novelraw Chapter 100 : The Clash of Old Blades
Chapter 100 : The Clash of Old Blades
(Rooga POV)
The morning air was heavier than usual.
Even before I stepped outside, I could hear Kain’s laugh echoing through the yard — that deep, gruff sound that always meant trouble was coming.
When I reached the training field, he and Father were already standing opposite each other. The air between them felt different today.
Kain turned when he saw me, that familiar grin spreading across his face. “Perfect timing, pup. You get to watch something worth remembering.”
“What’s happening?”
“You asked me yesterday who’s stronger, didn’t you?”
I nodded cautiously.
He smirked and unsheathed his sword. “We’re about to find out.”
Father chuckled under his breath and picked up his blade from the post. “You sure your bones can handle it?”
“I’ve been waiting ten years to hit you again,” Kain said.
“Then make it count.”
They faced each other in silence.
No stance calls. No greetings.
Just the sound of the wind brushing through the grass.
Kain moved first — fast for a man his age. His swing cut through the air with a clean whistle, not wide or showy, but sharp and exact. I could see it clearly now: every step, every shift of his weight flowed together.
Loud and rough as he was, Kain’s swordsmanship was beautiful.
Father caught the blow with his own blade. The impact cracked like thunder, scattering dust across the field.
Kain stepped back, circling. “Still using that old stance, huh? Rigid as ever.”
Father smiled faintly. “Rigid keeps me alive.”
“Let’s test that.”
Kain dashed forward again — two, three strikes in quick succession. Each one clean, purposeful, with no wasted motion. His blade was a map of precision, but Father met every attack like he already knew where it would land.
To me, it was like watching two storms collide — one moving wild and fierce, the other steady and immovable.
Kain ducked low, feinting left before turning his blade up toward Father’s ribs.
Father parried with a short, simple movement — almost lazy — but the force behind it sent a shockwave through the air.
Kain slid back, boots carving furrows in the dirt.
He spat, grinning. “Still hitting like a siege ram, I see.”
Father’s tone was calm. “And you still can’t take a hit.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to eat one.”
He lunged again, their blades colliding midair. Sparks flashed where steel met steel.
Even with his refined control, Kain couldn’t gain the upper hand. Father’s technique looked basic, even crude — just straight slashes, blocks, and counters. But each swing carried so much power it rippled through the ground when he missed.
When they broke apart again, Kain’s hands trembled slightly from the impact.
“Your swings still feel like boulders,” he growled. “No wonder you break students.”
Father’s smirk didn’t fade. “Then stop getting hit.”
They moved again — faster this time.
Neither spoke. The sound of clashing steel echoed through the field in a rhythm that almost felt alive.
Kain’s footwork blurred as he slipped under another swing, countering with a clean strike to Father’s shoulder. The blade stopped just short of contact, but the intent was clear.
Father’s counter came instantly — a powerful horizontal cut that Kain barely parried. The impact sent him sliding backward again, boots digging deep grooves into the earth.
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For a moment, neither man moved.
Then both smiled.
Mother and Lyra had stepped out onto the porch, drawn by the noise. Riaz sat by my feet, eyes wide, and even Maori peeked through her branches, clearly entertained.
The whole family was watching — and neither of them looked like they were planning to stop.
Minutes passed. Then longer.
Their movements slowed — not from exhaustion, but caution.
Each strike now came with weight and understanding.
Kain’s blade danced; Father’s cut through the dance like a drumbeat.
Every time Kain’s skill found an opening, Darius’s sheer power closed it.
Every time Darius’s force should’ve overwhelmed him, Kain slipped away, laughing.
They were opposites — precision against instinct, control against chaos — and somehow, both matched perfectly.
The earth beneath them bore the marks of their exchange: footprints, sword cuts, scars in the soil that looked almost deliberate.
When they locked blades again, pushing against each other, both were smiling.
Kain’s teeth showed in a fierce grin. “You’ve gotten slow, old friend.”
Father’s tone was steady. “You’ve gotten predictable.”
Then, as if by silent agreement, both stepped back.
Neither yielded.
Kain twirled his sword once, exhaling hard. “Not bad for a morning warm-up.”
Father rolled his shoulder. “Still talking too much.”
They laughed — two men who’d survived too many wars to take offense.
But the laughter didn’t last long. The silence that followed was heavy, electric.
It wasn’t over.
Both of them knew it.
The air around the training field was still heavy with the echo of steel.
Father and Kain circled each other slowly, blades steady, eyes locked.
They had already traded a hundred strikes since morning, neither yielding.
Even now, sweat ran down both their foreheads, and the earth beneath them was scarred with lines of their duel — grooves deep enough to tell a story.
As I watched them, breathing hard from just trying to keep up with their movements, a strange thought came to me.
Father wasn’t just a warrior.
He was someone the world once followed.
Kain smirked between breaths. “Still remember how to fight, old man. Guess I didn’t waste all those years babysitting your suicidal charges.”
Father’s expression didn’t change. “You were my second, not my nurse.”
Kain laughed. “Second? I carried half your squad on my back while you ran ahead like a hero. Melissa still curses you for it.”
“Melissa,” Father repeated, and for the first time, there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
“Yeah. That shield wall of a woman,” Kain said, stepping back and lowering his stance. “Could’ve stopped a dragon with her faith alone. Shame you were too blind to notice how she looked at you.”
Father sighed. “She was loyal. I respected her.”
“Respect?” Kain barked a laugh. “That woman worshiped you. Even Suzanne called her back to the capital because she was afraid Melissa would follow you into the empire.”
Mother, standing at the porch, frowned slightly but said nothing.
I listened quietly, committing the names to memory.
Kain adjusted his grip, still talking as if the conversation and duel were the same rhythm. “Acker still sends word from the north, you know. Says the border’s safe — though the man probably lives in a tree by now.”
Father gave a small nod. “Good. He deserves peace.”
“And Noile?”
“She returned to her tribe. Last I heard, she married one of her own kind.”
Kain chuckled. “Still can’t believe she didn’t tear your throat out for refusing her.”
Father parried another strike with calm precision. “She tried.”
That earned another laugh. “You always did have a way with women.”
“Only one I needed to have a way with,” Father said, glancing toward Mother for a heartbeat.
Mother smiled faintly — and for a moment, the tension broke into warmth.
Kain stepped back, his blade resting on his shoulder. “You ever tell your boy about them? About the Valemont Company?”
Father shook his head. “No. That life’s gone.”
Kain’s tone softened. “You were our captain. The rest of us followed because you made us believe dying beside you meant something. Melissa, Acker, Noile — they never stopped looking for you, you know that?”
“I didn’t ask them to.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The words hung between them for a long moment.
And as I stood there, watching these two men from a world I could barely imagine, I started to see what kind of life Father had hidden from us — and why he never spoke about it.
They weren’t just soldiers. They were something larger — people bound by loyalty, by belief, by a cause I couldn’t name.
And now, that same fire that led them through war was glowing again between their swords.
Kain grinned, stepping back into position. “Enough talk. Let’s see if that fancy healing body of yours can keep up with my age.”
Father’s stance dropped lower, his expression sharpening. “Try not to break again.”
Their blades met once more — faster, louder, sharper.
The ground trembled beneath each clash, the air splitting with every parry.
Kain’s movements were precise, fluid, his sword cutting through the air with intent honed by decades. Father’s were simple, direct, but each one landed with weight that sent vibrations through the soil.
Kain feinted, twisting his wrist mid-swing, but Father countered instantly, catching the motion and driving him back with a single downward cut. The impact cracked the ground at Kain’s feet.
“Still stronger than sense,” Kain growled, stepping back and shaking his arms out.
Father didn’t answer. His eyes were calm — too calm.
Neither man gave an inch.
The duel had gone beyond training now; it was a conversation in motion, an old language only they spoke.
Kain’s blade danced like lightning — fluid, unpredictable.
Father’s cuts were thunder — steady, crushing, absolute.
Each clash drew closer to something final, something inevitable.
And even though neither of them looked tired, I could feel it — the air changing, the weight of power pressing down on everyone watching.
Lyra had stopped breathing. Mother was gripping the edge of the porch rail.
And me?
I couldn’t move.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t looking at my father as just a man.
I was watching a commander — one of the Blades of Valemont — standing against his oldest friend in a battle that had never truly ended.