"I can't believe I agreed to this." Livius stood five feet away from Sethion, wearing a rough leather chest plate and holding a round shield in one hand and a short sword wrapped in cloth in the other. It was a somewhat surprising choice considering the man's bull-like physique. The last few sunrays licked his skin, tinting him in an orange light as the sun began to set.

  "Getting cold feet?" Sethion gave him a feral grin, showing teeth. He had to project confidence, as much for himself as for his opponent.

  His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. He held it in his left hand, an unusual choice, but it had always felt better for him that way. One year. That's how long it had been since he last swung a sword. A bit of warm-up before the fight didn't change that fact. He had to admit to himself that he had missed the feeling as the blood circulated faster and faster through his body in anticipation of the battle. Not only the combat itself but the fighting and striving for something.

  Livius shook his head in response to the taunt. "I'm not much of a swordsman, you know? That's why I like the shop, creating things. Still, kid, what's the point here? One doesn't need an oracle to predict how this is going to end."

  "Well, it wouldn't have come to this if you had simply done what a shop is for. You know?" Sethion repeated the man's tone for the last question.

  "Just selling your items for money like everyone else."

  The smith apprentice frowned. "What you were asking for is too good to be handed out to mere riffraff."

  "I see. I will first have to beat some sense into you before continuing our conversation."

  Livius just sighed, fully relaxed without seemingly a single worry.

  "Wasting my time is all you're going to do. Well, at least you seem to know how to hold your sword."

  The patrician raised his own shield to just under his eyes.

  "Oh, I know much more than that." His muscles tensed, and the countless hours of private tutoring dictated his moves.

  Sethion didn't need to win. He would have a ship waiting for him tomorrow morning, anyway. Further, would he even encounter a faery ever again? Shouldn't he save his funds for emergencies? Those thoughts didn't cross his mind. They were born out of luxury, without understanding the privilege of being able to plan. Those were the thoughts of someone who never had stood eye to eye with a myth, able to kill one in an instant without any possible way of resistance. No, the young thief had to win, just as he had to leave the distant estate and try to find a cure. For him, his survival was on the line.

  Sethion took it all in. The way his opponent’s eyes roamed, his wide grip on the sword’s hilt, and his feet standing too close together.

  There was no crowd surrounding them. They stood in a simple but spacious backyard with only Paulus as an onlooker and referee. Sethion had to wait for hours until the store closed to make time for this moment. It was something ridiculous, a bet straight out of a story, and he suspected that was the exact reason Paulus endorsed it. An average smith needed to wield a hammer well to sell his creations, while a great one wielded stories to create more than a mere weapon. And what Sethion needed to do was forge his own legend. The gods knew he had more than enough challenges to overcome.

  "One point for a clean hit. Three if you hit any vitals. I will call them. After a point was scored, you back up. First to ten wins." Paulus called the rules in his calm voice, which could have one wonder if he cared, but the excited grin stretching over his face made that part very clear.

  Sethion suspected that the man had a fatal case of day-to-day boredom.

  He took a deep breath, forcing the air into his lungs at regular intervals. Thinking, anticipating, and preparing it all came down to discipline. The moment he lost his head, he would lose control over the fight.

  Sethion had no delusions in terms of range, strength, and endurance; he was outclassed. It would take an unprecedented amount of skill to overcome his opponent. The aristocrat knew those things in the back of his mind and took them into consideration. Still, that thinking was not how you won a fight. The Cu Sith had taught him as much. A fight left no room for doubt, for fear. The paralysis would kill you before the enemy brought his blade down on you.

  So, when Sethion calmly stared into the eyes of his opponent, there was only one certainty on his mind. Sethion was going to win.

  The pain clashed against his mind even at this moment, trying to steal his tranquility. It didn't matter. The droplets of sweat running down his armpits from standing and carrying the weapons for an elongated period of time didn't matter. There wouldn't be any luck involved this time, and still, Sethion would win.

  The two opponents remained in their place while Paulus stood in between them. For a brief moment, both combatants' line of sight was blocked. Sparks of excitement danced in the older smith's eyes. The man cleared his throat.

  "Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant!"

  Sethion barely registered the words, peering around the man to get a glimpse at his opponent.

  Paulus retreated, opening up the room.

  "Fight!" he shouted with glee.

  Sethion instantly dashed forward to close the distance even while Paulus was still moving. Livius hadn't taken a single step in the meantime. Raising his shield, he awaited his opponent. The man had expected a calm exchange, a testing of the waters before anyone committed. Sethion didn't oblige.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  He barreled straight at the opponent with a long step, gaining more and more momentum. He didn't hesitate. Not once did his movements slow or show any sign of halting. Livius's eyes widened at the realization of what was about to happen. By that point, only a few feet split the fighters. Livius brought down his sword in an uncontrolled swing.

  Sethion adjusted his trajectory slightly, anticipating the unrefined attack, and then, he hit like a battering ram. Fully outclassed, he had gone for a direct contest for physical strength, a dumb idea. His opponent had not been ready for it.

  Steel clashed against steel in a shrill noise as the shields collided. Sethion felt like he had straight up charged against a wall, but that wall tumbled. On his back foot and with his sword far from his body, Livius was open. Sethion's hands blurred as he executed a strike. He aimed to hit right under the shield with full force. His opponent brought his shield down, left with no option but to reflect the incoming blow.

  Sethion's strike connected with a satisfying smack right at the hip. Livius relaxed his defense when he realized that he had lost the round, lowering his shield and letting his shoulders slump.

  A mistake. Swiftly, Sethion executed a flurry of hits at the man, aiming straight at the throat. At the last moment, Livius reacted, eyes widened in panic, shifting slightly to the right. The patrician's blade clashed against the smith's collarbone with full force. Livius tumbled backward, releasing the grip on his shield, which loudly fell to the ground.

  "Fatal blow. Three to zero for Gaius", Paulus announced finally.

  Livius turned livid, foam flowing down his lips. He rubbed his chest while snarling in rage. Accusatorily, he pointed his sword at Sethion, seemingly ready to turn the duel into a brawl.

  "What is wrong with you? You already had the point!" Livius screamed.

  Sethion's eyes remained cold and calculating. His body throbbed in pain, the illness flaring at the strong activity, and he had to grit his teeth to suppress a cough. His legs spasmed under the onslaught of what felt like salt tucked under his skin, tearing through his veins. Still, he stayed steadfast, not showing a hint of weakness on the outside. It took a while before Sethion could speak.

  "The referee calls the end of a round. Not you", Sethion answered calmly in a condescending tone as if speaking to a child.

  Deep down, he knew fairness wasn't something he could afford. He needed any edge, no matter how minuscule, and he bet his attack would leave Livius reeling in pain for quite a bit. Not that it compared to what Sethion was enduring at that moment.

  Livius walked up to Sethion, snarling. "You knew the round was done!"

  Sethion stopped the smith dead in his tracks, pushing the tip of his sword against the man's chest, not letting him come even a bit closer.

  "So?"

  An infuriating smile adorned his features, played up even more to lure his opponent further down the path of rage and thoughtless decisions.

  "You bastard!" Livius growled.

  Paulus placed his hand on Sethion's blade, pushing it toward the ground. The thief let it happen.

  "Keep a distance of five steps, if you don't mind." He turned to Sethion.

  "Pull a stunt like this one more time and it’s over. I'm indulging you, not the other way around."

  Sethion answered with a brief nod. The fighters backed up, and the second round began. This time around, Livius came in swinging.

  Sethion pivoted, pushing his shield against the incoming sword, neutralizing most of his opponent's momentum before the strike was fully completed. He gritted his teeth as the impact rattled his bones, with pain rushing up his arm.

  Quickly, he executed a counterattack just in time to force Livius to abandon his next swing and move his shield. Just placed well enough so the blacksmith's torso had to shift in an unfavorable position.

  Blow after blow, the two opponents danced around each other. Then, Livius committed to a wide swing, too eager to finally land a hit. Sethion's wrapped weapon struck leather. Far sooner than the last time, Paulus's voice rang through the courtyard.

  "Normal blow. Four to zero for Gaius."

  Sweat ran down Sethion's temples. Already, his breath had grown ragged, the ailing body unwilling to keep up with the measured movements. The aristocrat remained in place, drawing out each moment to gain some respite.

  "Your blade work is exemplary," Paulus stated. Instantly, Sethion's gaze darted to Livius to gauge his reaction like a kid caught sneaking some treats at night.

  "Well," Sethion forced a sweet and fresh breath of air into his lungs. "Just good enough to qualify for the uncommon riffraff, I suppose."

  The insult didn't hit home. Livius's expression had cooled, more thoughtful than enraged now.

  "You're better than I expected."

  "And you are much worse."

  "I haven't lost yet."

  Sethion kept calm as his hopes for an effortless victory dwindled.

  The third round started the slowest of all. Both combatants were now much more wary of one another, circling around each other, searching for an opening. Livius's arm twitched. Sethion reacted in time, predicting the aim of the swing by following his opponent's gaze to deflect the blow. He couldn't counterattack. Livius remained out of range.

  Another thrust flew at Sethion right after, again utilizing the superior range. A single well-placed step was all it took for him to dodge. Another step just as Livius pulled his sword back closed the distance.

  A swift strike forced Livius to defend. A feint placed the man's shield too far from his vital area. A thrust at the knee jumbled the smith's footwork. Every one of Sethion's movements followed a purpose, painting an ever-changing picture and taking full control. He was not just any noble but a scion who had been heralded as one of the greatest swordsmen of his generation.

  Sethion left a small opening, raising his shield too high. Just enough for the other to notice, just vulnerable enough to make the opponent jump at the opportunity. His body cried out in pain from the abuse, forced to perform movements that were deeply ingrained despite being covered in metaphorical dust. Sethion ignored it.

  Victory was his only priority.

  Livius aimed for the opening. Sethion parried, having anticipated the blow seconds ago. Still, the pure force pushed him back. It didn't matter.

  Sethion retaliated, his opponent's feet in the wrong place, his shield too far away, and Sethion's sword in the perfect position. In one beautiful motion, the blade connected with Livius's throat.

  "Fatal blow. Seven to zero for Gaius."

  Disbelief was evident on the once-rude man's face. Unable to comprehend what had happened. One moment, he had spotted an opening, ready to score his first point, in the next cold iron pressed against his Adam's apple.

  "How?" Livius whispered.

  Sethion didn't hear him. Blood rushed through his ears, drowning out the noise.

  Then it happened. The constant agony flowing through the sick teenager's body tripled. A wave gaining enough momentum to become a tsunami. This time, there was no warning. The fit came whenever it chose. As always, it was the worst possible moment.

  Sethion's vision swam, obscured by tears and red rifts. He missed a step and almost fell. Something pushed against his rib, but he didn't have the mental capacity to worry, the ability to speak, to form coherent thoughts. All he mustered was a muffled scream.

  Morpheus beckoned him closer, spreading his arms in a warm embrace.