Chapter 309: A Clash of Swords

 

  Feather throbbed with anticipation. The red veins that streaked across its bone blade pulsed with scarlet energy that slowly wrapped around Gilgard. The further the energy stretched across his body the more he felt his sword drain his mana hungrily.

  I won’t be able to keep up the blood-wyrm aura for long… he thought.

  His grandmother had once told him the story of Feather’s creation. Unlike other enchanted weapons, Feather was not forged, it was shaped and bound by ancient mages. They had used long-forgotten spells to infuse Feather with a sliver of the great blood-wyrm Fraxinus’ soul. Feather would rarely awaken, but when it did, the might of Fraxinus would seep out.

  “So this is the Fang of Fraxinus…” Nalla muttered grimly.

  The scarlet energy swirled around Gilgard, forming red scales of light over his body. The energy settled over his head in the shape of a malicious lizard-like beast, its maw open wide, sharp teeth glowing red.

  Gilgard gripped the hilt of his sword tight. He could feel newfound strength pulsing within him, eager to be let out.

  Gilgard pointed his blade at Nalla and smiled ruthlessly, “Let’s try this again.”

  He dashed at her in a burst of speed as if agility magic coursed in his veins. Nalla yelled a warcry and swung her sword at the empty air in front of her. Gilgard suddenly appeared, Feather’s blade slashing down at her. The two blades clashed in a burst of sparks, red tendrils of energy crackling between them.

  She can still read my attacks even now!? Gilgard clenched his teeth.

  The force of the black sword pressed down on him, each attack sending painful reverberations into his arms. But this time he felt he could hold on, the strength of the blood-wyrm coursing through him.

  Gilgard shifted his stance and kept attacking. He swung his blade in wide arcs, each faster and stronger than the last. Nalla’s eyes darted all around as she blocked each attack. She tried to counterattack, but despite her greater sword skill, she was unable to find an opening.

  She’s getting slower! Gilgard realized. 

  The toll of her mysterious weapon was finally pushing her body to its limits. 

  A burning pain skewered Gilgard’s chest. He grimaced, but kept pushing his advantage. Feather was consuming his mana much more rapidly than he had anticipated. He had a few moments left at best before his body gave out.

  No, not yet! Gilgard roared and attacked with a frenzied fervor.

  Nalla met his blade, slash for slash. But as his attacks went on, her breaths grew short and blood began to drip from her nostrils.

  Just a little longer!

  Nalla’s legs faltered and she stumbled a step. Gilgard swung Feather down with all the force he could muster. Nalla grimaced and raised her black sword to block. Feather slammed into her blade and sent her careening away. She landed in a sprawl several meters away, her sword fell on the sand with a heavy thump far from her.

  “It’s over!” Gilgard yelled tiredly.

  He stabbed Feather into the ground and rested on its hilt. The blood-wyrm aura evaporated around him as the last of his mana was drained. He was covered in sweat and his breathing was ragged. His arms hung limply at his sides and his heart burned from the excessive mana loss. And yet he smiled. It was a tired half-formed smile, but it was a smile of triumph.

  “...Not yet,” with unsteady legs Nalla heavily stood up. She suddenly coughed and spat out a glob of blood and spit. Her legs buckled underneath her and she fell to her hands and knees. She coughed up more blood between wheezing breaths.

  “...It’s over,” Gilgard said solemnly. “Your sword took more than it gave.”

  Nalla glared at him, “It’s not–” She fell into another coughing fit and fell over on the sand.

  Gilgard shook his head faintly. He sheathed Feather over his back and walked over to the giant sword lying on the sand. Its black blade was 5 ft long and 2ft wide with a glass-like sheen.

  “It really is made of orichalcum…” he whispered. 

  Every enchanter and smith worth their salt swore that orichalcum metal was impossible to enchant, yet here was proof that they were all wrong.

  Gilgard reached down and traced his finger over the black blade. It was cold and smooth to the touch. The blade felt more like glass than metal. A single unfamiliar sigil was etched at the base of the blade.

  “Hm,” he narrowed his eyes with interest. He wrapped his fingers over the long hilt of the sword and lifted the sword.

  “Agh!” Gilgard screamed with pain and released his grip. 

  The orichalcum sword fell back down unceremoniously.

  Gilgard reeled back, his arm still felt as if fiery needles were digging into his flesh and bones. He stared at the black sword as if it was some sort of abomination.

  “Is this… Is this what you felt every time you picked up that sword?” he mumbled.

  “I said…” Nalla wiped the blood from her mouth and slowly pushed herself up to her feet. She stumbled and lurched to the side, but she managed to regain her balance. “...I said… it’s not over yet.”

  “What?” Gilgard said incredulously. “Stop pushing yourself! You can barely stand!”

  Nalla ignored his words and raised her arm up high. She opened her fingers wide and took a deep breath, “Heed my call, Votum.”

  Like an arrow in flight, the black sword shot out from the ground and flew straight into her hand. The sand around Nalla exploded outwards in a wave of power, splashing across the arena's walls and into the stands and crowds.

  Gilgard instinctively drew Feather with his good arm and took a battle stance. The wind howled through the arena with a ravenous fury and settled around Nalla in a swirl of power.

  “How…?!” Gilgard yelled in confusion.

  He had beaten her, she had been lying on the ground gasping for air while choking on her own blood. The black sword had pushed her body to its limits. She was barely standing through sheer will. So where was all this power coming from?

  “Wait… if this is her sword’s power then–!” His eyes widened in dawning horror, “Your sword’s been dormant until now! You awoke it with your call! Your sword had a soul imbued within it too!”

  Nalla stared reverently at the blade pulsing with power in her hands, “There are no souls implanted within Votum. Votum isn’t like your weapon or any other. Votum is simply alive and it always has been.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” Gilgard frowned.

  “And you never will.” She pulled Votum back for a swing.

  Gilgard took a deep breath and took a battle stance, “How long can you keep that up? What kind of strain is that sword putting on you now that it's awakened? How much further before your body gives out and your heart stops?”

  Nalla licked the blood off her blue lips and smiled, “At this rate? Not long. But I don’t need long.” 

  She swung Votum down. The ground exploded in a sea of jade energy.

~~~

  Stryg sat at the edge of his bed, his hands on his jaw, his lilac eyes unfocused.

  Feli peeped out from underneath the covers, “Honey…?”

  “Hm?” he looked up.

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  “I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” he smiled half-heartedly.

  “You know what I mean,” she kicked him playfully from beneath the covers.

  “Yeah, I know,” he sighed softly. “It’s just…”

  “You’re still thinking about what happened at today’s duel?”

  “It was one attack. I’ve never seen a spell or technique – or whatever it was – like it before, but it was still just one attack. One. Nalla defeated Gilgard in one strike.”

  “But Gilgard was already exhausted. He would have dodged otherwise, right?” Feli said hopefully.

  “Maybe, I don’t know if he would have been fast enough,” Stryg muttered. “I’m not sure I’ll be fast enough…”

  “You’re fighting Nalla tomorrow?” Feli asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Huh? No. I’m fighting Kalliste Lilith. But if I defeat her then I’ll face off against Nalla in the semi-finals.”

  “Then let’s worry about Nalla after you defeat Kalliste.”

  “Hm, I suppose that makes some sense, but only some.”

  “Good, you’d be smart to listen to your wife,” she smirked. “Now come to bed. You need your rest for tomorrow’s duel.”

  Stryg sighed, but he smiled reluctantly. He laid down next to her and closed his eyes. 

  Feli smiled warmly and nestled her head on his shoulder.

  “...So, um, about Elena Katag,” Stryg whispered.

  “...You have terrible timing.”

  “When else are we alone to talk about this stuff?”

  “Just shut up and go to sleep.”

  “But–”

  “Sleep.”

~~~

  Nora Azol lay on her bed with her eyes wide open. The moonlight filtered through her window and gave her dark room an eerie blue glow. She fiddled with a necklace in the palm of her hands. It was a gyroscopic medallion, a set of three golden rings each a slightly different size than the one before. The rings spun within each other and rotated around a small gem at its center.

  The golden necklace was a gift and though it wasn’t Nora’s style, she had to admit there was a certain unique beauty to it. At the very least it was a great way to pass the time and hopefully fall asleep. Except she wasn’t falling asleep this time.

  Her baby’s erratic sleeping patterns had thrown off her own sleep cycle. Kamilo had become moody ever since Stryg had left. He had grown accustomed to his uncle’s frequent visits and ever since Stryg had been away in Undergrowth Kamilo had made his dissatisfaction quite clear to everyone in the Azol mansion.

  Nora could barely sleep 2 or 3 hours before Kamilo would wake up crying. It didn’t help that he wouldn’t stop crying even when the maids tried to calm him down. No, Kamilo would only stop when his family carried him. That damn little munchkin. Still, whenever Nora looked into his little purple eyes, it didn’t matter how sleep-deprived she felt, everything suddenly became okay.

  However, having her mother around definitely helped. In fact, she was actually watching the baby right now so that Nora could have a break for the night. And yet she still couldn’t sleep.

  Nora groaned with frustration and finally decided to get up. Perhaps some late-night tea could help.

  She threw on a nightgown and headed downstairs. She needed no lamp or lantern for the dark corridors, she knew her house by memory.

  When Nora arrived at the kitchen she wrinkled her brow. Odd, the kitchen was empty and the candles had gone out. Usually, there were at least one or two maids still awake, cutting vegetables or doing some other preparations for breakfast in the morning.

  Nora shrugged, it didn’t matter. She could make her own tea, there was no need to waste time looking for a maid. The moonlight was enough to guide her through the cabinet of tea jars.

  “Ah, wait, the honey,” she whispered to herself.

  Nora turned around and walked over to the pantry. She opened the pantry door and froze. A cold shiver ran down her spine. 

  A pair of maids’ bodies were lying on the pantry floor in a pool of blood. Each of their necks had been slashed in a single clean cut.

  “No…!” Nora gasped softly and gripped her necklace tight until it grew hot in her hand.

  A baby’s voice cried out in the distance.

  Nora paled, “Kamilo!”