Chapter 22: Shared Frenzy

After the visit that Azazel paid last night, the sum of information has been convoluted. How centuries and backward does such a hound work around its prey? Trusting very little but the words of his lord, a twisted definition of loyalty, what comes after is his first order.

Kushiel…that is one to bear fang against Father, the evidence was rather muddled. From what I got from Azazel, Fifth was deemed as corrupted; an indirect disposal of the sinner was what he suggested.

“May I come in, Your Holiness.” The voice breaks my deduction, quite early at dawn after Gabriel has left. A scoffing diligence from Darwen’s successor is still a quality I can take advantage of. Still, I would rather have a better stage for this training to begin.

“I am not unwelcoming your presence,” I say while opening the door, the loud creak sounds like some loose attachment from the door. It needs to be replaced again, just how flimsy is the mortal’s work should be?

Looking around the messy room, he makes a subtle comment while helping me clean up. “A rough night for you, your holiness.” He whispered while gathering paper into piles, such a careless remark.

“I am not against your antic, Pierre. But holding your tongue is a necessity within these walls, no matter how high your status is.” I make an unpleasant remark, his face wrinkled with distaste.

A pout almost, I don’t whether to scold him for childishness or applaud him for the ability to change his expression to fit his inner emotion so quickly.

Checking through the buried scrolls and papers, I find them made from quite sturdy materials and look quite hard to replicate. Are they made to be anti-forgery purposes?

“You must have questioned what I require your presence today, your timely entrance is applauding,” I tell him some words of encouragement before opening the door to the training ground. He follows eagerly behind.

Look like the servants have learned to be accustomed to my presence lately, they seem less tense while keeping a revere distance from my stepping. The castle has been nothing but gloomy these few days with the sovereign in question grieving an old friend's passing.

Would raising morality be a necessity for now? I don’t wish for those around me to wear such a death-like face everywhere. Maybe some parties like those that Marvos held for nobility would be sufficient.

“You have been looking around much, your holiness. Something in your mind.” Pierre peeks again, through his annoyance bringing something more than naunce for the depressing air. From the look of appearance, Pierre’s armor is a lighter one.

Different from Darwen’s golden armor, Pierre is a makeshift one with chainmail underneath the breastplate. Behind him is a one-handed lance, akin to a javelin with a little more weight down to enhance the tip’s damage for close combat.

“Your stance, I am thinking on you will take on the enemies. It makes me question how Darwen can tutor someone like yourself.” I sigh, casting my mind nothing of the comment, however…

“Are you calling me weak?” Pierre stops and stares at me with utmost animosity. The killing intent is so dense that others can’t help but cower away from us; so this is what Darwen saw from this man, who wears nothing but a façade of naivety and bluntness.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A kind of determination that I can guide.

“Baring your fangs against me? Good, you hope you can keep it once we reach the training ground.” I say as a command, and he follows with a begrudging movement.

The ground has been cleared due to how early we have come; the others are still outside working on their stamina and mediocre techniques. There needn’t be an observer anyway, I can gauge him how much I please.

“Pick your weapon, I shall start as soon as the tip of both our feet reaches the center of the training ground,” I announced.

He chooses nothing more than he knows what is most familiar, a training lance. So for a beneficial disadvantage, I am willing to take handicap is…

“A rapier, you must be looking down on me that much,” Pierre comments while staring dagger into the weapon I chose. The dual dagger could have brought much more advantage while still having the handicap of short range, but the rapier is much more suitable for a mock battle.

“My choice depends on your strength, this much would be enough for now,” I say when stepping into the middle of the ground.

As soon as I step inside his range, he uses the delayed kind of [Haste] to bypass my standing forcing me into the immediate defensive stance.

Each blow was latent with fast and hostile intent, not even trying to parry against the rapier; the thrusts were aimed at what Pierre thought of killing point: head, shoulder, ankle, hand, and feet. Such a raw talent to have, however, the futile performance is much less faterry after I saw through his flurry.

Twirling around the rapier, each would be noticeably close to what the thrust should have stricken. Changing the trajectory of his lance right before the moment of impact. Scratching screech between the iron strike between the rapier’s tip and lance‘s body.

Spark flew with each impact, slowly reducing both weapons' durability. I need to switch to a more offensive stance to end this whole spar of ridiculousness. Changing the rapier swing into thrusting, I manage to fend off him a little.

“You’re wide open,” Pierre smirked as he caught one of my openings when I advanced far to his area; striking a blow at my left rib. As blood pours dripping golden liquid upon the ground.

“This should end for now, I don’t want to cause much damage to his vessel,” Pierre says with a satisfied smile…I don’t want to lose. Not like this…not someone like him.

“Hold your weapon tight,” I shout, as Pierre returns his stance with…

I shouldn’t be concerned too much about plausibility now, should I? He has made a fine specimen to be tested, So, don’t blame me too much, when I cause you too much pain.

Tightening the dull steel, I move forward with the bloodlust I have kept hidden for a long time. All the talk about how childish I would be if I unleashed a tantrum on those who are lesser than me.

Why should I care about that now I see much of a worthy opponent? I will rip away those fangs that have torn against my flesh. With these little claws of a rapier, needn’t the work magic even.

Struck forward the steel which former useless against whose cane strike against you, I take no pleasure in spilling blood for entertainment. But this will need of a lesson for the hound who bare fangs against its master.

Continuous flurry came by my small and agile body struck, rendering the hound more and more vulnerable. From when does the chainmail fall, the defense sherd. Oh, looking at those unyielding eyes. Pierre, you are the one who can know and understand this childish side of mine.

Shredding those useless defenses, Pierre became as frenzy as me. Having his eyes turn greenish, the shade of emerald; how long do I long harvesting it as a trophy? I strike down one last time with my bare strength.

Before I can finish what we started, a hand shield of magic appears between me and Pierre, stopping what needs to be done.

“Are you going to slaughter a possession you have just obtained?” Violet speaks from the entrance of the ground. That is when Pierre and I realized how much our little training session had caused.

The knights from outside are all stunted from the impact we caused by the little morning spar, some cower behind Violet who looks really irritated from waiting.

“Phew, we did quite a number from just a spar.” Pierre chuckles from the half-dead state he is in, optimistic…no how crazed he has indulged in the battle not to notice the damage like I am.

“Of course, my hound,” I say with a sigh before dragging him onto the way of the infirmary, surely I would have such an earful from Violet for using pawn carelessly again. But for now, I sense a little relief of tension from the little frenzy to have expressed.

The end