He still had emotions driving him forward.
In the middle of the storm of attacks, Rigo felt a faint tremor within herself.
A shadow of the past trying to slip back into her hollow heart.
Finally, after a fierce exchange of blows, both of them paused.
Breathing heavily.
The boy stared at her with burning determination.
“I won’t surrender,” he said firmly.
“Because I still have something worth protecting.”
Rigo fell silent.
Her sword remained raised, but the killing intent behind it had faded.
The boy’s words echoed inside her mind, slowly seeping into the walls of indifference she had built for so many years.
They prepared to continue the fight.
But this time—
Something had changed.
Within Rigo’s cold gaze, a faint flicker of emotion appeared.
And for the first time in years…
It was not hatred.
It was respect.
