However, in that instant, Vasili disappeared from his sight.
More precisely, Vasili jumped up ten feet away, and when Stenka looked up trying to catch his figure, he only saw the black shadow cast by the backlight, and the sharp edge reflecting the sunlight.
Stenka felt like his body had been split in half. He looked down and saw the reverse blade deeply embedded in his left shoulder. Vasili held the sword like an axe, tightly gripping the handle and gasping for breath. Stenka couldn't feel his left hand, but he knew that Vasili was also experiencing sensory numbness due to lack of air - at the same time as Vasili made his move, the tip of the sword also pierced his left ribs.
Stenka slightly twisted the sword tip, and fresh blood spurted from Vasili's mouth, but he didn't apply any more pressure to his opponent's shoulder. The reverse blade was pressed against the wall of a blood vessel, and with just a little effort, Vasili could make Stenka's blood gush out like a spring. However, he raised the blade instead. Stenka, who was kneeling on both knees, also admitted defeat and withdrew the blade.
Stenka lifted his head - facing him was a young warrior with a heroic and resolute look in his eyes, but no joy of victory.
"You have won your freedom. Well done, Vasili," said Stenka wearily, holding the sharp blade and handing the hilt to Vasili. Then he lowered his head, revealing a neck covered in cold sweat.
"Final lesson: Only the warrior who can hold onto death can tightly hold onto dignity."
Vasili reached out his trembling hand and took Stenka's blade. The old warrior closed his eyes with satisfaction, but the dull thud of an item hitting the ground made him open his eyes again. The falx was thrown onto the snowy ground. Stenka lifted his trembling neck and saw a figure holding his cloak slowly walking down the mountain path, gradually moving away.
Stenka took a deep breath, sighed, picked up the falx, and carefully examined the blade like a mirror. It reflected a defeated warrior, disappointing his lord, and thus losing face. Stenka inserted the hilt into the snow, pointed the blade at the sky, silently prayed to the wolf god, and then leaned forward, letting the blade enter his body again.
At that moment, he heard someone calling out to him. He looked up and saw Vasili, who had stopped and was looking in his direction. Vasili's face, distant and blurry, seemed to be shining with tears. Stenka was stunned and cursed the boy's weakness for making him turn around.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
A girl's cry came from behind him - it was Repara. "Please don't do this, father." Repara knelt beside him, pulling him to try and drag him off the blade. As a warrior, he should die with dignity, and no one could stop him. "Let me go! Are you trying to make me lose face?" he said through gritted teeth, with blood mixed in his spit.
"I don't love you for your dignity, father." Repara buried her swollen eyes and trembling lips into his chest. "I love you, so please don't do this."
Repara was crying uncontrollably, her weak words echoing like distant thunder and stunning Stenka. He slowly lifted himself off the blade, which was lodged in his breastbone but had not pierced his heart or lungs. Repara continued to sob, and Stenka embraced her shoulders, comforting his adopted daughter. He looked up and saw that Vasili was no longer in sight at the end of the mountain path.
*
At night, in the center of a broad valley, a faint campfire flickered in the wind. As the terrain on either side gradually sloped upwards to steep cliffs, the lights diminished, eventually swallowed by the unscalable darkness. The valley resembled a dying fire pit or a frozen giant wave.
In the low valley between two wave crests, there sat a black boat. Flames danced in Vasili's eyes, casting light on his black cloak and the sleepless night.
When footsteps approached, they were already quite close. Another traveler, also cloaked, entered the light and sat down opposite Vasili, warming his frosted gloves. Vasili didn't even look at him, allowing him to silently share in the warmth and light of the fire.
The stranger was silent for a moment, stroking his chin, studying the young swordsman with countless scars before finally patting his knee and deciding to speak. "You are the nameless prince, Vasili, son of Minte II?" he asked. Vasili raised his gaze, looking at the strong and dark man before him.
The man took out a cylindrical, dark green letter case from his pocket, used his thumb to push open the cork, and took out a scroll from inside. The bottom of the unrolled decree was fastened with a silver pine needle, representing the House of Acdepin.
"By order of Lord Minte II of Acdepin, to the kin of the lord, the war has begun. The person who receives this decree, you have survived the slaughter of hostages in various clans, regardless of the means used. Minte II acknowledges your intelligence or courage. Please return to Acdepin via the small road. The first to return will be appointed as the heir. That is all." After the man finished reading, he rolled up the scroll and bowed respectfully to Vasili.
"Tell him I'm not going back," Vasili said flatly, as if he hadn't heard the decree at all, leaving the messenger surprised. Seeing Vasili's wounds, he thought he wasn't fully conscious and suggested repeating the decree, but Vasili shook his head.
"Do you need me to relay a message back to the country?" the messenger asked.
"No need," Vasili replied briefly. The messenger, thinking that staying any longer wouldn't make a difference, stood up, brushed off the dust from his clothes, bowed to the nameless prince, and then retreated into the darkness. His footsteps quickly disappeared in the crackling sound of dry wood echoing through the valley.
Vasili held the arm tightly in his arms. Soon, there was only him left between heaven and earth, with the blade in his hand, the fire in front of his eyes, and the wolf howls coming from afar.