27th day of Zun’s Rest, twelfth month of the year, 983:
“Don’t you dare die on me Simon, there was no need for you to block that arrow and I swear upon Elenia that I am going to stab your ass with the same arrow once I fix you”. Around a young Noct, dressed as a soldier, a successful ambush had his company on the back foot. His orders being nonexistent, the few men he had taken to scout were taken one by one by the bandits as he tried to heal his deathly injured friend. Having a seizure, he soon died, letting Noct finally take the lead. Looking around, he saw six of his men had already died, regret bumbling inside, he soon jo….”
“Ah.” Waking up with a grunt caused by the nightmare, he tried to get up before failing again thanks to a pang of pain from his new scar on the left side. Wiping his eyes, he half undressed to address the new problematic zone. Once he saw the angry scar he could only sigh in defeat. “It is going to hurt for a long time. Maybe the instability of my mana caused a reaction? It shouldn’t make any sense.”
“Took you long enough to wake up,” The words made Noct jump and, subsequently, half double from the pain. Sorak looked at him with a bit of pity and whispered, “Soral copied your spell of sleep, thank her later for the care.” Looking at his wound, she couldn't hide a frown at the nasty aspect of it.
Noticing the look, Noct said, “Got worse, gave worse.” After hesitating a bit, he continued. “I thank you for carrying me to my tent. I would thank you for the treatment but I have seen better doctors in reunions of alcoholics.” He tried to ease the atmosphere.
“That’s not normal, any idea what caused it?” Her gaze trying to dig in him
“Honestly, I have no idea.” Letting out a joyless laughter, he joked around to relax her concern without realising it, “Dropped the school before reaching the juicy bits of curse magic.”
Not detecting a lie, she pressed on, “I am not in the mood for jokes, do you really not know anything?”
Shrugging, he said, “Maybe I overextended myself by treating the elf directly. I always had a low amount of internal mana so I guess it started to run amok. It shouldn’t have been able to do anything that disrupted the power of a God but I am no expert.” Seeing as his dream had loosened his tongue, he tried to return to his persona and order Sorak to leave. “Anything more, High Paladin?”
Hiding her mixed feeling, “No, Regent.”
“Then scram.”
Once he found himself alone he holded his head in his hands, cursing the way he had acted yesterday. The situation had brought up something he hadn’t been able to forget and had acted unlike a leader, repeating the mistakes of the past. He had saved a life in exchange for three under his ‘command’. A failure as a leader, cracking upon the first tremor of pressure, forgetting to even use attack magic to save Mulia. Looking at his sword, sheathed in its scabbard, dark thoughts swirling again in his head, not for the first time and not for the last. Standing up, he left the tent after sending a magic message to Eve, “Investigate the bandits we have encountered.” and sended her the location of the ambush.
Leaving the tent, he was confronted by a cloudy but calm sky. A relatively shining day compared to the last days of storms. Putting a strong front, he walked as he usually did, with quick and long steps, perfectly hiding the weakness in his walk and the pain that loomed over his facade, trying to twitch his eyebrows. Looking around him, he saw the embers of the recently smothered bonfire, as the guards had already finished their breakfast and were preparing to resume the march. Mulia was waiting near those, and started to approach him.
Looking towards her, he saw the recently dug graves in the distance, making him clenched his first. Using the treatment of Lia as an excuse for his weakness, he ignored Mulia and went to Soral’s tent.
“I am going to enter.” Warned Noct, a few seconds later he flapped open the tent and entered. Seeing as Lia was already awake and Soral was feeding her soup, he silently kneeled and started to review the healing. “The skull is mending better than I expec….should thank Sorak again. The blood levels are fine, volume of brain water inside the skull is also within the normal parameters, the brain matter….Gods be praised it healed fine.”
“How are you feeling, Lia?”
Lia started to speak in half common and half elven, getting increasingly terrified of not being able to get her point across. Fearing a panic attack, Noct cut her before she could start to spiral out of control.
“Not being able to properly talk is fine, so…” Lia appeared to be incapable of understanding him and was trying to get up, making Soral drop the plate of soup to hold her down. Helping Soral, Noct used his plan b.
“Now you can hear me? Nod if yes.” Sended Noct a magic message.
Lia, calming down a bit, nodded.
“You may have a slight cause of temporal brain damage until it completely integrates the new matter.” Seeing her desperate look, Noct quickly added, “I know it sounds bad, but you being able to understand this type of communication is proof that your brain is currently relearning to understand how and to speak. I need you to stay calm, not make any heavy efforts and try to keep your emotions stable. In short, let your brain rest.”
Lia gestured to the outside, her eyes had both fear and worry.
Realising what he was asking, he added soberly “Tiamat, Ymus and Man died protecting us all. They died like soldiers, not faltering even in front of death.”
Lia started to cry and Soral, with her clothes drenched in soup, not that she minded, started to console her.
He left the tent, feeling as both an intruder and their killer. Likos was waiting for him outside. Noct, questioning him with a gaze, let him ask.
“My Lord, have we got enough time for a funeral?”
Taken aback, Noct answered, “We only have a paladin of Elenia, still, you can ask her to see if she’s willing.”
“She already did, my Lord. I asked you in case you wanted to speak some words.”
“Then you ask in vain. I will not dishonour their memory with the words of the commander who marched them to death.”
Sadness in the eyes of Likos, he accepted, “If that is your will.”
Not bothering to answer, they resumed their march.
……….
Soral looked at the inside of the carriage, the space was now enough to house all of their guards together with Mulia with some difficulties. The luggage of a noblewoman they carried now seemed like an insult, plain arrogance and show off after their life or death battle. Their contingent fairly wounded, Noct had decided to scratch the idea of them guarding the carriage, and, without the need to slow down, they marched as quickly as the mufalos could endure.
Looking back ahead, she eyed her brother without his knowledge. He was doing a pretty bad job of hiding his pain, everytime the cart shook or trembled he could but silently grunt in pain. Touching her shoulder, she remembered the bolt that had broken the shield Noct had left when he went to engage the crossbowmen, and how it had bounced right off his shoulder as it hit yet another shield. For how long had that protection been there? She did not know.
“Noct, let me have the reins, you are doing a horrible job at controlling them at this speed.” She didn’t know why she was trying to lessen his burden, but she tried to nonetheless.
Looking at her, he wordlessly entrusted her the reins, proof of how hard of a time he was having as he didn’t even try to fight her. Looking ahead again, he reclined on the carriage bench, made of wood, and closed his eyes, trying to rest.
“Weren’t your eyes green?” Asked Soral, surprised after meeting a pair of brown eyes.
Irritation present in Noct’s voice, he answered, already half asleep, “Are you really asking about that? I always had brown eyes.”
“What, no. Wait, now that I think about it, when we were kids you did have brown eyes…., that’s right, when did your eyes chan….?” Realising he had fallen asleep, she dropped the topic.
………….
The capital of the Astar County was one of the metropolises in the cold north. A city home to an appalling thousand hundred, give or take. With an architecture that mimicked the central cities of the empire, it wasn’t separated in rings, the city flowed outwards with a keen resemblance to a wheel, having 8 straight great roads that ramified from the center of the town, the ‘White Rose’ palace. Called like that thanks to the alive murals of its walls, it resembled an ‘Ice Rose’, a flower of legends used in the far past to call upon the aid of white drakes, that withered and bloomed along the seasons. Being full winter, it was at its most beautiful, full bloomed.
The palace itself was of Imperial Architecture, an imposing building with several towers that rose to the very sky. Made of dyed granite, it shone with a silver glow, illuminating its rectangular shape and showing off the beautiful garden it guarded. Occupying a whole hectare by itself, it was home to all the different flowers of the north, mostly different types of roses of all uses.
Covering 6 hectares, it was the biggest palace of its stratum, a building most counts could do but gaze, as the Rosekeepers Household was one of the richest of its class. Ruling over a major checkpoint in the passage of commercial goods of all shorts, it administered both the north east and west highroads, acting as a security post as they bifurcated here.
The city was similar to Bonfire in that there were high buildings in the central area that gave way to shorter but wider houses as they neared the walls. The similarities ended there, as the wall surrounding the city was twenty meters tall, with several watchtowers and abundant patrols. Except for the main roads that separated the city in districts, the roads were poorly organised and labyrinthic, becoming more and more chaotic as they left the richer parts of the city.
What’s more, after Soral crossed the gates once meeting the guards and confirming her identity, something she had forgotten about hit her in the nostrils. The city lacked a well oiled sewer system, only present in the rich part of the city and in the shopping and craftment districts.
A guard left his post in a hurry, with enough care to evade the notice of anyone but Noct, whose furtive gaze followed him.
“What are your orders, Lady Soral?” Asked Sorak from her position outside the carriage, as she guarded it, unsure of what to do.
“We go to the palace and let the countess know we are here. After he gives us our loggins and manages our carriage we will see.” Lightly explained Soral.
“Understood.”
“And us?” Asked Likos, on behalf of the guards.
“You come too”
As they crossed the city, the beggars and poor people that were common turned into well dressed peasants and well off merchants. The guards did their job with more energy in the richer parts it would seem.
Not being able to hide a frown, Soral passed Noct the reigns, as it was unfit for a noble lady and she had to give a proper atmosphere. Thinking about the healthy and energetic town that was Garden, she couldn’t but think if it could be called a happy town if so many people lived in poverty. Needing to distract herself from the image of a half dead kid on a dark alley she catched a glimpse of, she started to talk.
“Have you been here before, Noct?”
“In the countryside, never in the city itself.” Too focused to not groan from the pain, he curtly responded.
Having lost her distraction, they continued in silence. Soral forced herself to look forward to the beautiful and clean central part of the city.
…………….
Having been given permission to enter the throne room, their group meet Simil of the Rosekeepers, a woman in his thirties. With scarlet hair and a complex dark green dress, her red eyes quickly hided her surprise at seeing a not invited person in front of her.
Breaking protocol, Soral talked first, curtsying light. “The Ashen Household presents its regards at your kindness for inviting us to such a joyful occasion.”
Simil smiled warmly, “How could I not invite such loyal and tranquil vassals. I fear the merchant association is disseminating baseless rumours about cruel actions your brother would be incapable of doing, I’m sure. But, leaving that for later, could you correct me if I err, Lady Asht? Should your appointed regent really be here? If memory does not fail me you should have received only one invitation.”
Soral standing proudly started to smile too and answered, “I’m sure you intended to send two invitations. Maybe your high commander made a typo in the invitation intended for Noct of the Ashen household, and the guards I, Soral of the Ashen, employ surely threw it away. An overzealous bunch, I fear they are too disciplined for such a simple job. I am sure that if you had found the time to write the invitations yourself this unintended failure wouldn’t have happened. Nevertheless, I take no offence. I am sure a Countess of your worth has a lot of work that impedes her to answer all of her responsibilities.”
“I thank you for your understanding, Siral. I fear the work of a countess is never finished. I envy your lesser position, I’m sure you have enough time to spend on hobbies. Like your sword arts, I am sure you ought to have the perfect physique of a warrior.” Simil smirked and upped her fan slow enough for Soral to catch it, as she had intended.
“Well, I fear I have taken too many responsibilities as of late. Reforming both the agricultural system, expanding the sewer system and fixing my poorest regions has given me pause. I should have followed your steps, a bad smell is but a sign of progress and prosperity, right?”
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Seeing herself losing the war, she finished the taunting show, “My servants will show you your rooms. I hand picked it to make you feel as close to home as possible.”
“I thank you for taking the time to do such a lowly task for our enjoyment. If you pardon me, the travels have been rough.”
“Of course.”
Being led by a servant to the east wing of the palace, they crossed dozens of servants on their way to. “I am sure half of them are just standing, acting as if they are working.” Her mood worsening by the step, they soon arrived in their rooms.
“I am sorry, we didn’t prepare more than one noble room for your entourage, Lady Soral.” The presence of Noct so near made him forget the misspell order of the countess.
“Of no consequence, I will sleep with the guards.” Noct casually thrown. The look of both Soral and the servant would have made a fine painting.
Panicking, the servant tried to refuse with empty flattery, “Do not worry, Your Excellency Noct of the Ashen!, the room is big enough for two. We will quickly bring another bed.”
“Take no insult on the countess, Noct. It was but a mistake.” Soral mistook the casual remark of Noct as a plan to degrade the countess.
Seeing Soral refusing the idea, Noct the escort gave up.
Once a space mage brought a bed, a way to further press their wealth in their faces, they rested on the room.
“Do you not want to go out? I can call the guards.”
“I fear what would you do if left alone.” Said Soral lying in her bed, tired of the crappy journey to the palace. Looking around, she started to hate the countess with a passion, their guest room was as remarkable as their castle. Not a decoration nor furniture in sight.
“I would…”
“I do not care. We arrived fairly late and I saw enough of the city to last a lifetime.”
Noct reclined on the wood chair he was sitting on. “It is indeed not a pretty sight. To be completely fair, the Capital was far worse.”
Repressing a shudder, Soral switched the topic. “Did you know the dress you made me is fairly revealing? The current trends have clothes more complex and stuffing.”
“Wouldn’t a dress akin to the one the countess hand make it incredibly hard to move and act in an emergency?” Old habits die hard, even more when one has no idea about how the noble society works.
“How you didn’t learn anything about etiquette is beyond me. Praise be Elenia, thank her it is me who will inherit the barony.”
“I never needed it after all.” Said Noct, with a tinge of regret. Shifting in his chair, he asked, “Should I call Sorak?”
“What for?”
“Isn’t she going to be your companion at tomorrow's ball?”
“Non-nobles are not permitted in the Welcoming of the Sun.”
“Then why did she send only an invitation? I didn’t know we needed two.”
Surprised at the inability of Noct to read between the lines, she spat, “Public humiliation. My first debut as a lady and I would be alone without my betrothed, whom you have yet to find.”
Noct looked away and drily said, “Shouldn’t you be the one to decide that?”
Refusing to educate her brother further, she ordered, “Awake me for dinner.”
Not listening to the reply, she dozed to sleep.
………………
“The Ashen Household presents itself.” Said the servant who was introducing all the nobles when they entered the ball.
The ball was a practice introduced from the Theocracy and, along the years, it had suffered heavy changes. When the original balls of the undead courts were dances and reunion between nobles to find a lover and future partner, they had been corrupted by the shallowness of the Empire’s nobility and turned into shows where nobles tried to one up one another, be it by showing off their femininity or their skills in ruling their lands. Sewing, chess, strategy games and administrative contests weren’t that uncommon, and they used to be as vicious as the duels of the orc tribes, as the pettiness of Imperial nobles for those they deemed incapable or barbarian knew no bounds..
The room was as big as their castle but unlike it, it was filled with furniture, decoration, servants, paintings of all kinds and magic chandeliers that switched tonality and brightness along with the songs. “What a waste of coins.” The utilitarian mindset of Soral could but chastise such lavish spending on something that would offer no return. While the show was fine and she felt a bit envious of the colourful life of other nobles, she wouldn’t have imitated them even if she could.
Once started to walk, hand to hand with Noct, dozens of stares befell on them. Focused on her dress or in the looks of a properly dressed Noct she did not know. His usual armour plates had flowed onto his usual clothes, creating a black uniform second to the empress guards in complexity of design. Both utilitarian and resistant, it was the best look an Imperial Knight acting as a escort could have. “His eyes are turning a bit green again.” Absentmindedly noticed Soral. His black hair had the simple hairstyle of a soldier, accentuating his veteran physique. A few whispers of envy of the noblewoman here resounded here, and she could not but smirk a bit.
The looks that the women were giving her dress was a mix of contempt for its warrior-likeness and pure, green envy at its quality and cost, as purple dye was as costly as a Knighthood. “The purple fits me well.”
Having made their entrance, she got to the painful job of trying to make connections with fellow baronesses, an action she abandoned swiftly enough. Nobody wanted to associate with a fallen household, not now, not never.
Eating from one of the tables together with Noct, Countess Simil approached them last with her daughter.
“Are you having a good time, Siral of Ast?” Asked Maliz, the heiress to the County. A beautiful lady, he had inherited both the scarlet hair and eyes together with the attitude of her mother. Her icy white dress paled in comparison with Soral’s, something that was irking her to no avail.
“Yes, my future Lady.” Answered Soral without putting down her plate of food. After taking another bite, and hiding a smile seeing the face of Maliz twitch, she continued, “The food truly tastes better when the consequences of profit aren’t near.” Now it was the countess who flinched almost imperceptibly.
“And you, regent Not?”
“....” Soral hid another smirk.
“Regent?”
“Yes?” A vein bulging on her forehead.
“I was asking if you were having a good time, Regent Noct.”
Putting down his plate and whipping his face with a napkin, he answered, “Pardon me, I thought you were talking to Not. To be honest, I do not like being surrounded by such an abundance of unusable wealth. I think it would be better spent in a hospital. Disease will befall this town next spring, like the last time I was here. It happens every year, I really don’t know why there’s no countermeasure yet. On the other hand, the food is good.” The buffet of that day consisted of different vegetarian recipes from fruits and vegetables freshly harvested by serfs from the Palace’s Garde.
The voices of the near nobles quieting down, Noct remained impassible, not realising the affront he had caused.
Countess Simil, dropping the facade of affability, coldly asked, “Do you presume to know better than me about lordly work, regent of a barony?”
“I do not presume. I know. If not me, Lady Soral would double the productivity in 5 years. We could be of assistance if you required us.” Soral now doubting he was being careless started to pale a bit. “Is he mad?!”
“Bold words for a man.” Spat Maliz. The hand of her mother mushing her backwards, Simil interrupted.
“Would you kindly apologise? I may forgive you with twenty strikes if you grovel before me like the warrior you are.”
…….
As the whole room had quieted down, the scene picked the interest of the Duchess, who had come to recruit noblewomen to her cause, exploiting the ceremony. “What a good opportunity, the Ashen would be a good help in breaking free from the empire.” With those traitorous thoughts, she walked towards them.
…………..
“Twenty? Is your arm so feeble? I would have judged fifty. If you are not careful, bastards like me could outlive your ruling. I know of one who survived those twenty and more.” Pressure started to build up and Soral, pale and cursing her foolishness as she had underestimated her brother, tried to cool down the waters. Before she could start, a woman in his forties spoke.
“If you rule your sister as better, why don’t we prove it?” Hearing the voice of the Duchess, everyone involved in the fight kneeled down.
Raising her hand, she continued, “No need for such formalities, I am quite interested too in the competition.” Said, eyeing Soral, who gulped and cursed, again, his brother.
“Pardon me but, shouldn’t I be the competitor?”
Laughing softly behind her fan, he said merrily, “Aren’t you an escort? You can only act on her behalf in duels. Where did all that confidence go?” Stabbed her Highness Larra, masking her involvement as a neutral party.
“I have also grown tired of your disrespect towards my House.” Participated in Soral, “I have no problem facing your challenges.”
“Then I will be the judge.” Accepted Larra.
“And I will represent my House.” Smugly, Maliz said.
…………….
Two hours later, the screams of Maliz resounded over the ballroom.
“You viper!” Having lost all 3 games of chess and both the simulations of two countries fighting for dominance in the famous game ‘Imperial Dominance’, she found herself enraged beyond relief. Soral had been toying with her all along, in every move, in every strategy, in all small victories she thought she had won, Soral had, afterwards, mercilessly reminded her that she had lost those on purpose to beat her up at the last moment. Losing towns, pawns, armies, everything she had lost had been to rub her in the face that she was worse than her.
Her anger was somewhat understandable, as all noblewoman had come to observe the challenge and were, in utmost noble fashion, mocking and degrading Maliz among themselves.
“Oh my, I thought the disrespect would stop after I won.”
Duchess Larra hadn’t dared to dream about an absolute defeat at the hands of Soral. She had tried to give Maliz a chance not including a sewing duel but it wouldn’t have made a difference even if Soral, against all appearances, turned out to be manly in that aspect. She had to stop herself from salivating at the prospect of grabbing the Ashen for herself as direct vassals. If the magic binder that was Noct was not enough of a gem, his enchanted weapons sold the moment they hit the shops, Lady Soral was a diamond waiting for a chance to shine. While it was true that the Rosekeepers were anything but incapable, being good rulers in their own right, it was like comparing a ‘Knight with a King’ in chess talk.
Maliz throwed her fan at the feet of Soral, who backed a bit from sheer outrage at the sight.
Before her mother could stop her, Maliz roared, mistaking her fury for cowardice, “Pick it up or live in shame, I demand a duel!”
Soral, who wouldn’t have had it any other way, picked it up silently.
“I delegate my position to High Knight Pozos!” Proudly exclaimed Maliz. The knight, who had been standing guard at the doors, walked silently towards her.
“I delegate my position to my brother, Regent Noct of the Ashen,” Soral calmly stated,
“Hah,“ Laughed Maliz, “You picked that crafter? Should I say now what I want for a bond? There’s no way that long finger bastard can win against Pozos!”
“I will remember your face, bitch.” Mentally swore Soral, not knowing why she was getting so angry with those words.
“I accept.” Said both Pozos and Noct.
The noblewoman cleared the way for the duelist to fight and Duchess Larra acted as a judge again, and started to talk between themselves excitedly. Duels were pretty uncommon after all and, while they were disgraceful, a bit of show was always welcomed.
“You have no right to dress like a noble, tomboy. I will have you expelled from my county, never to return.” The highest insult anyone could say to another noble silenced, again, the ballroom. Soral, not minding it, awaited the signal. She saw Noct clenching his fist and, fearing he was getting cold feet as, after all, he was fighting a High Knight, she tried to calm him down.
“Unsheathe your sword, Regent Noct. Let it talk.”
The look of sheer emotions that the eyes of Noct returned made her flinch. “Does he hate me that much for putting him in that position? Wait, that look….”
…………….
Clenching his fist after hearing Maliz insulting her sister, he swore to plummet that wanna be veteran to a paste. Getting ready to fight, he heard something that froze his blood. As if the world was making him regret him acting like a brother when he did not have the right, Soral ordered him.
“Unsheathe your sword, Regent Noct. Let it talk.”
His gaze could but look at her, the calming smile she had intended to give him looked to him like the evil smirk of the high commander who had flogged him. “What did I…., no, I deserve the hate. I didn’t think she knew. Andras told her I guess.” His hand now trembling, his opponent was already prepared.
He didn’t realise that they were waiting for him to unsheathe his sword to start the fight, too conflicted inside.
His hand refusing to listen, he tried to get it near the hilt of his sword, thousands of memories he hated surfacing again. Scenes of him cutting a path of blood across countless people almost made him throw up.
Nevertheless, he grabbed the hilt and started to unsheathe 'Void'. Once the blade came to view, the light that bathed the ballroom diminished in intensity, as if a shadow had befallen over them. Fully unsheathing it and raising it over his head, he put it in the same fencing position the High Knight had. Pommel near his guts, blade pointing upwards and against his rival.
A dark smile taking hold of his face, befitting of the darkness that had come. His mind clearing of memories, of feelings, of shoulds and didn’ts, he gripped his sword. As darkness consumed his mind and unleashed his old memories, he remembered the delight he felt when he battled, when he ceased to think, when he only had to act by instinct. His blood pumping, his pulse accelerating, he slightly crouched, preparing to dash. Looking at Pozos, he quickly judged his equipment. Deciding it was not worth finesse, he decided to just use brute force. "I will crush that shield of yours, I will cleave through the arm behind it and I will disembowel you in front of everyone. Only after I see your guts spew before me will I behead you. A city High Knight has no right to try to act mighty before a true soldier. How many people have you killed? How many people have you watched as they died? How many people have you lost? I will rip your veins off and drink your blood." He almost didn't hear the Duchess giving them the order to engage, he merely pounced on the moving knight, his sword leaving an after image as it ate the very light that it cut. "Face me, Knight, pray to Dice you get a good hit!"
………….
Pozos could not believe his eyes, as Noct charged straight at him, intending to hit him with an overhead strike. "He is leaving himself wide open, I just need to block with my shield and strike back. I expected more from the rumours."
Preparing to parry the strike, the moment his eyes focused onto the sword he felt a creepy bad feeling. His blood cooled down and left his face as if running for its life. His legs almost giving up, he could have sworn the blade of that black sword was laughing at him, smirking even, at his feeble attempt of blocking it. His warrior's sense screamed at him to run for his very life. Starting to panic, as darkness fogged his sight, he realised that it was too late to change his parry, as he was but two feet away from Noct. He tried to fall back in a panic, that cursed sword was already on its descent, mocking a soon to be corpse. He could only see the illusion of that damned smirk. Fearing the darkness of that blade, he screamed something, anything, to get out of that situation as the blade hit his raised shield.
"I surrender!!!" Said Pozos, as he fell on his back from his quick, too quick, evasion manoeuvre. In that strike the sword had cut open the shield as if it was paper, tearing both his armour and his forearm, missing the bone by millimetres, and opening his flesh. Having saved his arm by falling back, he started to breathe again, the little distance he had put between that blade and him was enough to clear his vision.
The sight of the sword getting ready to attack made him lose the rest of the blood that his face had. The sight of the quickly evaporating blood on its blade making him shudder.
“Lady Soral has won the duel!!” Only those words were able to awaken Noct, who sheathed his sword.
Only when that sword was hidden in the scabbard was light able to return in its full splendour.
“A, a cursed sword.” Nobody knew who had whispered that insult, nobody would have disagreed.
…………………………