Chapter 24

  Oblivious to my self-loathing, Emma was still in the middle of her duel. As the deadly slash made its way towards her, she waited, till what felt like the impossible last second, to finally move. Her slender blade moved outwards, the flat of her blade meeting the flat of the saber. With a fluid motion and twist of her wrist, she guided the slash, altering its course, dropping the strike lower than intended, and pushing it out wide. She’d not met it head on. She hadn’t tried to stop it with brute force. Instead, she’d used the speed, the momentum, and the effected weight of the sword, likely due to the stone growing from it, to throw the swing off. And with the momentum of the slash carrying to forward, there was now an opening for her to strike.

  Emma didn’t hesitate.

  She stepped forward, twirling like a dancer back to their partners embrace. Her blade followed with her, having completed its task of diverting what would have been a grave strike. With all the grace and elegance of a ballet dancer, Emma was suddenly chest to chest with Grayson. And her blade, rested once more underneath his chin, so close it could practically give him a shave. If she’d wanted to, she could have killed the man, then and there. And it was clear from the look on the man’s face that he knew it.

  This time, Emma didn’t pull back. This time, she didn’t give him a chance, didn’t give him an out. There was no doubt she’d seen his attempt to use the soul-silver weapon to his advantage. Had attempted to strike her down with what was no doubt an underhanded tactic. And Emma wasn’t one to forgive such a slight.

  Before Grayson could move. Before he could step back, before he could attempt to strike her, before the man could do anything, she twisted her sword, so one of the edges was now perpendicular with his body and pulled the weapon downwards. The thin blade cut through his shirt, drawing a line down his chest that turned crimson a moment later. Only then did she step away, to the cheers of many of the members of the caravan. Grayson had been… less than appropriate with many of the members for the duration of the journey, and it was clear everyone was quite thrilled to see him put in his place.

  Unfortunately, Grayson himself didn’t seem willing to admit defeat. Even though the duel was finished, by all means, the affront to his pride, the fact he’d lost to Emma, seemed too much for him. His left hand touched his chest, fingers coming away red, as his shirt hung open, revealing the damaged flesh. Without warning, save for a guttural growl, he swung his sword once more Emma’s way.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Poor man never saw the shot coming. In what I could only imagine had been another calculated plan by Emma, Grayson’s body rocketed backwards the moment his sword had begun to descend towards her back. The reason being, was obvious to me. Clint, casually smoking his pipe, held one of his Peacekeepers against his hip, the barrel pointed in Grayson’s direction. He’d fired off a chest thumper, and a rather mighty one at that, at Grayson. The condensed air bullet had hit the man, directly in his newly opened wound, with enough force to lift him off the ground.

  Sword clattering to the ground, the cheering caravan now stunned into silence, Emma continued casually walking away from the sputtering, cursing, raging man.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Grayson growled as he stood back up, wincing as he did. I highly doubted anything was broken, but Clint’s shot had probably packed enough of a punch to bruise the man. If not physically, at least in his ego. Condensed air mana pounding into a thin cut likely stung something fierce as well, on top of his sudden appointment with the ground, and of course, the sting of the humiliation that had just befell him. Grayson was a proud man. He was a cocky man. He was, honestly… not too far off of the type of man I’d been becoming, before my betrayal at the hands of Thomas Cane. I’d been overly proud of my strength, overly confident of my skills. I looked down on others, and who knew what would have happened, had I continued that path.

  In another lifetime, I could have become just like the man. Which, perhaps, was another reason I despised him so. He was a stark reminder of the flaws that existed within me. Flaws that even now, I was actively working to dispel.

  A chuckle escaped my throat, as Grayson continued his tirade. No one listened to him anymore. Whatever respect he’d garnered, was gone. He’d tried to strike down a person, in the back, after losing a duel to them. He’d tried to strike down a woman, in the back. All pretenses of being a gentleman were gone. He’d shown his true colors, and there was nothing else he could do about it. All that remained was for him to take whatever dignity he had left, of which there wasn’t any in my eyes at least, and get the caravan safely to Lincoln tomorrow. From there, well, I had no doubt the moment stories of his actions spread, that Grayson might find himself in much less favorable standings with all those he clearly wished to interact with.

  A single action, a single misstep, the result of misplaced pride, had brought him low. I guessed that I needed to add a lesson to the lessons I’d learned that night. And, perhaps, once I ascended to copper, and my body no longer hurt in such a way that death seemed a welcome solution, I’d seek out another potential lesson.

  After all, while I was a gunslinger through and through, I had no doubt learning how to use other weapons wouldn’t be a bad life choice. Especially if I could learn to channel mana into them. If Grayson could do as much, well, I had no doubt I could.