Chapter Eighteen: Blades in the Dark
The fog curled like ghostly fingers between them as the clearing fell into unnatural stillness. Kael stood with both hands gripping the hilt of his sword, blood singing in his ears, nerves tight like drawn bowstrings. Across from him, Mihai, the third Swordmaster, the traitor, the survivor of two wars, raised his obsidian blade—calm, precise, deathly still.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Mihai whispered, almost casually:
"Show me what two legends have carved into you, boy."
Kael exploded forward.
His sword met Mihai's in a blinding flash of sparks, the sound splitting the air like a thunderclap. The moment they touched, Kael's arms rattled from the force of Mihai's block—he hadn't even swung, just stood. Kael flipped back, slashed low, then feinted right before spinning into a leaping arc—
Clang.
Clash.
Strike. Parry. Strike. Parry.
Kael was fast. Too fast for most.
But Mihai wasn't most.
He was a shadow in motion—always just out of reach, his blade whispering across Kael's skin like the kiss of death itself. Every attack Kael threw was met with a counter that pushed him further into exhaustion.
Mihai danced like a ghost of the battlefield. Effortless. Elegant. Terrifying.
"David taught you to endure," Mihai said as he parried another strike. "Andrew taught you to strike."
He twisted Kael's blade aside and struck him across the ribs with the flat of his sword—hard enough to bruise.
"But neither of them taught you how to win."
Kael coughed, staggering back, blood pooling in his mouth. He didn't answer. He roared and surged forward again, footwork tight, every motion honed by a year of pain, sweat, and relentless drills. This time, he fought differently—wild but thinking. Using Andrew's aggression. David's discipline.
And something else.
Something his own.
His aura began to spark. Not flame. Not magic. But will.
Mihai paused. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Kael's blade glowed faintly now. Spirit pressure. The birth of a higher path. He launched into a flurry, slashes coming from odd angles, twisting into impossible shapes. Mihai parried three, then four—
The fifth slipped past.
A thin cut formed on Mihai's shoulder.
The shadow king froze. Not from pain—but from shock.
Kael had landed a hit.
Mihai stepped back. For the first time, the mask of arrogance cracked. Kael didn't celebrate. He lunged again, pressing the advantage. But Mihai growled low, his blade erupting in black energy, and countered with a swing that blew Kael off his feet and into a tree.
CRACK.
His body fell limp.
Blood spilled from his mouth, chest heaving as he struggled to rise. Mihai stalked toward him, blade still humming.
"You've grown…" Mihai muttered, voice dark and quiet. "More than I expected."
Kael, vision blurred, lifted his sword again with both trembling hands.
And then, with his final breath of strength—he threw it.
The blade sang through the air, not aimed to kill—but to break Mihai's stance. He flinched, raising his arm just enough for Kael to rush in behind the throw, grab the hilt mid-air, and drive it across Mihai's guard—
CLANG!
And the tip of the sword nicked Mihai's neck.
Blood beaded.
Mihai stepped back, staring at Kael—eyes wide, chest rising.
Kael stood there, every muscle shaking, vision doubling. He had won.
He had landed two strikes.
Mihai chuckled. Slowly. Then deeply.
"So… the legacy lives on."
Kael collapsed to one knee. Then both. Then he fell forward.
The world spun.
Darkness swallowed the edges of his sight.
Mihai's voice echoed from somewhere far above, calm and pleased:
"Sleep, Kael. You've earned your answers… once you survive."
And then the darkness took him.