Valeria froze as the cold edge of Lucavion’s estoc hovered just inches from her neck. The sharp steel glinted in the fading light, its presence undeniable. Neither of them was out of breath; they hadn’t used mana, and both had fought with the precision of seasoned warriors. Yet, despite her skill and her best efforts, it was clear—she had lost.
The chill of the blade lingered against her skin, a reminder of her defeat. She swallowed hard, her pride stinging as Lucavion’s calm expression remained unchanged. With a measured motion, he withdrew his estoc, the blade sliding back into its sheath with a soft click. His smile deepened, but there was no smugness in it—only that same, unsettling calm.
Valeria, her face flushed with a mixture of frustration and acknowledgment, straightened. “It’s over,” she murmured, her voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. She knew she had been bested. Her blade may have been flawless in technique, but it had not been enough.
Lucavion offered no immediate response as he took a step back, his posture relaxed, though his smile hadn’t faltered. Valeria’s irritation bubbled up, her lips pressing into a thin line. The way he smiled—it grated on her nerves, even though she knew she had no one to blame but herself.
She couldn’t help it. “What are you smiling about?” she demanded, her tone sharper than intended. Her pride had already taken a blow, and the fact that he seemed so… amused only made it worse. “What’s so funny?”
Lucavion’s smile softened, but his gaze remained steady as he met her eyes. “Nothing in particular,” he replied with an easy shrug. “I just enjoy a good duel, that’s all.”
Valeria narrowed her eyes at him, still feeling the sting of her defeat. The way he said it, so casually, made it sound as if the duel had been nothing more than a passing amusement for him. It infuriated her, even though she knew deep down that her own misjudgment had led to this outcome.
“Oh. Really?”
She said while glaring at him.
“Yep.”
He said with a smile. “Now. Did our duel satisfy you?”
Valeria’s glare lingered for a moment longer, her pride warring with the undeniable reality of what had just transpired. She hated admitting it, but the truth was plain: she had been outmaneuvered at every turn. No matter how hard she pushed, Lucavion had met her with perfect precision, his every movement calculated to dismantle her attacks before she even had a chance to land them.
Her lips tightened into a thin line, and despite her irritation, she slowly nodded her head. “Yes,” she muttered, her voice laced with reluctant acceptance. “It did.”
The memory of how easily he had deflected her strikes gnawed at her. She had been so sure of her technique, so confident in her ability to overwhelm him with the weight of her family’s swordsmanship. But Lucavion had moved with a deadly grace she had rarely seen before. There was no flourish in his style, no wasted movement—just pure, lethal efficiency.
As much as she hated to admit it, this man was talented with the sword. And even now, after the duel, she couldn’t see a way she would win against him. Not in a pure swordfight, and certainly not if they fought with their full power. That black starlight mana of his… it was too strong, too otherworldly. It pulsed with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine just thinking about it.
But beyond his strength, there was something else that bothered her. The way Lucavion fought—it wasn’t just about skill or talent. His style, while graceful, carried a deadly intent that set him apart from the typical knights or warriors she had faced. His every swing was precise, sure, and above all, designed to kill. There was no hesitation, no holding back.
He didn’t fight for honor, glory, or even victory. He fought to end lives. freeωebnovēl.c૦m
It was that realization that gnawed at her, refusing to leave her mind. Who was this man, really?
She straightened slightly, her violet eyes studying him carefully. “Just who are you, really?” she asked, her voice quieter now but filled with curiosity. “The way you fight… it’s not like any knight I’ve ever seen. You don’t fight for sport. You fight to kill.”
Lucavion’s smile remained, but the faint shadow in his eyes hinted at something deeper—something he wasn’t willing to share. Valeria’s curiosity lingered, gnawing at her as she waited for him to elaborate. But instead, he took the conversation in a different direction, deflecting with a nonchalant shrug.
“Well,” he said, the lightness returning to his voice, “I’m just a commoner, after all.”
“Heeeeh… a commoner, huh?” Valeria raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. There was no way someone with his level of skill, with that black starlight aura, was just an ordinary commoner.
Lucavion chuckled softly, sensing her doubt. “That’s right. Nothing more, nothing less.” His tone was light, teasing, as if he enjoyed keeping her in the dark.
Before Valeria could press further, Lucavion tilted his head, his gaze flicking to her sword, then back to her stance. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he had been reading her the entire time.
“But you,” he said, his voice slipping into a playful, yet insightful tone, “every move you make—it’s rigid but powerful, like it’s been drilled into you thousands of times. There’s precision, strength, but also a bit of restraint. Just like a noble should be.”
Valeria’s eyes widened slightly at his words. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, with that infuriating smile still playing on his lips, as if he had deciphered her entire fighting style in mere moments. And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.
He took a step closer, his gaze dancing with amusement as he continued. “You fight with the discipline of someone born into it. Every swing of your sword, every step you take—it’s practiced, honed, perfect on the surface. But,” he paused, his smile widening, “it’s also a bit predictable, don’t you think?”
Valeria bristled at the comment, her pride stinging. “Predictable?” she echoed, her tone sharpening. “You’re calling me predictable?”
Lucavion raised a hand, as if to calm the sudden edge in her voice. “Now, don’t get me wrong,” he said with a grin. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re strong. Very strong, actually. But…” He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with that teasing light.
“There’s a difference between fighting to showcase something and a real fight.”
Valeria’s eyes narrowed, her temper rising. “Enlighten me then,” she said, her voice tinged with irritation. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid as she glared at Lucavion. “What exactly makes the difference between fighting to showcase and a ‘real fight’?”
Lucavion’s grin didn’t waver. In fact, it only widened, as though he had been expecting her challenge. He leaned back slightly, his eyes still twinkling with that same teasing amusement. “Well, for one,” he began casually, “you’ve never been in a life-and-death duel, have you?”
Valeria’s brows shot up at the remark, her pride flaring up again. “Of course, I have,” she replied sharply. “I’m a knight. I’ve fought in real battles—life and death was part of the job.”
Lucavion chuckled softly, his expression unbothered by her irritation. “Really?” he asked, his tone light, but there was an underlying note of challenge. “Because it didn’t feel like it.”
The way he said it—the casual dismissal of her experiences—made Valeria’s blood boil. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she took a step forward, her violet eyes flashing with anger. “You’re saying I don’t know what a real fight is?” she demanded.
Lucavion’s grin remained, completely unfazed by her growing frustration. “I’m just saying,” he replied with a shrug, “if you’ve really been in a life-and-death duel, you wouldn’t fight the way you do. There’s something different about how someone moves when everything’s on the line.”
Valeria’s teeth clenched as his words sank in. The teasing, the casual dismissal of her skills—it was infuriating. She felt a fire building inside her, a need to prove herself. Without thinking, she stepped forward, her hand gripping her sword tighter. “Let’s go again, then,” she said, her voice heated. “I’ll show you what a real fight is.”
But before she could draw her blade, Lucavion raised a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Sorry,” he said, his tone light but firm, “that service is no longer available.”
Valeria blinked, caught off guard by his response. “What?” she asked, her anger momentarily stalled by confusion.
Lucavion chuckled again, shaking his head. “We already had our duel,” he said, casually tapping the hilt of his estoc. “Besides, I think I’ve had enough for one day.”
Valeria scowled, her frustration bubbling to the surface again. “You’re just saying that because you’re afraid I’ll beat you this time.”
Lucavion’s grin returned, more amused than ever. “Maybe,” he said with a playful wink. “But I like to think I’m just being considerate. Wouldn’t want to bruise your pride twice in one day.”
Valeria’s face flushed with anger, but before she could retort, Lucavion turned on his heel and started walking away, leaving her standing there with her fists clenched, a mix of anger and reluctant respect swirling inside her.
‘Bastard. I am going to beat you next time.’
The humiliation she had suffered.
She was not going to forget that.