The air was cold when I stepped into the ring. Mist still clung to the fields outside Darrow's Hollow, curling low along the trampled grass where the duel would take place. Soldiers and mercenaries stood in a wide circle, their breath ghosting white in the morning air. No cheers, no jeers—just silence heavy with expectation.
Sophie stood across from me, red hair tied back, the first rays of dawn glinting off the curved blade she carried—a mercenary's weapon, light but deadly. Her stance was low and balanced, the poise of someone who'd survived too many fights to count. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smirk.
"So," she said, twirling her sword once, "the Demon-Slayer King himself. I was half-expecting you to send Gregor in your place."
Gregor stood at the edge of the ring, silent, arms folded, watching like a hawk.
"I don't send others to fight my battles," I said evenly, drawing Velzithar. The crimson blade hummed softly, its veins dimmed per my command. No system skills. No buffs. Just me, my body, and my resolve.
The System flickered to life in the corner of my vision.
DUEL INITIATED – HONOR CONTRACT MODE
Opponent: Sophie Redfield
Level: 41
Strength: 110
Agility: 130
Endurance: 95
Skill Detected: Crimson Step (Tier 2) – Rapid directional burst allowing immediate repositioning.
Passive: Battle Intuition – Increases evasion and counterattack timing accuracy by 20%.
Status: Confident. Focused. Dangerous.
Velzithar's voice whispered at the back of my mind, low and smooth.
"Don't underestimate her, Alaric. She's fought in dirt and fire longer than you've worn a crown."
I smirked faintly. "Good. I need the practice."
The moment the flag dropped, Sophie moved.
Her speed was startling. A red blur crossed the ring as her blade slashed for my ribs. I barely managed to parry, the impact jarring my arm. She flowed around me like smoke, her boots kicking up dust as she struck again—high, low, feint, twist.
Steel met steel again and again, each strike ringing out in the cold morning air. Sparks scattered like fleeting stars.
"Come on, King!" she taunted, her grin fierce. "Show me how you killed that demon!"
I ducked under a horizontal slash, countered with a rising cut that grazed her side—only to have her twist out of reach, her knee driving into my midsection. The hit stole my breath.
Health: -30
I stumbled back, catching myself on the edge of the ring. She didn't let up.
Sophie's Crimson Step activated—her body blurring left, then right, before appearing behind me. Her blade sliced through the mist, aimed at my neck. I dropped, rolling across the dirt, Velzithar humming in my hands.
She was fast. Faster than most enemies I'd fought without using system skills. But speed breeds arrogance.
I rose, brushing the dirt from my sleeve. "You're good," I said. "But you talk too much."
She smirked, circling. "And you're slower than I expected."
Her next strike came from above, a descending arc meant to split me open. I caught it—barely—locking our blades together. Sparks hissed between us. Her face was inches from mine, sweat glinting along her brow.
"Yield?" she asked, voice mocking.
I pushed back, forcing her to retreat. "You'll have to work for it."
This time, I advanced. My movements were deliberate, steady. Each step forward forced her to adjust, to react. I used the terrain—kicked up dust with my boots, forced her to fight half-blind for a moment. When she slashed through the haze, I sidestepped, caught her wrist, and twisted.
Her sword dropped for half a heartbeat. I moved in to strike—
—but she used the momentum to flip backward, her heel nearly catching my chin. Agile. Cunning. Experienced.
She landed and grinned. "Not bad. You're learning."
The crowd murmured as she blurred again, Crimson Step activating in rapid succession. Her afterimages flickered around me—three, four, five illusions moving in perfect sync.
For a moment, even I lost track of her.
"Too slow," she whispered at my ear.
Pain flared as her blade traced a shallow line across my shoulder.
Health: -20
"Damn it," I muttered, spinning with a slash of my own.
Velzithar's blade hummed through the air, its crimson glow igniting as I let just a fraction of her energy leak through. Enough to disrupt Sophie's rhythm.
The ground beneath us cracked faintly from the force of the swing. Sophie blocked, but the impact sent her sliding back several feet, boots carving deep tracks in the dirt.
Her grin faltered. "What the hell—?"
"No tricks," I said, breathing steady. "Just me."
We clashed again—steel shrieking, feet pounding, breaths short and sharp. She tried to overwhelm me with speed, cutting in low and twisting for my blind side, but I used the environment—kicked a broken crate between us, forcing her to slice through it. The split wood exploded into a spray of splinters, masking my movement.
I ducked low, rolled under her guard, and drove the pommel of my sword into her ribs.
She gasped, stumbling back, eyes blazing.
"Cheap shot," she spat, clutching her side.
"Effective," I corrected.
She rushed in again, fury in every motion. For a while, we were pure rhythm—strike, block, parry, step. Her confidence turned into desperation as I began reading her movements, seeing the patterns between her bursts of speed. Every Crimson Step ended in a predictable angle, every feint betrayed by a shift of her shoulder.
When she leapt high for an overhead strike, I saw it coming.
I slid forward under her guard, turned my body, and drove my blade up—stopping an inch from her throat.
The tip of Velzithar's edge glowed faintly crimson in the dawn light.
Sophie froze, breath ragged.
The crowd held its breath.
"Yield," I said, voice calm but cold.
Her jaw clenched. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, she exhaled and lowered her sword. "...Damn it." A crooked smile tugged at her lips. "You're better than you look."
I lowered Velzithar. "So I've been told."
She took a step back, still breathing hard. "Well, King Alaric, you've earned your army."
Gregor stepped forward, relief flickering across his face. The mercenaries behind Sophie exchanged looks—some surprised, some impressed, some a little wary.
Sophie sheathed her sword, extending a hand. "You've got your deal. My blades, my people—they'll follow your orders. You've proven you're worth it."
I grasped her hand firmly. "Good. Because we'll need every sword we can get."
She smirked again, tilting her head. "Just don't make me regret it, your Majesty."
As the crowd began to disperse, Gregor leaned in quietly. "You went easy on her."
"Maybe," I said, watching Sophie's red hair disappear into the mist. "But she needed to see what she was following—not what she was fighting."
Velzithar's voice hummed softly, satisfied.
"You're learning, Alaric. Power means nothing without restraint."
I slid the blade back into its sheath and turned toward the horizon. The sun was rising—burning away the fog, revealing the ruins of a village that refused to die.