Chapter 9: An Official Duel

The entire castle was abuzz with chatter for the first time in several months.

Rumors of an official duel among the children had filled the ears of every cadet, cook, maid, and guard with a bit of free time on their hands.

With the duel scheduled to take place at high noon, the sandpits had started to see a whole litany of guests in the stands.

Everyone off duty, or with a small break, had filed into the area just to spectate.

Not just castle workers, but even the older cadets had stopped by to take a look at the slaughter.

Official duels are somewhat rare in Olethros.

Two cadets of equal or comparable strength usually form a friendship and become steady training partners. Iron sharpens iron.

When it comes to two students with a large gap in skill, the more skilled of the two usually keeps the inferior one as a gofer.

But those running at the bottom of the pack usually never challenge those above. Why would one flirt so casually with certain death?

“Whoa, nobody move but the money!”

“Yeah, nobody move but the motherfucking money! Fall in line!”

Raizel watched an older cadet and his lackey set up a table for gambling. A common occurrence.

The odds were very lopsided. Then again, no one was really expecting any different.

“You have quite the sour face. Are you that worried?”

Agitated was the word that better conveyed how Raizel felt in the moment.

“If things get too bad, I’ll step in.” Emmanuel acquiesced.

His assurances did nothing to sap Raizel of his frustrations.

Clearly, Solomon had grown overconfident after their little experiment last night had been a success.

Raizel wished that Emmanuel had never allowed this foolishness to take place at all.

“It’s starting!”

In the sand pit, the two cadets were entering through separate gates.

Bernard strode outward with a cocky smile he didn’t bother to hide. In contrast, Solomon’s grim expression and blood thirsty eyes were haunting.

Emmanuel jumped down into the sand with the boys.

“You both know the rules. Last chance to forfeit and call it a day.”

Bernard raised his hand.

’Oh, thank fuck…’ Raizel thought.

“If I win, I think it only fair that I take the position of the young master’s sword brother. I will have proved myself more than capable, right?”

’Shit.’

Everyone in the crowd turned toward Raizel to see what his reaction to this would be.

But he didn’t have one. He didn’t even blink.

Bernard’s mood soured further.

“Well, uh… if that’s all then…”

Both cadets took their positions exactly twenty paces away from each other.

Each child wielded a standard silver long sword instead of the wooden ones they had grown accustomed to using.

The weight of the weapons was noticeably different. Yet neither child seemed daunted by that fact.

“Duel!”

A gust of sand was kicked up as Solomon rushed across the pit with his sword raised high.

As someone who had watched Solomon progressively get better over the course of training, Bernard wasn’t surprised by his speed at all.

But when their blades clashed against one another for the first time, he was shocked at the strength behind the blow.

Solomon had never been a particularly strong individual. But just now, the force behind his first strike was almost enough to make Bernard’s arms buckle.

He felt insulted.

Seeing the creature that had been firmly underneath his heel was all too aggravating.

Anger swelled in Bernard’s chest as he launched the first form of the Angel’s Twelve Wings.

For a child with no aura, he was remarkably proficient in swordplay. His strikes were swift and precise, but they contained a fluidity that made his movements seem effortless.

By comparison, Solomon’s defenses seemed stiff. Practiced.

He quickly became overwhelmed by his opponent’s swordsmanship.

Solomon struggled not only with keeping his defenses up, but also with his hand-eye coordination.

Thanks to his insane experiment with healing potions and body tempering, Solomon’s body was now three times tougher than the average child’s.

His muscles and tendons were more elastic than before, allowing him to pull off feats of strength and ranges of motion that would not have been possible for him before.

But that was the full extent of his new prowess. Hence his current dilemma.

Swordsmanship has almost nothing to do with who hits the hardest or who can bend the farthest.

It is a martial art built upon the prioritization of fundamentals. Stamina, endurance, wit, and knowledge.

Solomon might have been special. He might’ve had a body that his peers would kill for.

But just that alone could not catch up to several months of hard work and natural talent. Experience was a valuable resource that he just didn’t have enough of at the moment.

Due to their continued spars in practice, Solomon was at least familiar with some of Bernard’s patterns. But the same was true in reverse.

Solomon felt a cold steel blade rip through the flesh of his upper thigh.

Blood soaked the sand as a scream was wrested from his throat.

The sound was like music to Bernard’s ears. His attacks became increasingly savage with every swing.

Solomon began to accumulate more injuries. Fresh cuts appeared on his left arm, torso, and above his brow.

Blood spurted from each spot, but Solomon’s head wound was the most problematic.

With blood dripping into Solomon’s eye, a critical weakness was added that he could not afford.

He panicked. He began swinging his sword in wild, erratic bursts.

Bernard didn’t even need to lift his arms up to defend. He could sidestep all of Solomon’s swings with barely any effort.

Every bit of Bernard’s anger vanished from him like a mirage. This scene was too funny to be angry over.

Bernard lifted his sword with one hand and performed a single swipe.

Solomon’s sword shattered like ice against a stone.

Before the pieces had even hit the ground, Bernard threw out a fist and struck Solomon hard in the nose.

Bernard struck Solomon three more times in quick succession before he crumpled to the ground.

His world was spinning.

But his sanity briefly returned to him when he felt cold steel puncture his stomach.

A choked gasp escaped his throat at the same time as a yell came from Emmanuel.

“That’s enough!”

Bernard released his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Through an ocean of static in his ears, Solomon was almost sure that Bernard was talking to someone. He just couldn’t figure out who.

With his vision stained red, he turned his head ever so slightly so as not to put himself through more discomfort.

Bernard was facing away from him. He could tell that much.

That infuriated Solomon. In his mind, this fight wasn’t over. He still had his head, his limbs. His heart was still beating. Why was everyone already counting him out..?

Didn’t they know how much he had gone through just for this?

Broken bones, severed tendons, torn muscles, Solomon had suffered through a worse hell than any of these bastards.

A little stomach injury was the least of what he’d had to endure.

Solomon reached out.

His hand grasped a large shard of his broken sword.

He clenched it so tightly that he drew blood from his palm. It helped to wake him up a bit.

Solomon pulled the sword out of his stomach and dropped it in the sand beside him.

With his free hand, he clenched his stomach closed so that no more blood would spill out.

He spat on the ground and let out an unholy shriek.

“BERNARDDDDDD!!!!!!”

The boy turned around with a start; clearly put off by Solomon’s yell.

He turned back just in time for Solomon to barrel into his stomach; taking them both into the sand.

Bernard snarled back at Solomon as he struck him in the face repeatedly.

Each punch was strong enough to knock out a fully grown man. But Solomon would not be felled again.

He took the shard of his broken sword and stabbed Bernard right between the eyes.

His body instantly went slack, but Solomon removed the blade again and stabbed him over, and over, and over, until his body would no longer hold him upright…

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