Monarch Chapter 73

Chapter 73

Nate spat into the dirt and winced as he shifted his weight, one arm wrapped tight around his ribs.

“I’m a fucking idiot, you know that?” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the training ring ahead.

Rayne didn’t look at him. “That’s not new information.”

“I’m serious,” Nate went on, voice low but sharp. “You said he's an apprentice in the Crown's Hand, and if he's like this, then I can't imagine what kind of monsters the rest of them are. And I was thinking of impressing them to get a chance to enter their service.”

Rayne finally glanced at him. Nate was dusty, bruised, and still breathing a little too hard. He hadn't been injured in any vitals, and the few bruises would easily heal by the time they marched for the dungeon.

But Varrick had certainly broken his spirit. The man had been beaten to the ground every time he tried to land an attack.

“You didn't do as bad,” Rayne said, meaning his words.

Nate snorted. “Bad is a generous word. I wasn't even able to touch him. And those three don't look like they will do any better either.”

They turned back toward the ring. A clearing had been hastily cleared into a dueling ground to the west of the camp, soldiers packed shoulder to shoulder around it. Word had spread fast.

Everyone had already been curious about the Crown's Hand, and when one of them had wanted to duel his party, it was enough to make great entertainment. Rayne even saw a few squad leaders lingering around the edges, Shawn among them.

A grin etched on the man's face as he laughed with his squad.

Though a few people were still missing. Hobbs and Jason had been on another quest, and Bran had gone with them since he was the most senior scout.

At the centre of the clearing stood Varrick, a greatsword in his hand and a smile on his face.

He wasn't as tall or big as Hobbs and Jason, but he swung the greatsword with an ease. It wasn't even a training one. The man had insisted on using their real weapons, promising to not draw any blood from anyone.

Rayne hadn't been sure about it, but ten minutes into the duel, he could see how capable he was with it. Each swing was meticulous and thought out, making him wonder about his sword mastery levels.

The only reason Rayne hadn't joined the duel yet was because he wanted to observe Varrick and gauge his levels, but the only thing he was able to tell till now was that he was stronger than him even with his inflated stats.

And wasn't even breaking a sweat while beating his three party members.

As he watched, Varrick moved like a panther, the greatsword coming up in a smooth rising arc. John barely had time to brace before the flat of the blade smashed into his shield.

The impact rang out like a bell.

John flew backward.

Not stumbled—flew, boots leaving the ground as he crashed into the dirt and rolled hard, shield skidding away from him.

Kesh reacted instantly, rushing in from the side, his blade aimed low for a hit at the man's side.

Instead of dodging, Varrick stepped into the attack.

The greatsword twisted in his hands, the guard catching one blade while the flat smashed into Kesh’s shoulder. There was a dull, sick sound as Kesh spun and hit the ground, gasping.

He tried to rise, but Varrick shook his head and kicked his sword away.

Heins took the opportunity, having been circling the man from behind till now. Rayne guessed part of it was simply him being too scared to attack till now, but finding the moment, he thrust with his spear.

But Varrick tilted his body just enough for the spear to scrape past his ribs, then slammed his pommel down.

It cracked into Heins’s helmet, who immediately went down on the ground. He still raised his spear, but Varrick's blade simply swatted it away.

A wave of murmurs rippled through the ground as soldiers talked excitedly. The three of them might not be the best warriors, but they weren't near the bottom either.

Yet they had gone down too easy.

Rayne doubted they had stood for more than two minutes.

“They fought for one minute and 57 seconds,” Nate said suddenly, groaning, looking at the three trying to get up from the ground.

“Were you counting all along?” Rayne asked.

“I'm good at it.”

“How?”

Nate simply smiled. “I just am.”

He didn't reply, simply watching as the trio got up from the ground. Varrick murmured something to them, and all of them shook their heads at the same time, probably telling him that they wouldn't be continuing.

And Rayne immediately realised what would happen next.

Like he had thought, as the three moved to the side where one of the healers stood, Varrick looked straight at him. “Are you going to join now?”

At once, all the eyes in the clearing turned towards him. Whispers spread, but quite a few people spoke loudly enough for him to hear. In the past few days, his new status as a spellsword was known to everyone.

Rayne was sure quite a few people were looking forward to him getting a beating. But he also couldn't stay out of it for any longer.

He had no intention of fighting Varrick, but he had beaten up his party, and if Rayne didn't fight him, he would be termed a coward. Also, he doubted the man would take no for an answer.

From the start, Varrick's eyes had turned to him quite a few times. Rather than his party, that were like ants to him, he wanted to fight him.

So Rayne got up as the whispers and murmurs got louder. Nate said something behind him, but he was already moving to take his position.

“No lethal strikes,” he said, reaching Varrick.

“Of course,” he replied. “I simply want to see your strength. A spellsword should be a far better opponent than the rest of your party.”

Rayne didn't react to that statement.

Varrick smiled, simply moving back to take his stance. The greatsword fell low in his hands, and Rayne could tell the man was going to come at him fast.

He hadn't done that previously.

“Don't look so serious,” Varrick said. “It's just a friendly duel.”

Rayne doubted that, but nodded.

He took his own stance, taking out his shield and sword and trying to steady his breathing. He thought through his plan again. He didn't plan to show his full strength, nor did he plan to make it a prolonged battle.

He wanted to simply stand against Varrick for a while, then give up. It would be enough to maintain his honour and satisfy the Hand’s apprentice.

At least he hoped so.

“Let's begin in five seconds,” Varrick said, and Rayne gave a nod.

He silently counted and prepared himself.

Varrick moved like a bullet, one short of the five seconds mark.

There was no warning, no testing step or measured opening like he had shown with the others. One heartbeat he stood relaxed, and the next he was already in motion—closing the distance like a bolt loose from a ballista.

Rayne’s instincts screamed, but he was prepared.

He twisted aside just in time, the greatsword passing where his head had been, the sheer wind of it tugging at his hair. The blade struck the ground instead, biting deep and ripping up clods of dirt as Varrick flowed through the miss without losing momentum.

He was too fast.

Rayne didn’t counter. He didn’t even try.

He backstepped, rolled, and came up low as the greatsword came again in a horizontal strike. He ducked under it, boots skidding, heart hammering as the edge passed close enough to scrape sparks from his shoulder guard.

The crowd gasped.

Rayne ignored them, keeping his eyes on Varrick.

Every strike chained into the next—overhead cleave into thrust, thrust into a rising cut, rising cut into a brutal downward slam that cracked the packed earth. The man wasn’t just swinging hard; he was cutting off space, herding Rayne exactly where he wanted him.

Rayne blocked once.

The impact rattled his bones.

His shield screamed as the flat of the greatsword smashed into it, the force driving him back several steps. Pain shot up his arm, and he immediately disengaged, letting the momentum carry him away.

There was a short pause in the battle as the shouts from the crowd got louder.

Then Varrick came again, faster this time. Rayne wondered if the man was using a skill, but he had no time to think.

He barely slipped past a thrust that would have caved in his chest, the point shaving a groove along his breastplate instead.

No lethal strikes, my ass!

Rayne cursed. The man was clearly trying to either put his blade through him or he knew that he was holding back.

After every strike, he got more aggressive. He moved with an intent to kill.

Rayne blocked again—this time bracing fully. Pain lanced through his arm, but instead of stepping back, he slashed at Varrick's shoulders.

He smiled, blocking with his greatsword.

“Are you finally taking it seriously?” He whispered, putting strength to push him back.

Rayne held his ground, and the smile turned into a grin. Sparks flashed as both the blades met again and again.

Then, Varrick jumped back to put space between them.

He simply stood there as if prompting Rayne to attack, but he held his ground, clearing seeing it for a trap.

Varrick slumped his shoulders, realising that Rayne wasn't going to press at him, and charged at him again.

A strike came from his left. He dodged. Another came from the right and Rayne immediately jumped back, sliding to a stop.

With each strike, he felt irritation bubble up. But Rayne forced it down.

He slowed his breathing, let the noise of the crowd fade into nothing, and fixed his attention on Varrick alone. Anger would only make him sloppy, and sloppiness will injure him.

Instead of waiting for another charge, Rayne decided to go on the offensive, aiming to end the battle by giving up after a few more strikes. But in those few moves, he didn't intend to hold back.

After all, his supposed mana skill gave him boosted strength for a short period.

Rayne charged straight at Varrick who smiled.

He raised his sword, aiming for the man's shoulder, but at the last moment, Varrick dodged, his own greatsword coming down in a heavy diagonal cleave.

Rayne stepped into it instead of away, shield raised. The impact rattled through his bones, but he held. He twisted his wrist and slid the blow off, turning the momentum aside just enough to step past the blade and slash toward Varrick’s ribs with all his strength.

Varrick blocked, boots digging into the dirt as he was pushed back half a step.

The crowd gasped.

Rayne didn’t chase the opening. He disengaged immediately, pulling back into his stance. That single exchange should have been enough to make his opponent be more careful.

But Varrick’s grin widened.

“Good,” he said. “Now you’re fighting.”

He surged forward again, faster than before.

Rayne parried once, twice, steel screeching as blades met. He tried to keep the exchanges short and precise—just enough to push Varrick back without committing. But the man adapted instantly, changing angles, increasing pressure, forcing him to move.

A low sweep came in suddenly.

Rayne reacted a fraction too slowly.

Pain flared as the edge of the greatsword bit across his knee, not deep, but hard enough to drop him to one leg. The crowd went dead silent.

Rayne hissed, planting his shield to keep himself upright. Blood seeped through his trousers, warm against his skin.

He raised his head. “That’s enough,” he said evenly. “I believe we should stop.”

He dearly wished Varrick would step back, keeping up his words of it being a friendly duel.

But he didn't.

He stepped in again, blade already rising.

Rayne swore under his breath and rolled sideways, barely avoiding a downward smash that cracked the earth where his head had been. He scrambled to his feet, weight unsteady on his injured leg, and brought his shield up just in time to block another strike.

“Stop,” Rayne said again, louder this time.

Varrick’s eyes gleamed. “No, you are just fighting back properly. A cut is nothing.”

He came at him once more, relentless, every strike heavier than the last. Rayne felt his patience fray, felt the instinct to push back harder and faster, to actually aim for Varrick's vitals to teach him a lesson.

Before he could—

“Enough!”

A shout cut through the clearing like a blade.

Both of them froze.

A woman stepped forward through the crowd who immediately parted away seeing her robes. Her voice carried a sharp authority that made Varrick gulp.

Serene’s cold gaze locked onto him.

“That is an order,” she said. “Get out of the ground and come with me. You have embarrassed the hand enough.”

“I didn't—”

Varrick tried to say, but his sentence never finished under his master's glare.

He exhaled slowly, then stepped back, lowering his greatsword with an almost reluctant expression before walking towards Serene whose gaze turned to Rayne.

She pushed an arm into one of the pockets of her robe and threw a vial at him. Rayne caught and inspected it. It was smaller than the ones he was used to, but the liquid inside of it was a pale white.

“That's a rare grade health potion,” Serene said. “Should be good enough to heal you with a drop and the rest is a gift from me for not injuring my apprentice.”

“He wouldn't have been able to do anything like that,” Varrick said.

Serene’s gaze only turned colder, if that was even possible. “Come with me and shut your trap.”

With that, she turned and Varrick gave one final look at Rayne before following behind her like a kid who knew he was in for a punishment.

The crowd continued to whisper well after both of them had left, and Rayne slumped on the ground, not understanding what was going on with the Crown's Hand and their interactions with him.

Varrick looked like he was looking for an opportunity to kill him whereas Serene was far more level headed, and actually seemed to appraise him objectively.

Was it just a game for them? Or a trap?

Whatever it was, Rayne doubted he would know much. He simply knew one thing.

The duel was over.

And for all his trouble, he had managed to get a rare grade potion, one he had never seen before.