Lucia pushed him back with a sudden shove, her blade flicking out in a precise counter aimed at his arm. Viktor barely twisted in time, the edge of her sword grazing his sleeve.
"Too slow," Lucia said, her tone light but pointed.
"You sound like my old instructor," Viktor replied with a breathless laugh. "I didn't think you'd play teacher today."
"Maybe I should," Lucia countered, eyes sharp. "You get too caught up in your momentum. If I wanted to, I could punish you for every overreach."
Viktor's grin faltered briefly, but then his amusement returned. "Alright then. Let's see if you can."
He planted his feet, adjusting his grip. The shift was subtle, but Lucia noticed it immediately—a lowering of his center of gravity, a tighter stance.
"Darkstrike Style: Phantom Step."
Viktor moved. His form seemed to blur as he closed the distance, his sword striking from unexpected angles. Lucia's eyes widened slightly. The speed was undeniable, but it was the unpredictability that caught her attention. His strikes curved awkwardly—feints layered on feints—forcing her to trust her instincts rather than her eyes.
CLANG!
Lucia blocked high but winced as Viktor's blade scraped against her guard and turned into a reverse slash. She bent low, her sword flashing up just in time to deflect the attack.
"Better," Viktor said, his voice close. "But I think you're starting to struggle."
Lucia's expression remained calm, though a bead of sweat traced her temple. "I'm learning."
Without warning, she stepped into him—not back, as Viktor might have expected. Her sword lashed out in a swift horizontal cut aimed for his midsection.
"Blackthorn Style: Echoing Step."
Viktor's eyes widened. Lucia's movement was like a ripple, deceptively smooth but deadly. Her strike forced him to dodge sharply to the side, but before he could regain balance, she pivoted with a follow-up strike—a feint turned real.
"Your footwork's too loose," Lucia murmured as their blades clashed again. "Tighter footing would have let you counter."
Viktor exhaled, a mix of frustration and admiration in his eyes. "You really are teaching me, aren't you?"
"You're welcome," she replied with a faint smile.
The duel resumed. Their blades moved faster now, the rhythm becoming less predictable as both fighters adapted to one another. Viktor's Phantom Step kept Lucia on edge, but Lucia's Echoing Step was a perfect counter—fluid and reactive, creating openings where none existed before.
The crowd watched in awe as sparks flew with each clash. Neither side gave an inch.
"You're stubborn," Viktor muttered as he blocked a strike aimed at his ribs. "I like that."
"And you're reckless," Lucia replied, pushing him back with surprising strength. "But you're getting better."
Viktor grinned, breathing harder now. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
Lucia stepped forward again, this time pressing the attack. Her blade moved with elegant precision, weaving between Viktor's defenses. He parried one strike but stumbled slightly on the follow-up as she switched direction mid-swing.
"Your stance's off again," Lucia pointed out, her tone almost gentle. "Stop overcommitting to your first strike."
Viktor grit his teeth, his smirk fading as his focus deepened. "Alright, then. No more mistakes."
He steadied himself, his sword held high. The air around him grew heavier.
"Darkstrike Style: Shadow Fang."
His movements sharpened. Gone was the playful unpredictability. Now, his strikes were precise and lethal, his blade moving like a snake poised to bite. Lucia felt the change immediately—each strike came faster, cleaner, and far harder to deflect.
She smiled faintly. Finally, he's serious.
"Blackthorn Style: Rebounding Edge."
Lucia's sword shifted mid-motion, her parries no longer just defensive. She turned Viktor's momentum against him, redirecting his strikes with such control that they left him open for counters. Her blade snapped toward him like lightning—fast, precise, and unrelenting.
"You're adapting to me," Viktor said between strikes, his tone edged with respect.
"And you're improving," Lucia replied, her breathing measured. "That's what this fight is about, isn't it?"
Viktor's grin returned, genuine this time. "Yeah. It is."
For a moment, the two fighters simply clashed—no words, only the sound of their blades and the sharpness of their eyes. They weren't enemies. They weren't rivals. They were two swordsmen pushing each other to be better, to reach for something greater.
Leonel watched silently from the stands, his expression calm but his gaze unwavering. He saw it clearly now—the unspoken respect between them, forged in steel and sweat.
"They're both learning," he murmured to himself.
Lucia's breathing came steady but measured, her gray eyes locked on Viktor's every movement. Sweat dotted her brow, and strands of her hair clung to her face, but her focus never wavered. Her sword was an extension of herself—swift, deliberate, and unwavering.
Viktor, too, was showing signs of wear. His tunic clung to him, torn in places where Lucia's strikes had landed. His smirk had faded into something more serious, more resolute. He paced slowly around her now, his blade held low, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—never left her form.
"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Viktor said, his voice a little breathless but tinged with admiration. "I expected a solid wall. I didn't expect a storm."
Lucia tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "And I didn't expect you to last this long. Maybe you're not just all talk, after all."
Viktor chuckled softly, though there was no arrogance in it this time—just camaraderie. "You've got a sharp tongue to match that sword. I like it."
He adjusted his stance again, shifting his weight ever so slightly. Leonel, watching from his seat, caught the change immediately and leaned forward, his calm demeanor giving way to quiet intrigue.
He's going for it again, Leonel thought. A heavier strike, meant to bait her into a reaction.
"Watch your footing," Viktor warned suddenly as he darted forward, his blade slicing through the air with speed and precision. "Your stance has been getting too rigid."
Lucia's eyes narrowed, catching the movement just in time. She stepped to the side, angling her sword to parry the blow. The force of Viktor's strike sent a shock up her arm, but she absorbed it, twisting her blade to redirect his momentum.
"You should worry about your own form," she shot back, stepping in close to deliver a riposte. "You leave your ribs open when you overcommit."
Viktor grunted as her blade scraped across his tunic, drawing a shallow line just beneath his ribs. He danced back quickly, a faint wince on his face.
"Fair point," he admitted with a dry chuckle. "I'll work on that."
They circled each other again, the crowd hanging onto every step, every breath. Neither fighter seemed willing to back down, but neither seemed intent on overwhelming the other, either. It was more than just a contest—it was a lesson unfolding between them.
Leonel's gaze flicked from one to the other, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. They're learning as they fight. Pushing each other without realizing it.
Lucia raised her sword again, her form as steady as ever. "You've improved since the last time we fought, Viktor. But you're still rushing your strikes."
Viktor exhaled sharply, brushing his thumb over the edge of his blade. "And you're still too cautious when you go on the offensive. You can't just wait for mistakes forever."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "Says the one who's bleeding."
Viktor barked out a laugh despite himself. "Alright, fine. Let's see how you handle this."
He shifted his stance once more, this time holding the blade differently—angled slightly downward, as though it were a coiled spring ready to explode.
Leonel's sharp eyes caught the subtle difference again. Darkstrike… Third Form, he thought.
Viktor dashed forward, his speed suddenly explosive. His sword lashed out in a blur of motion, a flurry of strikes aimed at her shoulders, ribs, and legs in rapid succession. Each swing came with such speed that it forced Lucia to respond faster than she had before.
Her blade met his again and again, the sound of clashing steel echoing across the arena. But as Viktor pressed harder, the strain began to show. Her footwork faltered, if only slightly, and Viktor's blade grazed her arm in a blur.
The crowd gasped.
Lucia hissed softly at the sting, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. But she didn't back away—instead, her gray eyes sharpened further. A fire lit in her gaze, quiet but unyielding.
"Alright," she muttered. "Let's try something new."
She adjusted her stance, shifting her feet and angling her sword differently. Leonel sat up straighter, sensing the change.
"Steel Bloom."
Lucia moved—not just with precision, but with a grace that felt almost unnatural. Her blade sang through the air in a sweeping arc, intercepting Viktor's strikes not with brute force, but with fluidity. She turned each of his attacks against him, redirecting his momentum and creating openings as she moved.
Viktor's rhythm broke. His strikes, once relentless, slowed as he tried to adapt to her new technique.
"What—?" Viktor managed to say before Lucia stepped forward, her sword grazing his side in a clean, controlled strike.
He stumbled back, eyes wide, his free hand brushing the new tear in his tunic. For the first time, he looked rattled.
Lucia exhaled softly, her sword raised, her posture calm and steady. "You push too hard, Viktor. You fight like you're trying to tear down a wall. That leaves you exposed."
Viktor let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "And you fight like you're reading every move before I make it. It's infuriating."
She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's called patience."
"Or stubbornness."
"Both," she replied simply.
The crowd erupted into cheers as the fighters paused, sweat dripping, breaths heaving. For a moment, all that remained was the quiet sound of their panting and the hum of the onlookers' excitement.
Leonel sat back, a small smile on his face. He could see it—two fighters standing on the edge of growth, both pushing themselves further than they had expected. They're not just fighting to win. They're fighting to learn.
Viktor straightened, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His grin returned, but it was softer now—less cocky, more respectful.
"You're right," he admitted. "I've been too reckless. You're showing me what I'm missing."
Lucia lowered her sword slightly, her expression softening. "And you're showing me I can't just wait for mistakes. I need to seize the openings myself."
Viktor nodded, taking his stance again. "Then let's keep going. I'm not done yet."
Lucia lifted her sword, her smile calm but determined. "Neither am I."
The referee glanced between them, uncertain. "Shall we call—?"
"Not yet," both fighters said in unison, their voices cutting through the noise.