Chương 106: What's in it for me?

Lyraethis retracted her arm one careful inch at a time, stepping back. The ceramic pot disappeared behind her folded hands as she glanced from Astrin to Cal and back again. Cal looked at Astrin. Then he looked down at his own torso. The leather around the burn site was a crumbling ruin of blackened flakes and brittle edges. Beneath it, the groveback plate had cracked along the acid scoring, a structural failure over a month in the making that the tendril's blood and Kasien's fire had finally completed.

The armor was dead. He'd known it for a while and kept postponing the replacement; now he stood in a Kaelix courtyard under the morning sun while a second noble told him he needed to fight again. Let's take stock, he considered. Yesterday I marched back from the depths after getting my clock cleaned to find out there was trouble for the Veils. This morning, I watched a starving man get an arrow in the back for stealing bread before being goaded into a fistfight.

My ribs were pummeled and my armor set on fire for the trouble. And now another noble decides it's her turn to take a stab at me? Good grief. Cal wasn't impressed.

"Now?" Astrin looked like the question was beneath her.

"Of course now. Prepare yourself." He barked a humorless laugh. Rubbing the back of his neck, he muttered, "Guess I've had worse burns. That summer trip to Cancun without sunscreen had me looking like a boiled lobster for three days. Then again, getting fire-slapped by a punch-happy brat might just edge that out." He looked down again at the charred armor and red skin. Lyraethis tilted her head and asked, "What is... Cancoon?" Cal blinked. Crumb, I said that out loud.

"Never mind." He turned to face Astrin and decided he'd had enough of this charade, puffing himself up. His chin lifted and his shoulders pulled back, his voice carrying leisurely across the lawn.

"What's in it for me?" Her eyes widened fractionally as her mouth slightly opened. Kasien sputtered, his face flushing.

"The honor of sparring with a Kaelix should be enough for a commoner," he started, stepping forward. Astrin smoothed an imaginary crease from the sleeve of her doublet, her expression hardening back into a placid mask. Cal said nothing. He just stared at her, standing there easily as he watched and waited. Gravel crunched softly as Kasien shifted his weight. A bird called twice from somewhere in the garden and went quiet.

The light of Aurum draped the lawn in long morning shadows, painting the white stone of the manor walls in warm tones. Astrin clenched her jaw, one small muscle pulling near the hinge, and she looked at him with eyes that had gone very still. She'd likely never been told no by anyone other than her parents; it was as plain as the Kaelix crest on her brooch. Things were starting to get… awkward.

"I suppose," Astrin said finally, "it is only right. The damage to your armor was incurred on my grounds. I will see it replaced." Kasien turned on her.

"It was already ruin—""Deal." Cal interrupted. Walking over to where he'd rested it beside his pack on the lawn, Cal retrieved his spear and rolled it once through his fingers to settle the balance, the instincts of [Spear Mastery] guiding his hands to their perfect placement. He turned back to Astrin, who'd drawn her longsword.

"I'm not going to use Stamina," he called as he stepped into an empty section of the lawn.

"How about we fight to first blood?" Her lips curved into a slight, knowing smile.

"Very well." She came forward then. Opening with three probing thrusts aimed at his torso, she delivered each at a slightly different angle to test how his guard responded to variation. The suite of [Spear Mastery], [Combat Analysis], and his Impartments fed him the angles of each attack well before they landed. Her first thrust met his rotating spear haft, the deflection a minimal shift that barely qualified as movement. He let the second pass through empty air with a simple side-step.

A soft, downward pressure from his spear tip caught the third, redirecting it toward the ground through a quiet tink of steel on steel. She quickly reset, her footwork fluid and athletic, trying again. Her attacks grew longer, flowing together with tactical intent as she used her free hand to ward her body, a subtle defense that kept her centerline shielded as her blade continued to press him. A horizontal slice whistled toward his legs, the blade carrying enough force to sever bone.

Cal lowered the spear tip to the ground with a quick flick of his wrist, the motion so slight it looked almost accidental, and the blade halted against the haft before it could complete its arc. She's good, he thought. Better than good. He watched her escalate. The combinations grew more elaborate and faster, each one testing a different part of his defense, probing for the hole she clearly believed had to be there.

She was technically excellent; her footwork generated real power and smart positioning, her transitions between forms smooth and well honed. Any of these combinations against a lesser opponent would have found purchase. Against him they arrived and collapsed, each one neutralized by a movement so efficient it barely registered as effort. This is nothing like the tournament, he realized. I'm as fast as she is now. Faster, maybe. And she hasn't achieved Mastery… Adept definitely. Maybe even Expert.

But the Skill gap is much wider than I thought. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Cal became aware of Kasien watching from his peripheral vision. The hot anger had drained from his face, leaving his mouth agape as his eyes fixed on the fight. Astrin committed to an extended sequence of seven strikes, a sophisticated combination that moved through three distinct forms, each transition building on the last's momentum to generate a final, powerful thrust.

He read each attack well before it arrived. He met the first high slash with a simple turn of his spear haft. The second, a thrust at his knee, he evaded with a neat side-step. Her blade dropped for the third, a rising cut he smothered with the spear's tip. Four and five were a whirlwind of slashes from a swift pivot, both turned aside with easy deflections. The sixth was a sweeping feint that became a rising slash, forcing him into a turn that let her blade slide harmlessly past his nose.

He abandoned defense for the seventh and final thrust. Stepping inside the lunge, deep into the sword's killing arc, he caught the flat with a cupped palm and batted it away as he twirled past while holding his spear one-handed. She disengaged, breathing hard and face flushed.

"Is defense all you can do?" A wry grin spread across his face before he even realized it.

"No." Through [Spear Mastery], he thought beyond individual techniques, now working in terms of continuous motion where each position was a transition point between the previous and the next. He closed the distance in two steps, drawing a lazy circle with his spear that forced Astrin to adjust her guard. A third step let him jab the spear tip into the empty space her sword needed for a proper parry, a maneuver that sent her stumbling back with completely disrupted footwork. He was herding her.

With each attack, his spear's length dictated the angle of engagement, subtly turning her into a defensive posture that grew more awkward with every retreat. A feint to her head became a solid tap of the ash haft against her sword's crossguard, sending a stinging vibration through her fingers. His low sweep then formed a moving wall to block her line of retreat. She lashed out with a desperate slash to reclaim the initiative. He dodged easily, letting the blow spend its force on empty air.

His spear haft came up to catch her overextended sword arm just below the elbow, the impact shoving her weapon aside for a crucial moment. In that gap her guard was wide open, and the cold steel of his spear tip settled gently on the side of her neck. He'd walked her into a checkmate, leading her to this conclusion from the first moment using the strategy that Kasien had beaten into him just minutes before.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lyraethis, both hands risen to cover her mouth, her eyes round and twinkling. He withdrew the spear and took a half-step back, lowering the weapon to his side. Astrin didn't move for five full seconds, standing frozen in the position of her defeat. Then something glacial in her expression shifted, the shock hardening into resentment.

Her off-hand opened and Mana gathered around her fingers like condensation on a frosted pane, a pale blue shimmer that collected into a disc of translucent ice. Well, he considered. That's technically not against the rules. The disc snapped toward him, a thrown projectile of ice. Blocking the projectile with his haft sent shattered fragments stinging across his hands and face.

As she was already casting the next one, he realized the attacks were more fragile than her shields and met the second on his spear tip, breaking it again. A third came low, which he stepped over. She integrated the ice smoothly into her swordwork. A slash from the right arrived simultaneously with a disc from the left, the two threats designed to force a choice.

He turned his body to let the sword pass through the space he'd vacated, batted the disc away with a rap of the haft, resetting before she'd completed her recovery. Her next attempt involved ice discs materializing at different angles, her blade moving jerkily through the gaps as she tried and failed to hit him. He wove through the assault just as he'd handled everything else, finding the simple line within the complexity and walking it.

Her breathing was audible now, and her face had gone rigid with an effort she was fighting to conceal, lips pinched tightly together. He watched the tell arrive in her aura before it arrived in her body: a brief, almost imperceptible flare of crimson in her legs. It was there and gone in under a second, visible only because his [Spiritual Perception] was already reading her. In a sudden burst, she crossed the remaining distance to get inside his spear's reach before he could fully react.

Her foot came down on the lawn with a stomp. Ice erupted out through the grass, encasing his boots to the ankle in a heartbeat. He tested it once, felt the resistance, and stopped. There was nothing he could do in time. He was stuck. Astrin raised her hand and detonated [Kinetic Burst] a few inches to the left of his head. He felt as much as heard the percussive crack of displaced air drag at his hair and cheek, the gravel path behind him scattering.

The ringing in his ears took several seconds to fade as sound returned in layers. Standing calmly in the aftermath, he felt the solid ice around his boots while his ears still rang. He stared at the space beside his head where the air seemed to hum. That, he thought, is definitely the end of the match. Astrin retreated and straightened her back, lifting her chin. The composure had returned, piece by careful piece, assembled back into place through visible effort. She regarded him cooly.

"You have perfected the art of the spear," she said in her usual impassive serenity.

"A commendable achievement. But now you see the lesson: perfection in one discipline is still just one tool. A true combatant has a dozen at their disposal." Cal just stared at her. Is this woman for real? Lecturing me after pulling that nonsense? Normally I'd give someone a piece of my mind after crap like that, but… the last thing I need is some noblewoman shouting the proverbial 'off with his head' on her front lawn. Let's see how the silent treatment goes instead. The seconds passed.

Though her posture remained straight, eventually a tremor of instability ran through her stance. Color crept up the column of her throat without her permission before her attention darted sideways, fixing on something near the manor wall that required her immediate consideration. He kept looking at her and just shook his head. Gravel shifted softly. Lyraethis stepped forward, looking at him admiringly. The flush in her cheeks was plainly visible even in the bright sunlight.

"That was..." She paused, seeming to struggle to find the proper words.

"…truly a marvel to witness." She extended the ceramic pot again invitingly.

"Please. Allow me." Glancing briefly at the ruined leather on his chest.

"I would be happy to help spread this over the damage Kasien caused." Cal hesitated, caught off guard by the offer and the look in her eyes. As he was about to reply, someone interrupted him.

"Apprentice." Selara called out over the lawn from the manor entrance, tone marked with an impatience that brooked no argument. He turned. As she crossed the lawn toward him, her silver-blond hair escaped its bun, something that never happened. The intensity of her stare made the noble scions and their drama feel distant and irrelevant. Aurelian followed three steps behind her, looking particularly sour, even for him.

A Kaelix servant trailed uncertainly at the rear, acting very much like he wished he was somewhere else.

"We're leaving," Selara said without breaking stride.

"Now." Aurelian drew level with her and didn't bother to lower his voice.

"Finally." His dismissive glare swept across the lawn, taking in the scattered ice, the blackened armor, the splintered disc fragments, and the assembled nobles.

"Enough of this childish peacocking. We have actual work to do." Cal stood between Lyraethis' offered kindness and his mentor's command. He read the specific quality of Selara's urgency, and the way her eyes ignored the Kaelix children and their Mycari houseguest. Her attention was entirely on leaving. Looks like the reunion with their old delving team went swimmingly.