Chapter 106: The First Round

  The hush that fell over the ballroom was thick with tension. Gone were the murmurs, the scoffs, the idle conversation of the nobles. Now, all eyes were on the makeshift dueling arena, where Thalron and Vaelis Il’Theron stood poised at opposite ends, the noblewoman’s glove still resting on the polished marble floor.

  The officiator, a stern-looking elf in silver robes, raised a hand. “The Rite of Proving begins. First round—begin.”

  The noblewoman stepped back, and in that instant, Vaelis moved.

  Thalron barely saw it—just a flicker of silver and white before the White Blade closed the distance between them in a blink. The speed was unreal, unnatural, as if the air itself bent to his will.

  He’s fast. Faster than I thought.

  Instinct took over. Thalron’s blade came up in a reflexive parry. Steel met steel, but the force behind the blow rattled his arms, nearly sending him stumbling back.

  Vaelis didn’t let him breathe.

  He flowed into another strike immediately, pressing forward, his blade an extension of his will. The precision was terrifying—every swing calculated, every step controlled. His footwork was effortless, each movement a whisper of grace and efficiency.

  Thalron barely kept up, his own blade working to intercept—but Vaelis was already dictating the rhythm of the duel.

  And he knew it.

  A smirk ghosted across the White Blade’s lips. “Too slow.”

  A test. Thalron realized with grim clarity. Vaelis wasn’t trying to finish the fight in the first exchange. He was teaching a lesson. Showing Thalron exactly why he had no right to be here.

  No.

  Thalron gritted his teeth and adjusted. He abandoned trying to match the pace. Instead, he shifted his focus—watching, learning.

  Vaelis’ style was perfect, yes. Too perfect. Every motion was optimized, every step precise. It meant that while he was faster, stronger, and more experienced…

  He was predictable.

  But before he could capitalize on it, Vaelis struck again.

  A sharp, precise cut—just enough to graze Thalron’s shoulder. A practiced insult. The crowd murmured in appreciation, a few amused chuckles rising from House Ulthar’s section.

  Marcus, watching from the sidelines, clenched his fists.

  He’s putting on a show.

  Vira, beside him, murmured, “He’s doing exactly what I warned you about.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yeah. He’s trying to humiliate him.”

  Vaelis, ever in control, tilted his head. “You don’t belong in this arena, half-blood.”

  Thalron’s grip tightened around his sword. He forced himself not to react.

  Instead, he exhaled slowly. Adjusted his stance.

  The next exchange was coming.

  Vaelis saw the shift and pressed forward. Another strike—fast, efficient. But this time, Thalron planted his feet.

  Don’t run. Make him come to you.

  He caught the next strike differently, rolling his wrist mid-parry to redirect rather than absorb the force. It was small—subtle—but it slowed Vaelis down. Just slightly.

  Vaelis noticed.

  His silver-blue eyes narrowed for the briefest moment before he disengaged, stepping back to reassess.

  The crowd murmured again. This time, it wasn’t just in appreciation for Vaelis’ skill.

  House Veylan was watching now, their expressions unreadable but intent.

  House Ulthar noticed too.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Marcus, still at the sidelines, let out a slow exhale. “He found it.”

  Vira glanced at him. “Found what?”

  Marcus grinned. “A crack.”

  The Shift

  Vaelis resumed his elegant footwork, circling once more, but now he was watching Thalron differently. The amusement had dimmed slightly. He had expected this fight to be a simple performance.

  Thalron was proving otherwise.

  But he was still losing.

  Vaelis exploited the natural momentum of the duel. Every exchange, he forced Thalron toward the edge of the dueling lines. The crowd oohed and ahhed as Thalron was pushed further back, forced onto the defensive.

  It wasn’t enough that he was holding his own. He needed to push back.

  Thalron made his move.

  Instead of parrying a forward strike, he sidestepped at the last second—not to dodge completely, but to create an unexpected angle. Forming a magic symbol with his offhand, Thalron summoned wind to shift his stance mid-motion, disrupting Vaelis’ momentum.

  And in that fleeting moment—he struck.

  His blade nicked Vaelis’ side. A shallow cut. Insignificant in terms of damage.

  But in terms of the duel?

  The ballroom fell silent.

  For the first time in countless duels, Vaelis Il’Theron had been touched.

  The First Round Ends

  The officiator’s voice rang out. “Time.”

  Vaelis halted mid-motion, his expression unreadable.

  Then, slowly, he stepped back. He looked down at the shallow cut on his side. The wound was minor—barely worth considering. But the principle of it had shaken the expectations of the room.

  His gaze flicked up to Thalron.

  The smirk was gone.

  Instead, there was interest.

  Thalron, breathing hard, gave a lopsided grin. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his muscles burning, his breath uneven. He had lost the round. That much was obvious.

  But the nobles weren’t looking at Vaelis anymore.

  They were looking at him.

  Marcus stepped forward from the sidelines, throwing an arm around Thalron’s shoulders before guiding him back to their corner. “Breathe, man. That bit at the end was brilliant.”

  Thalron exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. “I felt his rhythm. I can—” He cut himself off, adjusting his grip on his sword. “I can work with this.”

  Vira, fixing the seams of his tunic, murmured, “That’s good. Because House Ulthar just got real quiet.”

  Marcus grinned, glancing across the ballroom where House Ulthar’s representatives no longer looked amused.

  “They expected a slaughter,” he said, voice low. “They just realized it’s a fight.”

  Vaelis, still standing in his corner, slowly stretched out his fingers.

  Then, in a single motion, he brought his blade up and ran his thumb along the cut, smearing the blood across the pristine silver edge.

  His voice carried easily.

  “I see. You’re not a complete disgrace.”

  The nobles laughed, though some of it sounded nervous now.

  Marcus leaned in toward Thalron. “He’s baiting you. Don’t let him control the next round.”

  Thalron, still catching his breath, watched Vaelis closely.

  The White Blade wasn’t bothered. But he was paying attention now.

  And that?

  That was an opening.

  Marcus smirked, patting Thalron’s shoulder. “Alright, man. Let’s adjust.”

  The first round was over.

  And the real fight was just beginning.

  House Ulthar’s once-amused expressions had turned to stiff neutrality, their fingers clenched around their goblets as they watched the duel unfold. House Veylan, on the other hand, looked utterly entertained.

  But the most notable shift came from Vaelis Il’Theron himself.

  Gone was the casual smirk, the dismissive air of superiority. He had tasted steel, however shallow the wound. It wasn’t pain that unsettled him—it was the fact that it had happened at all.

  And now, his interest was real.

  Thalron exhaled deeply, shaking stress from his hands, as he leaned against the makeshift resting area. His pulse was still hammering from the last round. He had managed to land a blow—but he had also been pushed to his limits just keeping up.

  Marcus placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Alright, take a breath, let’s talk strategy.”

  Vira adjusted the seams of his tunic with sharp, quick movements, making sure he looked composed before she spoke. “He’s changing his approach next round,” she murmured. “He’s still testing you, but now he’s taking you seriously.”

  Marcus nodded. “He knows you’re not just another opponent. You got in a clean strike, which means he won’t be playing with his food anymore.”

  Thalron inhaled sharply. “Then I need to be faster.”

  “No,” Marcus corrected immediately. “You won’t outspeed him. That’s not the goal.”

  Thalron frowned. “Then what?”

  Marcus’ gaze flicked across the ballroom to Vaelis, who was standing with eerie stillness. He was watching now. Studying. Calculating.

  “He’s a duelist,” Marcus explained. “Which means he’s trained to anticipate, react, and capitalize on mistakes. He doesn’t just read your attacks—he reads you.”

  Thalron wiped his brow. “Then what’s the counter?”

  Marcus smirked. “Chaos.”

  Vira raised an eyebrow. “You want him to fight an unpredictable opponent.”

  “Exactly.” Marcus tapped his temple. “He’s used to perfectly structured duels. Everything he does is built around a controlled environment. You disrupt that? He won’t have time to analyze and adjust.”

  Thalron rolled his shoulder, considering the words. “So… break the flow?”

  “Not just break it,” Marcus grinned. “Smash it. Force him to react. Get messy.”

  Vira exhaled. “That’s risky.”

  Marcus shot her a look. “Everything about this fight is risky. But if we don’t turn it into something he doesn’t understand, we’ll just be playing into his hands.”

  Thalron cracked his knuckles. “Fine. Let’s make a mess.”

  The officiator raised a hand once more. “Second round—begin.”

  This time, Thalron moved first.

  A gasp rippled through the crowd as he surged forward, his blade humming with elemental mana. His stance was lower, his movements less refined—intentionally sloppy.

  Vaelis’ eyes narrowed.

  The White Blade reacted instantly, stepping back into a perfect defensive form. He had expected this. A desperate push to reclaim control.

  Thalron feinted high, then twisted his blade mid-motion, shifting toward Vaelis’ legs.

  The noble barely moved—but he had already dodged before the blade even reached him.

  Too fast.

  Thalron didn’t have time to register before Vaelis retaliated.

  In a flash of silver, three precise slashes.

  Thalron barely caught the first.

  The second hit his side, tearing fabric.

  The third nearly took his sword from his hand.

  The ballroom exploded with murmurs.

  “Vaelis has adjusted,” Marcus muttered. “He’s predicting the chaos.”

  Vira clenched her jaw. “He’s countering unpredictability.”

  Thalron stumbled back, teeth gritted. He had underestimated just how fast Vaelis could shift his technique.

  But so had Vaelis.

  Thalron exhaled sharply. Then, he switched grips.

  Vaelis lunged again—this time, going for a finishing stroke.

  And Thalron dropped his sword.

  Gasps rang out as his blade clattered to the floor.

  Vaelis, momentarily startled, hesitated for just a fraction of a second.

  And that’s when Thalron moved.

  A flick of his wrist—mana surged.

  The blade snapped back into his palm, guided by a wind spell—

  —And he slashed upward.

  Vaelis, caught mid-motion, barely twisted away in time.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  A red line appeared along his cheek.

  The ballroom went silent.

  Marcus whistled lowly. “Oh, shit.”

  House Veylan was grinning now.

  House Ulthar?

  They weren’t breathing.

  The officiator took a beat before finally speaking.

  “Second round—Thalron of House Kelcrest.”

  A slow applause started—hesitant, disbelieving. Then it grew.

  Not mocking.

  Not polite.

  Respectful.

  Marcus leaned toward Thalron as he returned to the corner. “Did you see their faces?”

  Thalron exhaled, still catching his breath. “I saw.”

  Vira smirked. “House Ulthar just got real quiet.”

  Marcus glanced toward Vaelis.

  The White Blade stood perfectly still. His silver-blue eyes locked onto Thalron, lips pressed into a thin line.

  Then, slowly, he lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

  His fingers came away with a faint streak of blood.

  The entire room watched as Vaelis Il’Theron smiled.

  Not his usual smirk.

  Not amusement.

  Something sharper.

  He let out a slow exhale, rolling his own shoulders before adjusting his grip on his sword.

  House Ulthar broke their silence.

  A single, low chuckle came from their section.

  Marcus cursed under his breath. “Shit. He’s been holding back.”

  Vaelis stepped forward. His posture had changed—not the easy, graceful stance of a duelist in control, but something looser.

  More dangerous.

  His Ki flared around him.

  The officiator raised a hand. “Third round—”

  Vaelis vanished.

  Marcus barely had time to shout—

  “BEGIN!”