Kyrat didn’t wait for a signal, or to see if his opponent would make a move. This time, he would fulfill his promise. He moved, pushing off the wooden floor in the blink of an eye.

The man stepped back, Kyrat’s sword barely grazing the tip of his collar.

His opponent stopped a fair bit away, but he closed it as fast as he did. His body twisted, ready to shoot his own attack in retaliation. The pull of his arm, the shift in his eyes, the angle of his legs; Kyrat didn’t need to see them to know.

He sidestepped before the punch came close, putting him beside the lunging man. Kyrat brought down his sword’s hilt for a quick jab at the man’s sides.

“Ugh—?!” he groaned as air left his lungs.

He crashed sideways into a full-length mirror, shattering it in an explosion of glass. The man fell down as glittering mirror shards followed, but he regained his balance quickly for a man with mirror shards sticking to the back of his suit.

“Not bad,” he muttered, shaking off the shards from his sleeves. “You’re not an instructor for nothing.”

Kyrat didn’t let up. His sword was once again in range.

This time, the man ducked under a high slash, then launched a sudden knee kick aimed at Kyrat’s stomach, perhaps a payback for earlier. But Kyrat saw it. Not with his eyes.

His blade hand pivoted mid-swing, while his off-hand caught the kid mid-air.

With a grunt, Kyrat hurled him back into the far wall.

The man crashed into his canopy bed. The wooden posts splintered, and the roof of the bed crashed down on him like a sandwich. A moment later, the canopy flew upward as the man kicked it away, scattering dust and debris around the now dysfunctional bed.

He stood up with a lunge, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tight.

Kicking aside a broken beam, he circled out of the wreckage, stepping back until he was in the clear of debris.

“Tell me, do all knights in this kingdom play with their food?” he said, his tone not as eloquent as before. It more or less painted the picture of someone fed up.

Good. The more he could wipe off that annoyingly confident smile of his, the better.

Kyrat didn’t respond. He was already moving.

He threw out a thrust, so fast that the air whistled around his blade.

The man jumped to the side, the sword grazing his cuffs as it stabbed into the wall behind him, embedding it deep. Sensing a punch aimed at the sides of his face, Kyrat ducked.

Kyrat responded by committing to a kick at the man.

Perhaps already used to the back-and-forth, the man blocked just in time. But it still hit hard, it knocked him clean off his feet, slamming him against a cupboard, cracks spreading through. Kyrat pried free his sword in the meantime.

As the man slumped forward from the blow, the cupboard creaked. Its door gave out, and its contents spilled out in a clatter. A large wine bottle toppled and shattered with a ringing splash, soaking the carpet in dark violet liquid.

The man turned, eyes widening at the mess bleeding into the floor.

Kyrat scoffed. “Still offering that wine after this?”

The man didn’t answer. He pushed off the floor and lunged low.

Kyrat blocked the blow. The impact sent tremors through his arms. But it was manageable.

The man threw blows again, his fists blurred. One to Kyrat’s stomach, another to his shoulder, and a jab that would twist into an elbow drop.

But Kyrat blocked and dodged every single blow.

He wasn’t reacting anymore; he was anticipating. After all, now that rage had consumed his mind, predicting his moves became easier than trimming grass.

His sword danced around the man’s fists and kicks. Each and every blow he threw sent gusts of air around the room.

One clean strike was what the man needed to break Kyrat down. But Kyrat had no intention of letting even a single touch in.

Kyrat disappeared for a blink, sliding to the side. His blade sliced down across the man’s sleeve. He backed off with a startle. In response, he reached down and then hurled a chair. Kyrat caught it in midair without breaking stride.

“Tch, you caught it?”

“I had enough things thrown at my face,” Kyrat responded before dropping the chair gently.

The man looked down at his arm, and a tear was there, along with a shallow line of blood soaked through his suit. The slash earlier had hit cleanly. A byproduct of the man losing his composure. The man sighed, as though more annoyed at the mess than the pain.

“This wasn’t supposed to go this off-course,” he muttered.

Kyrat raised his blade, pointing the tip at him.

“Then you shouldn’t have messed with my family.”

The man chuckled. “I’ll admit, I underestimated you,” the man continued. “I knew of your title. I knew you taught the blade. But to move like this in a real fight… You’re wasted in an office.”

“Hmph, this isn’t over. I won’t stop until you breathe your last breath.”

“Oh, yes, it certainly isn’t over yet. Which is why I’ll take my leave now.”

Kyrat’s eyes narrowed. What was he planning? He stepped forward, his blade didn’t waver.

“Take your leave? You won’t even take another step.”

The man met his gaze, brushing dust off his shoulders.

“I wonder about that.”

Kyrat felt it then, a flicker of pressure from behind the man. He spun and ran straight to the middle of the room.

In a single motion, he pivoted, grabbed a broken wooden table leg and hurled it. Kyrat swatted it away with his off hand and didn’t waste time to chase after the man.

But by the time Kyrat had taken his first few steps—

Glass shattered.

The man had turned and flung himself shoulder-first through a window on the side of the room. The full wooden frame followed him outside, along with a storm of clear shards.

“Damn it!”

Kyrat dashed forward, stepping over various debris filling the room. He reached the broken window and looked down, hoping the man had broken his foot on the ground and his men encircling him.

But no, there was no sign of him on the ground.

Then, he detected a motion above.

Kyrat’s eyes snapped up just in time to catch the man’s figure sprinting across the slanted roof of the adjacent building. But in the blink of an eye, his shadow disappeared as if he had never been there.

“Tch!” Kyrat clicked his tongue and turned towards another window. His eyes fell to his men down on the ground, stunned by the sight.

“Anton!” Kyrat yelled.

“On it!” another voice replied.

Anton rushed forward, following the adjacent buildings. 

Kyrat turned to his knights and barked. “Follow Anton and apprehend that man!”

“Yes, Sir!” A cacophony of affirmations echoed from below.

The knights rushed to follow Anton. 

Turning back to the broken window, Kyrat leaped through the missing frame and dropped onto the rooftiles of the adjacent building. He didn’t waste time and began chasing the tracks left behind by the man, any that he could sense, at least.

He felt the urge to slap himself for letting the man run free. But he won’t let him go around for long.

Kyrat’s eyes followed Anton on the ground, running as fast as he could. 

Then, a shout echoed through the buildings.

“He took a left! Follow me!” he shouted to the knights behind him.

Left?

Kyrat stopped in his tracks, his boots skidding across the bumpy rooftiles. His neck snapped to the side, his eyes looking to the direction of a small hill of buildings, housing various mansions.

“Don’t tell me…” Kyrat bit his lip as he continued his pursuit. Deep inside his heart, he hoped.

Leila, Feyt, please… protect Carine! I’m coming!

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep