Chapter 23 - Rising stakes
The garden rang with the sharp crack of wood on wood, Liam and Lysandra locked in a blur of motion.
Sweat streaked Liam's face, his shirt clinging to his chest as he swung his training sword—a blunt, heavy thing—at Lysandra's side. She parried effortlessly, her silver hair whipping as she twisted, her own blade smacking his wrist with a sting that made him hiss.
"Too slow!" she barked, lunging forward, her strike a flash aimed at his ribs.
Liam pivoted, barely, blocking with a grunt, the impact jarring his arms. "Not slow, just pacing myself!" he shot back, grinning through gritted teeth.
He'd been at this for days; workouts from the system, combat drills with Lysandra and damn, he was getting good, fast. The system's boosts pumped through him, sharpening his reflexes, but Lysandra? She was a machine, all battle-hardened grace.
She smirked, sidestepping his wild counter-swing, her cloak fluttering. "Pacing's for losers!" She ducked low, feinting left, then moving to the right—her blade clipping his thigh as he stumbled. He cursed, lunging to retaliate, wood whistling through the air. She met it head-on, their swords clashing hard, locked for a beat—her eyes boring into his, fierce and unyielding.
Selene lounged at the sidelines, tail flicking, a smirk on her lips as she leaned against a tree. Erynn sat cross-legged on the grass beside her, giggling into her hand. "He's trying so hard," Erynn whispered, loud enough for Liam to hear, and he shot her a glare mid-swing.
"Focus!" Lysandra snapped, breaking the lock and spinning in a blur of motion. Her sword arcing toward his shoulder. He blocked, just, but she pressed the advantage, stepping in close, her free hand shoving his chest. He staggered back, footing slipping on the damp stone, and she struck—wood smacking his side, then hooking his ankle in a slick maneuver. He hit the ground hard, breath whooshing out, sword skittering away.
"Fuck!" Liam groaned, sprawled on his back, staring at the gray sky. Lysandra loomed over him, blade tip resting lightly on his chest, her smirk gone, replaced by a cool, assessing look.
"You get carried away," she said, voice sharp but not cruel. "Too much fire, not enough head. Battle's not just swinging hero. You have to think as well." She tapped his chest once with the sword, then stepped back, planting it in the dirt.
He grinned up at her, panting, a bead of sweat rolling into his eye. "Yeah, yeah—I'll try. Promise." He rubbed his side, wincing, but the smile stuck. She was right—he'd been all aggression, no strategy, and she'd danced circles around him.
Selene snorted, pushing off the tree. "Eighth duel this morning, and you're still eating dirt, Hero. Eight to zero—Lysandra's cleaning you out." Her crimson eyes glinted, teasing, but she softened it with a shrug. "Don't sweat it, though. You'll snag a win soon—keep at it."
Erynn's laugh bubbled up, light and bright. "He's getting there! Just... slowly." She clapped her hands, grinning as Liam shot her a mock glare.
Lysandra tossed her wooden sword aside, the clatter echoing, and offered him a hand. "Up," she said, her tone brisk but warm. He grabbed it, her grip firm, and she yanked him to his feet. He dusted off his pants, grumbling as his bruised thigh twinged.
"Another round?" she asked, brushing her hair back, one brow arched.
"Nah," Liam said, shaking his head with a wry chuckle. "Done getting whooped for today. I'll just hit some extra workouts." He stretched, arms creaking, and she nodded.
"No problem," she replied, turning to grab her cloak from the table. "Rest up, then. You're improving."
He limped over to where Selene and Erynn sat, snagging a clay jug of water from the table. He chugged it, cool relief hitting his throat, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Erynn leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Don't stress too hard, okay? You've still got magic practice later."
"Whaaatttt?" Liam spat the next gulp, water spraying the grass as he choked. "Magic? Can't I get a day off?" He glared at her, half-serious, the jug dangling in his hand.
Erynn chuckled, unfazed. "Wish we had that luxury, but nope. Time's not on our side, Hero." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her grin teasing but her eyes sharp.
He groaned, taking another swig, then sighed, leaning against the table. "It's been pretty chill lately, though," he said, voice dropping, thoughtful. "Sometimes I think you three don't even need me. You're badass enough to take Maltheris down yourselves—why drag me along?"
Selene cut in, her tail snapping once. "I wish that were true," she said. "I'd have gutted him myself—ripped that smug bastard apart and been done with it." She crossed her arms, claws flexing. "But it's not that simple. He's tougher than you think."
Liam raised a brow, setting the jug down. "Yeah? Lysandra said the same—he's got some heavy shit going on. Still, you all have gotten stronger compared to when I arrived... y'know."
"Doesn't mean we're invincible," Lysandra said, joining them, her cloak slung over one shoulder. "Maltheris' forces were a nightmare—numbers, magic, monsters. We barely scraped by. He's not some grunt you can punch out—he's a storm."
Erynn nodded, her grin fading. "She's right. You're not just muscle, Liam. You're... part of it now. We need you growing—combat, magic, all of it. Maltheris won't wait."
He rubbed his neck, the ache in his arms settling into a dull hum. "Guess I'm stuck, then. No slacking off." He shot them a lopsided grin, masking the flicker of pressure. They were counting on him—shit, that was new. Maltheris sounded like a beast, and he was still getting his ass handed to him in spars.
"Take it one whooping at a time," Selene said, smirking again, her tail brushing his leg—playful, but a reminder. "You'll get there."
"Yeah," Erynn added, hopping up, stretching like a cat. "Magic later—don't spit water at me again, though. Save it for the spells."
Liam snorted, shoving off the table. "No promises." He grabbed the jug, heading for the house, their voices fading behind him. Eight losses, sure, but he felt it—the system's juice, Lysandra's drills, inching him closer. Maltheris could wait—he'd be ready when the bastard showed.
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