Paired off once again, the soldiers fought one on one. Decian made easy work of most of his opponents, though he pulled his blows instead of letting his sword cut his opponents’ skin. When someone pointed this out, he just shrugged. “We’re not training. This is a test, not a lesson.” His second to last fight was with a relatively new soldier named Meaghin. He had watched some of her fights between his own, and he had to admit he was rather impressed with her skill. He was even more impressed when she landed a slash into his leg. He winced from the pain but smiled at her.

“Well done.” He said. But the smile had thrown her off. When he rushed forward, she reacted too slowly and landed on her ass, Decian crouched over her with his blade to her throat. He kicked hers away. “Have you considered training as an elite?” He asked, his face calm as he pressed the blade in, just shy of the pressure required to draw blood.

Breathing hard, she stared up at him with wide eyes. “Wh-What?” She stammered.

“You landed a pretty good hit on one. Few soldiers can do that… Especially so new.” He smiled kindly at her. It wasn’t an expression usually found on Decian’s face, and it made her uneasy.

“Oh, well th-thank you…” She blushed faintly. “Um… C-Can you get off me? You win the match…”

“Right.” Decian chuckled and stood, before giving her a hand up. She had never talked to Decian before, just seen him around… Seen him fight. From the way he seemed on duty, she hadn’t expected him to… praise her. She had much less expected his help up. But she thanked him quietly and walked over to where her friend had been watching the fight.

Decian let out a little groan, walked carefully over to Firaine, and leaned against the fence next to him. He immediately started healing his leg as much as he could before the next fight.

“You’d think more elites would be here… But you and Endric are the only ones.” Firaine said quietly.

“Why would any other elites come? The prize is dinner with the king. No one wants to get stuck with that…” Decian chuckled softly, and looked over to where Endric was fighting, still. “He’s the only reason I’m here,” His smile turned to a scowl, “That idiot’s head would grow three sizes.”

Firaine grinned. “Right, and it’s your job to keep him in his place?” He teased.

“Of course.” Decian let his amused smile slip free as he watched. It was then, as the fight was nearing its end, that Decian looked over to Brabil. “Besides… What Brabil said earlier… Something’s off.”

“What do you mean?” Firaine furrowed his eyebrows and looked over to Brabil. To him, the king’s smile seemed sincere, but Decian knew him better than that.

“This isn’t just a simple contest for fun. There’s something behind it.”

“Decian…” Firaine sighed, but he was cut off.

“I mean it. If it was for fun, it wouldn’t matter if I entered. But Brabil said he had worried when he thought I wouldn’t show…”

Firaine went quiet for a moment, staring at his hands in thought. “He… He did seem very insistent when he asked me to find you… But what do you think—” Firaine was cut off by Brabil loudly announcing the end of the fight.

Decian looked over to see someone helping Endric’s opponent off to the side, and sighed. “Time for the final duel! Decian, if you would join us?” Brabil held a hand out toward Decian. His leg was still sore, but he’d managed to stop the bleeding enough to fight. He was a nocten soldier, after all. He was trained to keep fighting, even when wounded. He went over to where Brabil and Endric were waiting, confident in his ability to take his rival down a notch. And then, Brabil will reveal what’s different about this contest…  He told himself.

Endric squared his shoulders and glared at Decian. His arm was cut, but it seemed to bother him as little as Decian’s own wound.

“You two scored the highest on the other tests,” Brabil said, “Whoever wins this wins the contest!” He was grinning, like always, but Decian still wasn’t convinced.

“Ah yes… And what is the prize again, my king?” Decian asked, tilting his head at him.

Brabil looked away. “W-Well, it’s dinner with me. But mostly bragging rights.” He chuckled awkwardly. “A-Anyway, duel!” He said and dashed away immediately.

Decian sighed and watched as Endric began circling him. “It’s just bragging rights, Decian! Couldn’t you have passed it up? Just once? Our fellow elites did!”

“And let your ego inflate that much more?” Decian raised an eyebrow at him and clicked his tongue. “No can do.” When Endric said nothing else, Decian smirked. “What are you waiting for? The king said duel. Make a move.” Decian stopped watching as Endric circled him. He could feel his eyes tearing into the back of his head, and hear his soft footsteps around him.

“Why don’t you?” Endric scowled.

“I figured I might let you get one hit in…” Decian sighed, and pulled the crow skull that he’d turned into a hair clip from his pocket. “Though, I understand your hesitation,” He said as he deftly pulled his hair up and secured it. “If you don’t fight… You can’t lose.” He hadn’t even pulled his sword out yet. Just standing in a relaxed pose as his opponent, who was behind him, growled.

“You damned hypocrite!” Endric shouted as he lunged. Decian pulled his sword out just in time to block the man, and he grinned.

“Good boy~” He teased.

The crowd had grown considerably by then, and they all watched with bated breath.

Endric huffed angrily at Decian’s taunts. His attacks were fast and hard, slashing and stabbing and easily parried, but Decian couldn’t get any of his own in. That was fine, however. Such a style of fighting couldn’t be sustained for long, and Decian let Endric back him up in circles, wasting his energy. One of his attempted strikes faltered, and Decian smacked him in the side with his blade flat. Endric roared angrily and spun, huffing, to face Decian again. His nose crinkled with a scowl, and he leapt forward. He hacked and sliced and faked attacks.

Decian prepared to block a slash on his left, but the blade came on his right and cut into his side. Deep. He couldn’t hold back his gasp of surprise and pain, and the audience couldn’t hold back their shock. Decian narrowed his eyes at Endric. “I didn’t realise we were fighting to wound.” He growled, repressing the searing pain in his side.

Endric laughed bitterly. “Can’t handle the sharp edge of a blade?” He began circling again, feeling quite victorious for having gotten a hit in. “Well maybe you would be better suited as a petty tailor, Twiggy… Like your parents.”

Decian’s nose twitched, the only outward evidence of his fury. He took the offensive, guiding his strikes with alarming precision, and strength. Endric struggled to block every blow, but managed. Until, that is, Decian cut his hand. The soldier gasped in pain and dropped his sword. Decian immediately kicked it away and pressed his own to Endric’s neck. He scowled, nose crinkling, in the rage he’d kept hidden from his expression. “I’m not the one who dropped his sword,” He growled, “And my mother was a soldier.”

“A soldier who went soft. Who couldn’t even defend herself.” Endric sneered.

“And you are the coward who dropped his sword. She could have beaten your pathetic self any day!”

“She gave up her sword in the middle of elite training!” Endric exclaimed, “Because she was pregnant with you! She died in the wood because she had been too busy raising you to train!” Decian growled and pressed his sword in closer, forcing Endric to lean back or be cut. “The fact that her corpse had been found still holding her blade doesn’t change that!”

“How dare you!” Decian shouted, pressing in even farther. He hadn’t even noticed Brabil and Firaine approaching until there was a hand next to Endric’s neck, pressing lightly against the blade.

“Decian, he isn’t worth it.” Firaine said, staring Decian in the eyes. Decian realised he was shaking with fury and looked down to Firaine’s hand. Too close. In the way of this damned—

“Come away, Decian…” Brabil said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Decian looked back at him, just missing the actual fear that Endric let slip. Even he had realised he’d gone too far. Decian let out another growl, but pulled his sword back, and glared at his rival as Brabil turned to the crowd. “W-Well!” He announced, “We have a winner!” The audience began to stir once more. They whispered among themselves, all too uncomfortable to cheer.

Behind the king, Decian had sheathed his sword, and dropped his clenched fists to his sides. Still shaking, he spoke with a forced calm that sounded far more menacing than if he had shouted. “And so, Brabil? Is it time for you to reveal the true nature of this contest?” He glowered at his king.

A chill ran down Brabil’s spine as he slowly turned, everyone around them silent once more. The king could scarcely look the man in the eyes. “I… We will discuss it over dinner.” He said and tilted his chin up. He raised an eyebrow at Decian, before continuing, “I suggest you calm yourself before coming.”

Another growl broke forth from deep in Decian’s throat, but he said nothing else as he turned and stalked out of the clearing, still bleeding from his side. No one followed, not even Firaine. No one dared.