"I can not believe she asked to wash her clothes!" Agatha scoffed as she wandered around. She did not go far away to make sure Olivia did not slip away.
Agatha sat at the stone far away and stared at Olivia washing her clothes diligently. She smirked for her wisdom and Olivia's foolishness. But suddenly crabs started to bite her on her feet. She frowned and pushed them away but more and more walked closer and started climbing on the stone she was sitting on.
"Hey! Shoo. shoo!" She stood up and pushed them away. Frowning, she left the stone and walked further and further away from the riverside.
"Phew, finally! Those creepy beings! I should have caught them and sent them to the kitchen." Agatha cursed and rubbed her feet with her hands. The crabs had pinched her so many tis that her feet were swollen.
When she looked around, she was too far from Olivia to keep an eye on her.
"Forget her, it would take her hours to finish that much laundry. I would go and eat first." Olivia was diligently cleaning her blankets. But as she heard the footsteps retreating, she let go of the blankets and stood up.
Looking at the distance where Agatha was sitting earlier, she smirked. As if the winds had taken her with them, she was not there in the next second.
....
The atmosphere was tense as Damon's sharp, commanding voice echoed across the training ground.
"Faster! Have you wasted your three days of vacation lying around like corpses?" His icy tone cut through the knights, sending shivers down their spines. Startled, they picked up their pace, though their legs already felt like lead.
"Is this all you've got?" Damon sneered, his eyes filled with a disdain sharper than the thorny trail the knights were sprinting through. "You're slower than children."
By the end of twenty-five laps, the knights collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. Their legs trembled uncontrollably, and so doubted if they could even stand again.
Damon lood over them, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Stand up. Form teams. We're sparring next."
The knights exchanged weary, incredulous glances. Did they hear him correctly? Sparring after this?
But under Damon's intense stare, hesitation quickly dissolved. Groaning and gritting their teeth, they scrambled to their feet, despite the fiery protests of their muscles.
"Since it's just us, we'll divide into—" one knight began, but his words faltered as Damon unsheathed two swords and threw them to the ground.
"One person from each team, step forward. Now," Damon ordered, his voice brooking no argunt.
A collective, silent cry of despair rippled through the group. This wasn't training; it was torture. Damon wasn't a man—he was a monster crafted by the duke himself.
The sparring began, and within two grueling hours, most of the knights were sprawled across the ground once more, their swords discarded, their bodies aching. Light injuries and bruises marked their efforts, but none could withstand Damon's relentless onslaught.
Only two knights were left. Chester shook his head as he looked at his partner. "You need not to join. I will face him alone."
The knight who was newly recruited. He was stunned by the offer. But then nodded and took a step back relieved.
Chester stared at Damon. he refused to accept this outco. His eyes burned with the fierce desire for revenge as he glared at Damon. He tightened his grip on his sword, vowing silently to himself.
"I won't lose, Sire," he declared, stepping forward with determination.
Damon chuckled, his gaze sparking with interest. "Finally, a real man. Chester, I expect nothing less from you."
The sparring field grew silent as Chester and Damon faced each other. Chester's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white as he stared down his opponent. Damon stood tall and relaxed, his sword held with the ease of soone who had mastered its weight long ago.
The mont the match began, Chester charged forward, his blade a blur as it slashed toward Damon's side. Damon sidestepped effortlessly, parrying the blow with a flick of his wrist. The tallic clang of steel echoed across the training ground.
Chester didn't relent. He swung again, this ti aiming for Damon's shoulder, then fainted to strike at his legs. Damon caught the change in direction instantly, blocking the low strike and countering with a thrust that forced Chester to leap back.
"You've improved," Damon said, his tone both mocking and impressed.
Chester smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm just getting started."
He advanced again, launching a barrage of quick strikes that seed to co from every direction. Damon t each one with flawless precision, his movents so controlled it was as if he could predict Chester's every move. Sparks flew as their swords clashed, and the intensity of their duel drew murmurs of awe from the watching knights.
Chester spun, aiming for Damon's side once more, only for Damon to twist his blade, deflecting the attack and using the montum to deliver a sweeping strike. Chester ducked just in ti, rolling away before springing back to his feet.
"You're fast," Damon said, smirking, "but not fast enough."
Chester gritted his teeth, refusing to back down. He tried a more daring approach—his strikes beca erratic, testing Damon's reflexes. For a mont, he saw an opening and lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air toward Damon's chest.
But Damon was ready. His sword caught Chester's just inches from his body, and with a sharp twist, he disard him. Chester staggered back, his weapon flying to the ground. Everyone looked at him with sympathy.
Just as they were waiting for Damon to make the final move, he stopped and turned around. They followed his gaze but found nothing there. Chester noticed Damon's attention had faltered for a mont.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Chester grabbed a fallen blade from the ground and surged forward. His attack was swift and decisive, aid directly at Damon's unguarded side.
The tip of Chester's blade stopped just shy of Damon's torso as the knights erupted into cheers. "You have lost Sire."
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