Chapter 259: v3 - 20: the first duel V

Chapter 259: v3 Chapter 20: the first duel V

The flail came again.

Cassian raised his sword.

The impact jarred his entire arm.

He staggered backward.

Another strike.

He blocked it.

Barely.

The chain recoiled, then came around again from another direction.

Cassian moved on instinct.

The spiked ball passed beside his head.

He heard the crowd roar.

His eyes were still burning.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The world remained a blur.

He wiped at his face with the back of his wrist.

It only made the burning worse.

Sand had worked into the sweat around his eyes.

He could barely see shapes now.

The condemned man came forward.

Cassian heard him.

He stepped back.

The flail struck.

Cassian blocked.

The force drove him another step backward.

He couldn’t keep retreating.

The Arena wall was behind him.

The condemned man knew it too.

The chain rattled.

Cassian waited.

The flail swung.

He ducked.

The weapon struck the stone behind him.

Cassian moved.

He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest.

The condemned man stumbled.

Cassian followed with the hilt of his sword.

It struck the man’s jaw.

The man reeled.

Cassian swung.

The blade caught his side.

He cried out and stumbled away.

Cassian advanced.

His vision was beginning to change.

Not clear.

But no longer completely white.

Shapes had begun to return.

Dark against light.

Movement.

Distance.

Enough.

He blinked again.

The condemned man was there.

Cassian could see him now.

Barely.

The man raised the flail.

Cassian moved first.

He closed the distance before the weapon could gather momentum.

The condemned man tried to swing.

Cassian caught his wrist.

Their bodies collided.

The man struggled.

Cassian twisted his arm.

The flail fell.

The condemned man struck Cassian across the face with his free hand.

Cassian staggered.

The man lunged for the weapon.

Cassian kicked it away.

The crowd screamed.

The condemned man turned back toward him.

For the first time, there was fear in his eyes.

Cassian saw it.

He didn’t hesitate.

The man reached for him.

Cassian struck.

The sword drove him backward.

He stumbled.

Cassian struck again.

The condemned man fell to one knee.

Cassian stood over him.

The man raised his hands.

"Mercy."

The same word.

The same plea.

But Cassian no longer believed him.

He remembered the sand.

The false surrender.

The flail coming toward his head.

He remembered how close he had come to dying because he had stopped.

Cassian’s breathing was heavy.

His eyes still burned.

His entire body hurt.

But something inside him had gone cold.

He had given the man a chance.

Once.

The man had used it against him.

There would not be another.

The condemned man lunged suddenly.

Cassian reacted before he could think.

His sword moved.

The man collapsed.

Silence fell for half a heartbeat.

Then the Arena erupted.

Cassian remained standing.

He stared down at the body.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

Blood ran down his face.

Sand still clung to his eyelashes.

His vision remained imperfect, but it was returning.

He could see the crowd now.

Thousands of faces.

Thousands of people cheering.

They had watched him nearly lose his sight.

They had watched him recover.

And now they were celebrating his victory.

Cassian lowered his sword.

He felt no triumph.

Only relief.

He was alive.

That was all that mattered.

The attendants hurried into the Arena.

Cassian stepped back as they approached the body.

He looked toward the opposite side.

Robert was still there.

Their eyes met.

Robert stared at him.

Then slowly exhaled.

Cassian gave him the smallest nod.

He had survived his first duel.

But now he understood something he hadn’t fully grasped before.

The Arena did not reward honor.

It rewarded survival.

And next time, Cassian would remember that.

--

The crowd had barely settled when the announcer returned to the platform.

Cassian remained near the edge of the Arena.

His breathing had steadied, but his eyes still burned.

He wiped at his face again.

The sand had mostly cleared from his vision.

Mostly.

Then the announcer called the next number.

"Three hundred and twenty-five."

325 stepped forward.

The crowd responded with a wave of cheers.

Then came the other number.

"Condemned Number Four."

The heavily muscled man stepped forward.

The tattoos covering both arms shifted as he rolled his shoulders.

The scar across his throat was impossible to miss.

He looked at 325.

Then smiled.

325 didn’t smile back.

The attendants brought the weapons.

325 chose a sword.

Condemned number four selected a broad axe.

The crowd reacted immediately.

The man tested its weight once.

Then rested it against his shoulder.

The bell sounded.

325 moved first.

He kept his distance.

A quick strike.

Then another.

The condemned man blocked both.

The axe came down.

325 stepped aside.

The blade struck the sand.

325 countered.

His sword caught the man’s shoulder.

The crowd roared.

The condemned man barely reacted.

He turned.

The axe swept across.

325 ducked.

The weapon passed over his head.

He retreated.

The condemned man advanced.

Every strike forced 325 farther backward.

He was stronger.

Much stronger.

325 knew it.

So did Cassian.

325 couldn’t afford to meet him directly.

He circled.

Waited.

Then attacked again.

His sword struck the man’s side.

The condemned man grunted.

He swung.

325 avoided the blade.

Again.

Again.

The fight continued.

Neither man could gain a decisive advantage.

The crowd grew louder with every exchange.

325’s breathing became heavier.

The condemned man’s movements slowed slightly.

But his strength remained.

Then 325 saw an opening.

He stepped forward.

The condemned man swung.

325 slipped beneath the axe.

His sword came up.

The blade struck the man’s ribs.

The condemned man staggered.

325 turned to finish the exchange.

He was too slow.

The axe came around.

325 tried to retreat.

Not quickly enough.

The blade caught his forearm.

He screamed.

He stumbled backward.

For a moment, he simply stared.

Part of his forearm was gone.

His hand was no longer there.

The reality seemed to reach him a second later.

The crowd erupted.

325 nearly dropped his sword.

But he didn’t.

He shifted his grip with his remaining hand.

The condemned man raised his axe again.

325 backed away.

He was hurt.

Badly.

But he was still standing.

The condemned man charged.

325 moved.

The axe struck the ground.

325 stepped inside its range.

His sword drove forward.

The condemned man staggered.

325 struck again.

The man fell to one knee.

The crowd screamed.

325 stood over him.

The condemned man tried to rise.

325 raised his sword.

The man swung his axe from the ground.

325 stepped aside.

Then brought his sword down.

The condemned man collapsed.

The Arena exploded.

325 remained standing.

For several seconds, he seemed unable to understand that it was over.

Then he looked down at the ruined end of his arm.

His face went pale.

The attendants rushed toward him.

Cassian watched as they examined the wound.

They wrapped the remaining arm quickly, binding it tightly to stop the bleeding.

325 clenched his jaw.

He didn’t cry out.

When they finished, he was helped toward the edge of the Arena.

He stopped before leaving.

He looked back at the body of the man he had defeated.

Then at the crowd.

They were cheering for him.

Not because he had fought beautifully.

Not because he had escaped unharmed.

Because he had survived.

Cassian understood the difference now.

The Arena did not care what survival cost.

325 was still a fighter.

Still one of them.

Still expected to return.

Cassian looked toward Robert.

Robert was watching 325 too.

Neither spoke.

The announcer raised his hand again.

Only two matches remained.

Only two newcomers were still waiting.

Three hundred and twenty-seven.

And three hundred and twenty-three.

Cassian looked toward Robert.

Robert was already watching the Arena.

Then the announcer called the next number.

"Three hundred and twenty-seven."

Robert stepped forward.

Cassian watched him begin walking toward the center of the Arena.

His opponent would be condemned number five.

The younger-looking man.

For the first time since the duels had begun, Cassian allowed himself to wonder whether Robert would be all right.

Then the gates opened.

The fifth duel was about to begin.

--

Tbc