Elijah's skill was evident. His stance was solid, his attacks relentless. It was clear to anyone watching that he was no amateur. He must've practiced swordsmanship for years, Visconti thought, noting the fluidity in Elijah's movements. But he also noticed something else—Elijah wasn't overextending himself. He was testing Kieran, probing his defenses with calculated strikes.
Kieran, realizing he needed space, took a step back to reset his stance. But Elijah was relentless. Without giving him a moment to breathe, he leaped forward, his blade descending in a swift, cleaving arc.
Kieran barely managed to block, his blade catching Elijah's strike at an awkward angle. The force of the blow reverberated through his arms, and for a moment, his guard faltered.
Elijah seized the opportunity, lunging once more. His blade gleamed as it shot forward, but this time, Kieran was ready.
A red aura flared around his sword, and with a grunt of effort, he blocked the attack. The aura absorbed much of the impact, pushing Elijah's sword back.
Elijah's eyes narrowed. "Interesting," he said, stepping back to reassess.
Kieran grinned, the glow of his aura intensifying. "What's wrong? Surprised?"
"Not really," Elijah replied, tilting his head.
"But are you going to keep playing around, or are you going to use that shard ability of yours?" Kieran said, his stance was ready to defend when Elijah lunge at him.
"Are you sure? Because honestly," Elijah continued, deliberately shaking his head, "I don't think you can handle it."
That was it. Kieran felt something snap inside him. His patience, already thin from Elijah's unrelenting attacks, finally gave way. "You're going to regret saying that!" he roared, lunging forward with his sword raised high.
From the sidelines, Visconti sighed and crossed his arms. "That idiot. Fell for it hook, line, and sinker," he muttered. Elijah's smirk as he taunted Kieran had been deliberate—he knew Kieran's weakness.
Elijah's expression didn't change as Kieran's attack came barreling toward him. In fact, his smirk grew wider. With a swift pivot, he sidestepped Kieran's swing, his blade slicing toward Kieran's exposed side.
Kieran barely managed to twist his body, the aura around his sword flaring brighter as he redirected Elijah's blade.
The clash of their weapons sent sparks flying, but it was clear who was dictating the pace of the fight.
Visconti shook his head again, muttering under his breath, "That's what happens when you lose your cool. Fighting a teammate like Elijah isn't about brute force, Kieran. You should know better."
Elijah's stance was steady, his feet planted firmly on the ground, his sword held with practiced ease. His movements were fluid, deliberate, and sharp—each one a reflection of years of training. The way he shifted his weight, the precision in his strikes, all screamed of a seasoned swordsman.
Kieran, on the other hand, was a powerhouse. His grip on his blade was strong, his aura radiating raw energy. But there was a wildness to him, a lack of discipline that was evident in the wide arcs of his swings. He wasn't inexperienced, but his reliance on brute force was a glaring weakness.
As Kieran's blade barreled toward him, Elijah's smirk grew wider. He didn't move until the last possible second, pivoting sharply to the side and letting Kieran's swing pass harmlessly by. In the same motion, Elijah swung his blade toward Kieran's exposed side.
Kieran twisted his body just in time, his aura flaring again to block the attack. Sparks flew as their swords collided, the clash reverberating through the room. Despite the force behind Kieran's block, it was clear Elijah was dictating the pace of the fight.
Kieran growled, frustration mounting. He swung his sword again, this time aiming for the handkerchief tied to Elijah's arm—a clear target. But Elijah had already anticipated the move. His sidestep was perfectly timed, his body leaning just enough to avoid the blade by mere centimeters.
For Kieran, it was maddening. Every strike he threw, every thrust he made, was evaded with precision. Elijah wasn't just dodging; he was predicting. It was as if he knew what Kieran was going to do before he did it.
Kieran thrusted his sword but Elijah dodged it leaning to the side just enough for him to dodge it by 2 cm.
'He's fast for how big he is. And his blows are fairly heavy. But blows like this thay depend solely on strength are easy to parry.' Elijah thought.
Elijah slashed his sword towards Kieran, but Kieran deflected it. 'Facing an opponent like this who relies in their strength calls for sophistication and precision.'
'Why can't I hit him?!' Kieran's thoughts raced as his swings grew more desperate.
From the sidelines, Visconti couldn't help but admire Elijah's skill. "It might look like luck," he muttered, "but it's not. His timing, his agility—it's all calculated. He's reading Kieran like a book."
Elijah finally decided to go on the offensive. With a vertical slash, his blade descended toward Kieran. The power behind the swing wasn't overwhelming, but the precision was undeniable. Kieran blocked, but before he could catch his breath, Elijah thrust his sword forward, forcing Kieran to retreat.
Each of Elijah's movements was a masterclass in efficiency. His strikes were sharp, his posture elegant. Every swing of his sword seemed like it had been practiced a thousand times over.
Kieran, overwhelmed, began to falter. His swings were slower, his movements less controlled. Elijah, ever patient, waited for the perfect moment. And then he saw it—a slight opening in Kieran's stance.
Elijah's blade moved like lightning, slicing through the air and cutting the handkerchief tied to Kieran's left arm.
The cloth fluttered to the ground, signaling the end of the match.
Kieran dropped to his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His mind was blank, overwhelmed by the sheer dominance Elijah had displayed.
"What just happened?" he muttered to himself, staring at the fallen handkerchief.
Elijah, sheathing his sword, walked over and extended a hand. His expression was calm and gentle making it possible for people to hate him. "Good match," he said simply.
For a moment, Kieran just stared at the outstretched hand. Then, with a wry laugh that was equal parts frustration and admiration, he took it and let Elijah pull him to his feet.