Chapter 176: No such thing as fairness.

The air in the martial hall was thick, heavy with the scent of old wood, burning incense, and the raw tension emanating from the blue-tiled ring. At opposite ends, Sabrina and Derek stood like mirrored sculptures of resentment, light glistening off the swords in their hands.

Sabrina shifted her grip, the silk tassels on her hilt dancing. A lazy, dangerous smirk played on her lips as she made eye contact with her older brother.

"Oh, Derek, dear brother," she cooed, her voice carrying easily to the edges of the room where the rest of the family sat. "I do hope Matilda brought extra bandages tonight, she has not healed anyone in a while. She has become rusty, that wife of yours. It’s bad enough your ego is about to get crushed, but you can stop this by admitting that you are wrong. It would be a shame to leave all your lovely teeth on the floor."

From the seated crowd, their fifth Cousin Jovan stifled a laugh, immediately earning a sharp elbow from his mother.

"Shut up," she hissed. "Don’t show any emotion. We are always neutral, in all circumstances. The tides are always changing, or have you forgotten how the patriarch lost power once." Sooner or later, Sabrina would also lose power to someone stronger or more cunning. She was fighting too many battles and accumulated too many enemies.

In the ring, Derek didn’t rush to respond. He adjusted his stance, grounding himself, the picture of focused gravity. He spat a glob of saliva onto the ring floor, his gaze never wavering. "Store your energy, Sabrina. It takes a lot of breath to talk that much, and you’re going to need every ounce of it just to keep up. Stop running your mouth and start moving."

Some family members were already slipping high grade stones of betting money to their neighbors secretly. Others were whispering, and others were sending messages or recording. One figure stood like an ancient monument. The Grand Patriarch, he was motionless. Outwardly, he was calm. Inwardly, he was calculating.

This fighting challenge was not for the siblings settling a rivalry, as this would never happen. It was for him to gauge Sabrina’s strength. Basing on that, he would determine whether to deal with the in the upcoming clan meeting or not. His eyes narrowed as he raised his hand.

"Begin!" he shouted, his voice cracking like thunder.

Sabrina didn’t hesitate. With a feral battle cry, she exploded forward, her sword becoming a blur of cold silver aimed directly at Derek’s neck. It was a vicious, blindingly fast opening move designed to end the fight in a split second.

Derek hadn’t even moved his feet. His sword had simply__ appeared in the path of hers. He didn’t just block; he absorbed the momentum. The collision forced Sabrina’s sword back a foot, leaving her wide open.

Derek capitalized instantly. Where Sabrina was chaotic energy, Derek was focused on unlimited strength. He stepped in, his movements economical and terrifyingly efficient. He rained down three consecutive, heavy strikes, driving Sabrina back. Each time their swords met, Sabrina’s arm jerked. She was a master of agility, but Derek was a master of the blade, and his strength was overwhelming her. He was dominating the rhythm of the fight, dictating where she could move.

His father, the grand patriarch, had sent a master to train him. All this while, he seemed weak and cowardly, but he was training and gathering strength in secret. And it had paid off. He was leading the fight by a wide margin.

A gasp went through the crowd. This was not the fight they expected. Derek was normally so passive, but tonight, he was a wall of steel. Whispers of curiosity traveled in the fight.

Questions were raised: When had he become this skillful? How had he raised his strength? Who had taught him these skills?

Frustrated, cornered, and her wrist screaming from the vibrations, Sabrina’s focus shattered. She saw Derek’s footwork open up as he prepared for a decisive disarming strike. In a desperate, dirty maneuver, she didn’t aim her sword at his blade but plunged it low.

The tip of her blade buried itself deep into the meat of his right hip joint.

Derek dropped to one knee; the sound he made less a cry of pain and more a wet choke. The color drained from his face as a long-dormant injury flared into agony. His masterly focus shattered. For a full, echoing minute, he was trapped in the world of his own pain.

A ripple of confusion went through the stands. A strike to the leg was valid, but this? This felt__ vicious. Everyone knew that weakness, and they knew it was a result of Derek saving the grand patriarch’s life. How could Sabrina use it against her brother?

Sabrina saw her opening. She didn’t look triumphant; she looked efficient. She stepped in and, with a quick, snapping twist of her hilt, wrenched the sword right out of Derek’s bleeding flesh. Without a beat, she used the flat of her own blade to thwack his sword, sending it sailing high into the air and clattering noisily onto the stone floor outside the ring boundary.

Derek was now without a weapon, panting, and clutching his bleeding, wounded side. The crowd fell silent. The rule of fair play in a sword fight was simple: if an opponent is disarmed, you allow them to yield or regain their footing.

Sabrina, however, did not care.

This was not a legalized fight for her; this was a performance. With a predatory glare, she launched a snapping, high roundhouse kick that caught Derek flush in the shoulder, knocking him completely flat onto his back.

"Giving up already, big brother?" she mocked.

She took three slow steps and then, with both hands on the hilt, raised her sword high. "This will teach you to ever try and outshine me."

A roar of "NO!" and "STOP!" erupted from the family seats. Her intended target was his head.

She swung.

Sabrina’s sword connected with the empty tiled floor, sparks flying. Derek, driven by raw survival instinct, had rolled away right at the last microsecond.

He was now scrambling, practically on all fours, trying to use his good leg to get distance. Sabrina threw her head back and began to laugh. A wild, unhinged cackle that made the Grand Patriarch’s skin crawl.

"Run, Derek! Run! The so-called heir reduced to his knees like an animal! I can do this the whole day!" she called out, launching into a graceful, yet deadly, chase around the ring, launching a flurry of slashes and thrusts. She didn’t want to kill him now. She wanted him to know his life was in her hands.