Blocking Reed's initial swing, Lorien stepped back smoothly, creating a calculated distance between them.
Reed adjusted his stance, lowering his sword into a more aggressive position before surging forward. This time, he feinted a strike from the right, pivoting sharply into a forceful overhead slash. For someone his age, the force and precision of the move were impressive—evidence of the training he had done.
Impressive, perhaps. But my age isn't as simple as it seems.
Rather than dodging, Lorien chose to meet the attack head-on. He intercepted Reed's swing before it could build full momentum, parrying it with precision. The clash of wood echoed sharply through the yard, the impact reverberating between them. Lorien didn't flinch; the thrill of the fight outweighed any discomfort.
Seizing the opportunity, he drove a strong kick into Reed's torso, forcing him to stagger backward. Without hesitation, he closed the gap, capitalizing on Reed's brief instability. A flurry of strikes followed, each delivered with calculated speed and force. His blade descended like a relentless storm, testing Reed's reflexes to their limit.
But Reed, however, wasn't one to back down easily. To him, blocking was a sign of weakness.
Instead of staying on the defensive, he took a calculated risk, aiming a counterstrike mid-barrage. His blade darted out, intent on breaking through Lorien's unrelenting assault.
Lorien noticed the attempt and briefly considered exploiting the opening the boy accidentally created.
A critical strike now would end the fight, likely knocking Reed out entirely. Yet, that wasn't his goal. He didn't seek victory through dominance; he wanted to understand Reed's hostility and enjoy the feeling of a spar once again.
Because of that, he decided to step back, withdrawing from the exchange.
So he steadied himself in a defensive stance, his expression neutral as a bead of sweat traced its way down his temple.
The exertion he had felt surprised him.
It had been years since he last felt this level of fatigue during a fight. The memory of his battle with the hero resurfaced, a reminder of that final clash—the relentless strikes, the searing pain, and the humiliation of defeat. A flicker of anger stirred deep within him, but he suppressed it quickly.
Looking like some angered kid won't help. Calm down dumbass.
Around them, the gathered spectators whispered among themselves, the intensity of the sparring captivating their attention. A few guards exchanged impressed looks, while others murmured about bets they seemingly made between each other.
Zalias stood on the sidelines, his arms tightly crossed, a deep frown etched across his face. He watched the fight closely, torn between stepping in to stop it and respecting his friends feelings.
Poor boy. That outburst from Reed must have struck a nerve. It's probably rare for him to have a friend so openly mad at him.
Beside him, Lilya clasped her hands anxiously, her eyes darting between the two combatants. Concern shadowed her face as if silently hoping for the clash to end without anyone getting injured.
Both fighters stood face to face, their breathing heavy but steady. Reed's expression betrayed his confusion; he obviously hadn't expected such proficiency from Lorien.
"For a noble brat, your skill's not half bad," Reed said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
Lorien let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Even so, you're clearly more capable than me," he replied evenly.
He hoped the compliment might soften Reed's defenses, coaxing him into opening up. But the boy's walls remained firmly in place, though a flicker of pride shone in his eyes.
"We're worlds apart," Reed retorted with a smirk. "After all I'm not just wasting my time in some fancy manor, sleeping all day."
Lorien could almost feel the crowd's reaction to that statement, the murmurs of disbelief rippling through the onlookers.
Even as the heir of a noble house without a true head, the Velmont name gathered respect among much of the civilian population, particularly for their war efforts. Officially, they were still nobility—a status that made remarks like Reed's not just bold but potentially dangerous.
Still, Lorien had little interest in the ancient tradition of punishing common folk for harmless jabs.
Hell, I even hunted petty nobles who partook in these kind of fucked up games, Lorien mused, a flicker of grim satisfaction tugging at the edge of his thoughts. They always thought themselves untouchable, wrapped in the armor of tradition and privilege. The look on their faces when I returned their cruelty was almost poetic.
"True," He said at last, shrugging casually. "I am a pretty lazy guy." He smiled at Reed, the expression easy and unbothered, as if the insult had rolled off him like water on stone.
He realized he needed to improvise to win his trust. Although a plan was in his mind, it would require him to adopt a more serious approach to the fight.
Reed looked a little taken aback by the plain answer, but he quickly recomposed himself.
Among the onlookers, a few chuckled quietly, finding amusement in Lorien's casual response. Their laughter seemed to diffuse some of the tension that had been piling up.
Lilya offered a strained smile, her gaze shifting between the two fighters as if unsure how to process the moment. Zalias, meanwhile, remained silent, his arms crossed and an unreadable expression shadowing his face. He seemed lost in thought, his focus unwavering.
The match continued with both of them circling on the field, their eyes locked on each other's movement, ready to plunge into action the moment something happened.
Finally, Lorien decided to break the standoff. In a split second, he dashed toward his opponent, a faint shimmer of mana flowing through his legs to amplify his acceleration.
Mana training typically began around the age of eleven, making it rare to see a child as young as Lorien displaying such proficiency. Among the onlookers, the younger guards exchanged startled glances, clearly taken aback by his control. Even Zalias and Reed seemed caught off guard, their expressions a mix of restrained awe and confusion.
However, the senior guards, more familiar with the Velmont family, appeared far less surprised. To them, it was only natural that Lorien would possess such skill. It was a testament to his lineage, a reflection of the warriors that the Velmonts had produced for generations.
Reed's face tensed as his instincts took over. He raised his sword in a flash, parrying the slash with practiced precision before leaning in for a counterstrike.
Lorien appeared to falter at the impact, his footing seemingly slipping as he stumbled backward with a involuntary step.
Reed's lips curled into a fierce grin, one tinged with a hint of crazed joy, as he lunged forward, mana surging through his legs to propel him faster.
"I am finishing this now, brat!" he bellowed, his voice ringing with overconfident triumph.
Reed's blade sped forward, confident and precise, aimed to deliver a decisive blow. But it met only air; a void where Lorien should have been.
An unsettling wave of dread gripped him from below, freezing him mid-motion.
Panic flickered across Reed's face as instinct took over. He twisted his neck sharply to the right, the wooden blade grazing his cheek by a hair's breath.
And it didn't stop there.
Lorien pressed forward with relentless precision, unleashing a barrage of rapid strikes from multiple angles. Reed struggled to keep up, each desperate dodge leaving him more unsteady and frantic than the last.
Finally, a desperate shout tore from him, his instincts overwhelming any semblance of strategy.
With every ounce of strength he had left, he launched a powerful strike at Lorien, desperately hoping to land a last decisive blow. But to his dismay, Lorien just deflected the attack, redirecting the wooden blade harmlessly to the side and sending it into the dirt.
Before Reed could react, Lorien's own blade was at his throat, the boy's smirk a quiet declaration of victory.
It was over.
Reed didn't care about the sword pressed against him. The one thing he cared about, even if he would never admit it, was his pride being shattered.
I lost.
I fucking lost.
The words repeated in his mind, growing louder and harsher with each cycle. He replayed the fight, searching for moments where he could have turned the tide, but none appeared. He realized that even from the very start. This wasn't a contest. It felt more like Lorien had toyed with him. A boy that was barely ten had toyed with him.
Grinding his teeth, Reed stared back at Lorien with bitter defiance. His eyes burned with frustration, his hatred festering and growing darker.
"Now what, Velmont?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom but faltering at the edges. "You've made a joke out of my abilities. Was that the plan all along? To humiliate me?"
The crowd, which had remained tense and captivated throughout the match, began to react.
Some burst into applause, impressed by Lorien's skill, while others exchanged murmurs of discontent, especially among the gamblers.
Among the guards, a few clapped out of respect, but most wore frowns, their connection to Reed making them most likely reluctant to celebrate his defeat.
The training yard had drawn even more onlookers than before. Workers from the surrounding area, likely enjoying their free time, gathered to discuss the match animatedly, their eyes never straying from the two boys still standing on the field.
Zalias stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His stony expression revealed little, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. He still seemed uncertain whether to intervene or let things play out on their own.
Lilya, however, acted quickly. Pushing through the growing number of spectators, she rushed toward Reed, her face a mixture of concern and uncertainty. Her eyes flicked nervously toward Lorien, who had yet to answer Reed's pointed question.
Satisfaction? Lorien mused silently in reaction to Reeds' taunt, his smirk softening into something more neutral. Winning against a beginner? Hardly. Can't blame him for thinking like this though. I probably look like just another arrogant noble brat to him.
He suppressed the urge to chuckle aloud, keeping his thoughts private.
If only he knew who I really was, maybe he'd be proud he even lasted this long.
A tense silence stretched across the yard as everyone waited for Lorien to speak.
Instead of responding, Lorien's body swayed unsteadily. His vision blurred, the edges of the world turning dark. He tried to steady himself, but the exhaustion of channeling mana and the strain of the fight had started to take their toll.
There it is.
Before anyone could react, Lorien just collapsed to the ground.
Reed's scowl twisted into a look of horror as he watched Lorien crumble before him. The spectators erupted into chaos, their voices blending into a cacophony of confusion and fear.
Zalias was the first to move, his calm demeanor shattering as he sprinted toward Lorien. Lilya joined him, her face pale with panic, and the two of them knelt beside him.
"Hey!" Zalias called, shaking the young noble in front of him.
"Get help!" Lilya's voice rang out.
The crowd surged closer, their murmurs growing louder, but all Lorien saw before everything faded completely was the blur of the kid's faces, their voices fading into the void as unconsciousness consumed him.