Chapter 62: Severance of Form III

The man staggered, obviously surprised by the speed, as Vaeron’s sharp eyes moved in calculation, anticipation, and lastly countered with an elegance that belied the absence of his raw essence.

Without wasting a breath, the third attacker hurled himself from the side, fists swinging with lethal precision. Vaeron met him mid-motion, grabbing the man’s forearm and using the momentum to throw him into another.

The impact was a thundering crack that reverberated through the arena, such that her stomach twisted. Lucrezia didn’t know what she’d expected of a duel, but this clearly wasn’t one. It was a symphony of violence, every move choreographed yet felt terrifyingly alive, which intimidated her to the core.

As the fight went on, Lucrezia occasionally held her breath when an impact almost grazed him, and gasped when it did, slightly enough that it drew blood. Gods, she wished she hadn’t eaten at all. The weight of the food in her stomach turned sickening, rolling with every clash of steel as nausea crept up her throat.

A fragile thread of hope, so faint that Lucrezia barely dared acknowledge it, stirred in her chest as she watched the fight tilt in his favor. Relief followed close behind tentatively as she watched him hold his ground through sheer precision.

But her heart plunged the instant the axe-wielder struck again, the blow coming too fast and sudden for comfort, cutting through the brief illusion that he might escape this unscathed.

He swung a massive double-headed axe down in a wide arc aimed at Vaeron’s shoulders. He stepped back, deflecting the blow with the flat of his blade, and the axe struck the stone floor with a deafening clang. The force ran up his arm, making it tremble slightly and Lucrezia noticed it immediately. Even this small hit left him grimacing, despite the effort to mask it.

The flail-wielder moved next. Chains rattled as he swung a jagged iron head in a horizontal arc toward Vaeron’s torso, which he twisted sharply, letting the flail glance off his side.

The motion sent a jolt of pain up his ribs. He gritted his teeth, and for a fraction of a second, Lucrezia saw his jaw tighten as the only sign of effort it took to avoid being struck.

The spear-wielder attacked simultaneously, thrusting with precise, deliberate strikes. Each step Vaeron took had to be calculated to avoid the serrated steel point. One misstep and he could be impaled. The third attack forced him to pivot and duck, and the movement brought him close to the axe-wielder again, who swung blindly, forcing him to step back, narrowly avoiding the crushing steel.

The twin-sabers wielder moved like a predator, stepping lightly, keeping in sync with the others. Slashes came fast, sweeping from multiple angles. Vaeron parried one blade, then the other, twisting his body to avoid the glancing hits. Sweat ran down his neck, dripping onto the hilt of his sword, but he did not hesitate. Every move took a clear toll on his body, and Lucrezia could see the strain in the flare of his nostrils and the twitch of his eyebrows which made her panic more than necessary.

He countered the axe-wielder with a precise kick, sending him stumbling into the flail-wielder’s path. The two men collided with a loud clang. Vaeron used the split second to retreat, breathing hard. His sword arm quivered slightly with the repeated deflections. His chest heaved, the rise and fall visible even through the effort to stay composed. Lucrezia gripped the edge of her seat. She had never seen anyone fight like this under such physical pressure.

The spear came in again, thrusting at him low. Vaeron twisted, avoiding the serrated tip, then drove the spear-wielder backward with a sudden, sharp strike to the man’s forearm who staggered behind, cursing so loud she almost flinched off her seat.

Vaeron’s own arm trembled from the effort. He could not afford even the slightest mistake as each strike cost him more than it would cost a normal warrior. Denying him the time to gather himself, the flail cracked again, aimed at his side.

He blocked it with his sword, but the impact left a sting across his ribs. The force traveled up his shoulder, and Lucrezia noticed a flicker of pain across his face. He didn’t allow himself to show it for more than a heartbeat, but it was there with every attack, every block, clearly visible on him.

Unable to keep her tension bottled, “How long is this going to continue?” She asked the woman, who looked with the same detached interest as the rest of the figures screaming and howling at every fall, attack, and get-back.

The fact that all these was an entertainment, a subject of pleasure in their eyes, terrified her the most.

“If he keeps fighting like this?” the woman said at last. “Until he breaks. Or until they do.”

Lucrezia frowned, following her gaze back to the arena, to the way the four challengers subtly shifted their positions, never straying too far from something placed at the center of their formation.

Was that a… She strained her neck to get a better glimpse of the object and noticed it was a small crate. It took another moment to realize that they were obstructing him from it, which seemed like the final point of the trial.

“There’s something,” She pointed out, wondering if he saw it too. “If he takes it, then this ends?”

The woman’s smile was thin when she responded, “If he takes it, Lady Anastasia,” She corrected. “That’s the question they all came to witness answered,”

Lucrezia swallowed, now understanding just how fragile his advantage was.

The sabers came at him in a coordinated sweep, left and right strikes aimed to force him off balance which he met with a spin, deflecting the curved blades.

The speed required made his muscles scream with effort, his body straining to maintain precision. He stumbled slightly on the rebound, and Lucrezia flinched, her heart racing with dread.

Vaeron’s eyes flicked across the formation. She knew he had no power left or his Sin to shield him. He was exposed, and she noticed his body was already showing fatigue. Sweat streaked across his face, blood running from a shallow cut on his temple as his jaw tightened.

Yet he did not panic, and that which was supposed to give her hope, made her tense more than ever before.

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