Chapter 307: Incredible.

Chapter 307: Chapter 307: Incredible.

It’s not fair.

​When did the sky get so dark?

​Lying on the ground where he’d last fallen, hair splayed out in the mud, Rogard stretches a hand up to the sky and watches as the first raindrops start to fall; washing away a streak of red from his bloodstained knuckles.

​All this time, and I still lost.

​It hurts.

​Everything hurts .

​How?

​Rogard’s been training for this. Harder than he ever did when they were young, and against much stronger opponents.

He’s spent the days sparring and the nights aching.

He’s bled , run until his lungs burned out, and fallen so deep in the mud he can barely recognise himself.

​He has people who really, truly believe in him now, and it’s still not enough.

​But it’s funny. For the first time, losing to Loac doesn’t make him feel like a failure .

​(It’s a strange feeling.

From a young age, Rogard had always been a golden child; graced with gifts of every shape and form.

There was nothing he couldn’t do.

Nothing, except beat Loac. It was the one smear on Rogard’s father’s so dearly coveted record of perfection.

And with every loss the smear had gotten blacker, and so had his father’s opinion of him, and the more desperately and hysterically Rogard had tried to polish it and make it shine again.

​Hah. As if that was ever really possible.

​He’s starting to realise that, now.)

​He didn’t fail. He just...lost. Rogard can’t quite explain it, but that feels like an important difference.

And while it still sucks, in a weird kind of way it’s okay, too.

Montrel and Jaga and Khobi lose all the time, after all, and that’s always okay. Sure they laugh sometimes, but never with ice in their eyes or when it really matters, and at the end of the day they still pull each other out of the mud, and try to be better next time.

In fact, he knows with utmost certainty, that if he lies here moping in the mud long enough, someone will climb the fence and come over to him.

They’ll haul him up, clap him on the shoulder, and tell him that was fucking awesome, and he’ll get him next time, and they’ll really, truly mean it.

​He knows, because he can hear them already, even though he’s being petty and pretending he can’t.

Just to see if they’ll come.

​(They always do.)

​A familiar shadow passes overhead, and Rogard’s expression immediately sours, because while it’s a refreshing change of pace to not feel like his soul’s being crushed from his body after yet another loss, he still feels kind of sick to his stomach from wanting something so bad and having it snatched beyond reach, and the last thing he wants is for Loac to come and gloat.

​But...he doesn’t.

​"You’re not crying," he says instead; more statement than question.

Rogard blinks vacantly, his hand dropping back to touch his face. It’s wet, but that’s just from the rain.

​Huh.

​He hears the squelch of footsteps in the mud, and wonders with a pang of irritation if that’s all he came over to say.

But then to his surprise, Loac drops down into the mud beside him and stretches out his legs with a groan, nevermind that it’s raining and the mud is getting thick and gross and he’s going to be just as filthy as Rogard for it.

​"...You were right after all," he says, and when Rogard swivels his head to look at him in confusion, there’s no sign that he’s making fun of him.

In fact, he’s holding his side where Rogard caught him with his blade.

He’s definitely bleeding. "...It wasn’t like last time." And when he looks down at him, there’s a small lopsided grin there that as bitter as defeat feels, Rogard can’t help but return.

​"...Let’s fight again, yeah?" Loac says, and for a moment there it feels like despite all the years they drifted, no time has passed at all.

​"Yeah," Rogard agrees, staring back up at the sky again. He can feel the mud sucking him down; seeping into his clothes and into his hair.

It doesn’t feel so bad, with his friend sitting here beside him. "...Can we maybe not wait so long this time?"

...

Xena doesn’t even realise that there are tears beading in the corners of her eyes until Montrel lays a hand on her shoulder and asks if she’s okay.

She doesn’t blink; doesn’t want to miss a moment of what she’s seeing.

Her hair must look a shambles and despite Montrel’s cloak draped around her to keep off the worst of it, her dress and her boots are going to be ruined from the rain.

She can’t bring herself to care.

​"I’m just happy," she tells him, a smile spreading across her face as she stares at the two motionless forms wallowing in the mud.

​"Just like old times, I guess?" he chuckles.

​"Yes," she whispers fondly, "...Just like old times."

​...

​Shit .

​Khobi knows his heart isn’t meant to be racing like this.

​Sure, he knows Loac is good. He’s fought him enough to be able to personally attest to that.

But it’s rare that he gets to watch him from the outside like this; facing off against as terrifying an opponent as Rogard.

​This might just be the first time, even. The soldiers give him as good as they can but at the end of the day they know their place, and just how wide the chasm between them lies; they know that no matter how long and how hard they train and they fight, there are some heights that men like Loac will climb to that they themselves will never reach.

Some men are blessed like that.

​Rogard is one of them, too. With all the airs he puts on it can be easy to forget, but when he takes up a sword there’s simply no denying that he possesses the same indomitable aura afforded only to the most gifted and dangerous of men.

Khobi’s faced such pressure in each of them; felt it breathing down his neck and felt the air being sucked from his lungs as it’s oppressive weight takes hold.

Rogard and Loac are two of the most magnificent swordsmen Khobi has ever had the fortune to face, and there is something utterly spellbinding about witnessing them collide.

​Rogard has become so much stronger since the first time they fought.

Back then he had still given Khobi absolute chills, the way only opponents of unfathomable strength could, but these days his movements are decisive and ferocious and no longer lined with rust the way they once were, and his eyes are bright and full of fire.

​There’s no doubt that he’s seriously amazing.

​And then there’s Loac.

​Loac fucking takes his breath away .

​He doesn’t get to see him quite like this when they fight.

There’s too little time; no thought, only action and reaction.

But on the outside like this he sees his brilliance in its entirety; the full silhouette of the shapes he makes and the way his body ripples and flows and changes like water, swirling endlessly.

​Shit , Khobi can’t help but think; utterly and helplessly transfixed.

​He’s incredible .