Chapter 79: A Cut Above the Rest (Patreon)

Willem walked to the arena in Ravenveld early in the morning, feeling well rested. He’d never really felt that he needed an excessive amount of sleep, usually only six or so hours. He always had energy enough for the day, even with that amount of sleep. Today, he got a solid eight. That meant that he would be performing above optimal performance.

When he arrived, he found Raphael already waiting in the place that he and Arend often occupied for their sparring sessions.

“You made it,” Raphael called out, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I thought you might try and do something to get out of this.”

“Despite my profession, I’m not given to lie.” Willem stepped up onto the stage and rolled his arms. “You have dark circles under your eyes. Were you tossing and turning all night thinking about me?”

Raphael met the mockery with a slight smile. “I was. Well, at some point I decided that I couldn’t sleep period I came here ahead of time.” Raphael walked a little closer. “Do you want to know why I’ve been trying so hard to get a duel with you?”

“Not particularly.” Willam took his place on the arena, grabbing the great sword provided for him. “But it seems like it might be therapeutic for you to tell me, so go ahead.”

Raphael rolled up his sleeve, where multiple scars were revealed. These weren’t ordinary scars, however. These were scars made by aura, causing them to glow faintly. They were a wide tapestry of colors, with hues ranging from white all the way to an iridescent green. There were just as many faded scars as there were unfaded one. It looked like a rainbow was sprouting from his forearm. He could probably go to a blackout rave and just wave his arms about.

“The answer is simple. I just like doing this,” Raphael said, smiling widely. “Win, lose, it doesn’t matter. This is just what I enjoy doing.”

“So, what, you want me to brand you like a pimp?” Willem raised a brow. “Put a big scar on your back that says ‘property of Willem?’”

“Or the other way around, yes.” Raphael smiled, seemingly unable to allow anyone to get under his skin.

Willem had to admit… he could respect it. He liked crazy people. Raphael put on a good front, but it seemed like he was just as crazy a bastard as him.

“And why not use the fact that you know about Eleanor to your advantage?” Willem asked, genuinely curious.

Raphael shook his head, “Can’t win this round. I can tell. And I already got what I want—access to the Villamar family.”

“No kingly ambitions?”

“At first, I thought… maybe no,” he admitted. “But after the Eye of the Sovereigns… changed my mind. That experience… that invasion… it was bliss. I rushed to fight the Lord of the Blue Sky, and I rushed to conquer all of the other kingdoms. I did everything on my own. It was a dream scenario for me, with nothing but fight after fight after fight. If I could…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s focus on the fight here and now.”

Willem stared at him, sizing him up. “If you want, you could just walk toward Avaria. I’m sure there’d be no shortage of things for you to fight.”

Raphael didn’t respond, and instead drew his weapons. He wielded two sabers. They were of a peculiar make, with one appearing gold and one appearing silver. Willem couldn’t necessarily feel his aura emerge, but he felt it. It was like gravity itself became a little stronger. He might have been scared if it was his problem.

“To first blood,” Raphael declared.

“Sure.” Willem nodded, and then gave control to Junior.

Raphael could tell that the atmosphere had shifted, because he immediately closed the distance. Willem manifested his aura, closely wrapping it around his great sword as he readied to meet his opponent. Just from the way that Raphael approached, Willem could tell if he would need to fight in a very particular way to get through this fight.

Up close, Willem would have a tremendous disadvantage. Raphael had two weapons, both of them very fast, and that meant that he would be hard pressed to maneuver his large great sword to block the coming assaults. To that end, he employed the weapon’s reach, holding it out in front of him for Raphael’s attacks.

Then, Raphael displayed why he had the reputation that he did.

He swung his sabers a sizable distance away, but instead of simply missing, the blades became dislodged from the hilt. A chain sprung out, attached to the edge of the blade. The weapons became deadly whips. Ordinarily, a weapon like that wouldn’t be feasible at all, but when used with aura much was possible.

Both of Raphael’s sabers rained down upon Willem, and Junior was immediately forced on the defensive, desperately blocking the blades that slashed relentlessly. Each seemed like a guillotine unto itself, aimed right at Willem’s neck to finish the battle far more permanently than first blood.

But Willem was still Willem.

When one of the blades flew toward his neck, rather than simply parry, Willem thrust out with his great sword and pierced the slender tip through one of the chains. Raphael’s aura was incredibly resilient, and it resisted his efforts to shatter the chain admirably. Ultimately, Willem was forced to free his blade to contest with the other saber coming his way, and Raphael began this dance anew.

The battle extended on and on, with Raphael relentlessly attacking and Willem forced to defend. His mastery of these strange weapons was such that Willem found no chance for a counter attack. Not only were they fast, each attack was too deadly to simply endure and move on. Moreover, Raphael had seen many of the tricks that Willem liked to employ in combat, likely having watched many of his bouts against Arend.

Thus, Willem decided to employ the forbidden trick.

Willem held his great sword in one hand as the other reached into a recess in his clothing. His hands clenched around a bar of soap, and he pulled it out of his pocket and flung it toward his opponent in one smooth motion. The soap was wreathed with aura, disguising its appearance. Raphael was forced to take it seriously, retracting one of his whip-sabers so that he could guard effectively. The moment that Willems saw this, he rushed, using his great sword to strike at the chain of the saber that had been retracted.

The soap hit Raphael’s saber and exploded into smaller bits, buffeting his clothing. Willem thought that he had an advantage as he approached, but Raphael seemed unperturbed as he brought his weapons to bear to parry Willem’s initial thrust. Almost effortlessly, Raphael transitioned from long range chain-whips to dual-wielding those sabers. And there, his advantage was immediately made known.

Willem tried to employ the brutality of the Brugh fighting style, cleaving with his great sword using the utmost power. But Raphael wasn’t lacking in power of his own, and his two weapons were agile enough to respond to anything that Willem attempted. Eventually, when Willem landed a very solid hit, Raphael guarded and got distance. Thereafter, those chained blades came out, and the cycle began again.

Raphael’s style was so masterful as to appear effortless. He demonstrated that he had learned from every one of the scars on his arms, and adapted to almost every situation that Willem could force him into. Up close, he used the strength and speed of his dual weapons to overwhelm Willem’s large, cumbersome greatsword. Afar, he employed those chain-whip blades of his for devastating efficiency. Despite his best efforts, Willem was unable to break the chains binding the handle to the blade. Raphael’s aura wasn’t fragile. As a matter of fact, it was one of the most versatile essences that Willem had ever clashed against.

Willem tried countless tricks to gain an advantage, but none of them worked. He produced a knife, using it in his second hand to even the difference that Raphael had created. But his mastery of an offhand weapon was far lesser than the skill that he had manipulating the great sword, and he faltered. In the end, he cycled through various different styles of combat. None of them seemed to suffice. Even the mad, instinctual, animalistic style he loved was too risky with the sabers flying everywhere through the air. It seemed as though Raphael projected himself everywhere at once.

It quickly became a contest of endurance. Even though Raphael could project his attacks well enough, Willem could defend from them quite easily. But therein was the problem. Willem Junior was on a time limit, the impending doom of Willem Senior’s indomitable willpower bearing down. He had never encountered an opponent who could so steadfastly resist his mad charge. The grace with which Raphael conducted himself was almost infuriating.

He could feel Willem Senior’s presence slowly wearing on his mind. He could liken it to the feeling of urgently needing to go to the bathroom—a growing sensation that if he didn’t make it in time, something very embarrassing would happen. He grew intensely frustrated by this duel’s condition of first blood. If they could trade blows, this would be so much simpler. He’d be fine earning a scar in pursuit of victory. And he could do it, he was certain. He could land a hit.

The moment that he became certain, it was like a switch flipped In Willem’s head. He stamped his foot down like a bull preparing to charge, and rather than defend against the approaching blades, he prepared a bestial thrust. He rushed in fast enough that the saber on the right had no chance of hitting, and when the blade on the left closed in, he imbued his hand with aura and back handed the blade. He tried to hit the flat, but it still drew blood. It gave him time enough to fight.

He finished his glorious thrust toward Raphael’s body, but rather than wilt, his opponent seemed to come alive.

Raphael released his weapons and elbowed toward the approaching blade. The blade cut the back of his arm only slightly, but he slammed his elbow against the flat of the great sword, wrenching it from Willem’s grip and casting it to the ground. Thereafter, they both grappled one another, fighting to overpower each other in a primal battle. Raphael produced a hidden dagger and thrust out, but Willem caught his wrist and twirled, pushed them apart.

Raphael looked happy and alive with the dagger in his hand, clearly ready to fight this out further. Willem, too, felt the bloodlust in his heart. He was eager to engage in this deadly dance. But… he couldn’t. Senior was nearly here.

Willem raised up his left hand, where Raphael’s blade had barely nicked him. Faint blood dripped out.

“First blood.” Willem lowered his hand. “Congratulations.”

Raphael looked as frustrated as Willem felt, but his composure quickly returned. He didn’t say anything, just looked up toward the sky silently. Willem reflected on the battle. He honestly couldn’t say he would win if the battle continued. Raphael was the most formidable opponent that Willem had ever fought, perhaps even seen. Even his father couldn’t compare.

Willem walked away, feeling himself ceding control to Senior. Before he could, however, he heard Raphael’s voice.

“I get the feeling the next time we do this, it’s going to be until last blood,” Raphael called out.

Willem looked back. “Better believe it.”

***

Arend looked out at the arena after the fight between Willem and Raphael. Where once it had been a smooth magic-reinforced stone arena, now it was nothing more than a mass of scars, each carved into the stone so deep that they could break a man’s ankle. It was one of the most destructive fights that Arend had ever seen. Even the king might not be so violent. But then… the king’s true prowess couldn’t truly be known.

“One of you is paying for this,” said the arena master, looking between the reticent pair.

“It’s a public facility,” Willem argued. “The king should pay for it.”

“He already did,” the arena master said, looking between them. “He also mandated that anybody who defaces this public property needs to pay for it… or go to jail.”

Willem looked at Raphael. The man held his hands up and said, “Don’t look at me. I’m poor as hell.”

“Look… we’re a part of the contest for the princess’s hand,” Willem explains to the arena master. “I’m sure that the king would have no problem paying for this.”

“So… this was part of the king’s contest?” the arena master looked suspicious.

“In a roundabout way, everything is, if you really think about it.” Willem smiled pleasantly.

Silence.

“Payment. I want it as soon as possible.” The arena master was unwavering.

The pair sighed as the man walked away.

“Well… I’ll go to Baptiste. You go to your patron,” Willem suggested.

“Don’t you have enough money to pay for this?” Raphael asked.

“Of course I do,” Willem said, sounding offended. “That doesn’t matter. It’s about the principle of the matter.”

Raphael looked confused. “What principle?”

“The principle that just because one can pay for something doesn’t mean one should. If I start tossing coin at every petty demand, what’s next? A fee to breathe the air? A surcharge for decency?” He wagged his finger. “No, Raphael. There are moments in a man’s life when he must draw a line—not for lack of funds, but to make clear that he is not to be taken for a walking purse with legs.”

Raphael puffed air. “It’s like I’m talking to a different person from moments ago.” He started to walk away.

“Half, Raphael. Half!” Willem shouted after him.

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