Halrik simply nodded — then stepped forward and leapt, landing in the training yard below with the ease of a predator.

  The two women looked briefly surprised by the knight’s sudden arrival, but seeing the prince observing from above, they understood.

  Elwyra gave Dahlia a slight tilt of the head — the kind of gesture that meant "Good luck with that one." She sheathed her blades with military precision and walked off the field, stopping a few steps away, arms crossed, to watch in silence.

  Halrik Drayven, advisor and bodyguard to Prince Fenrel, moved to the center of the courtyard with the calm of someone who already knew the outcome. His short cloak swayed behind him. His eyes — once human — shifted. Pupils narrowed to slits. His skin took on a dark sheen, almost scale-like under the pale sun.

  Dahlia didn’t flinch. She merely spun her saber once through her fingers and cracked her neck.

  From the sidelines, Frey remained quiet, though his gaze followed every movement intently.

  Mogrel rubbed his jaw, restless.

  “Five matches already… and now they throw her against a royal guard with lizard eyes? This ain’t training. This is spectacle.”

  But he said nothing. What good would it do?

  Halrik wasted no time with formalities. In one fluid motion, he drew a long, dark blade etched with mana — and struck.

  The first blow came from above — fast, heavy. Dahlia barely raised her saber in time. The impact shook her shoulders.

  “Didn’t even let me breathe…” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  Halrik didn’t answer. He was already pivoting, blade arcing in a wide horizontal sweep. Dahlia ducked, feeling the wind from the swing graze her cheek. She went to counter, but Halrik slipped sideways with unsettling grace.

  If Elwyra danced, Halrik flowed — like precise fire, a predator circling the kill.

  They traded three more strikes.

  The sound of steel slicing air was crisp and rhythmic. Dahlia tried to land a blow, but Halrik’s stance changed constantly — high guard, low flank, sudden thrust. It was like dueling a mirror that rewrote itself with each breath.

  “Pretty aggressive for a bodyguard, don’t you think?” Dahlia grunted, blocking another strike and stepping back. “Or is that just the Drayven standard?”

  Halrik advanced without a word.

  This time, a sharp kick accompanied the blade. Dahlia narrowly dodged, stumbling to regain footing. She grinned.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Oh, I see. It’s personal, then?”

  At the edge of the courtyard, Elwyra watched in silence, eyes fixed on the center.

  Up on the stone steps, Prince Fenrel leaned against a pillar, smiling faintly — like a man watching rare beasts circle one another.

  Dahlia’s saber hissed through the air, catching another thrust. She spun, creating space with a clean disengage. Panting, eyes alight, she called out — her voice loud enough to echo through the courtyard:

  “You know what I think, Halrik? I think you’ve been dying to swing that sword again. Bet it’s been ages since a proper fight. And the prince? He knew. That’s why he had you jump down.”

  Her gaze snapped upward, locking on Fenrel.

  “So tell me, what does the prince want?”

  Halrik held his high guard, blade steady — but his reptilian eyes flickered, mildly irritated.

  “Or maybe His Highness just wanted to use the courtyard?” she went on, sidestepping in a defensive stance. “Draykor’s a big place, after all. Didn't have to ambush me right here.”

  Frey let out a quiet laugh, muffled behind a hand.

  Mogrel simply closed his eyes for a beat — he knew this wouldn’t end peacefully.

  Halrik responded at last — curt and cold:

  “You talk too much.”

  And attacked.

  No flourish. A clean horizontal slash followed by a high guard rush. Dahlia raised her saber in time, but the force was greater than before — she slid backward on the stone, knees bending to hold balance.

  “And you take yourself too seriously,” she shot back between gritted teeth.

  Halrik spun his blade in a flawless series — thrust, retreat, upward slash. His cadence was mechanical. Every move clean. Nothing wasted.

  Elwyra narrowed her eyes at the edge.

  “He’s mapping her rhythm…” she murmured. “Trying to break her tempo before she finds an opening.”

  But Dahlia still smiled. Slick with sweat, a scratch on her chin, breathing heavy — but smiling.

  “If this is the best the royal guard has to offer, I’ll sleep easy tonight.”

  Halrik paused. The air tensed. Above, Prince Fenrel crossed his arms — and smiled.

  The fight didn’t last much longer.

  Halrik feinted, flipping the blade to his off-hand for a trick reversal. But Dahlia saw it. With a sudden surge, she channeled mana into her saber — forming a jagged golden aura around the blade.

  Halrik reacted instantly. His own blade shimmered silver with mana, glowing in his grip.

  The two auras clashed.

  The impact rang through the courtyard, sparks of mana flaring like miniature lightning bolts. But Halrik missed a key detail — too late. Dahlia’s blade tilted, scraping his cheek with controlled violence. A clean cut sliced through his beard, leaving a line etched across his chin.

  Frey raised his eyebrows. Mogrel held his breath.

  Halrik stepped back. His expression remained neutral — until his aura exploded.

  With a dry growl, he gathered mana in his fist and launched a punch, enveloped in dense energy. Dahlia barely blocked in time — the force hurled her several feet back, boots scraping against the old stone.

  Before she could rise, the sound of applause broke the tension.

  Prince Fenrel descended the steps slowly, his clapping deliberate under the open sky.

  “That’s enough. More than enough.”

  Dahlia rose slowly, slick with sweat but still grinning. She gave a quick bow — respectful, but still her own.

  Fenrel stopped before them. His gaze lingered on Halrik with the faintest gleam of amusement.

  “You’re remarkably skilled, Lady Howell,” he said, then turned to his advisor. “Looks like Halrik will need to shave what’s left of that beard.”

  Halrik wiped the blood from his chin in silence.

  “Your Highness is too kind,” Dahlia replied with a laugh. “That was just a minor miscalculation.”

  Fenrel smiled and pulled a sealed envelope from his inner tunic, offering it to her.

  “My reply. Please deliver it to your grandfather.”

  Dahlia accepted it with a nod.

  “Seems my stay in Draykor is coming to an end,” she said softly.

  “You may return anytime,” Fenrel replied casually, yet sincere. “I’m sure Halrik would enjoy a rematch… preferably with a clean shave.”

  Halrik didn’t answer. He only glanced sideways — and that was enough to make Dahlia smile again.