With only a single stride left between them, Jared lunged. Dragonslayer flashed forward, a streak of silver lightning aimed straight for Cormac’s throat.
Cormac’s eyes flared wide. That the young swordsman could still muster an assault after enduring the previous shockwave was something he had never calculated.
He threw his body sideways, desperation twisting his cloak. The move came an instant too late. Steel bit into his shoulder instead of his neck. Blood erupted, hot, bright, and sudden, spraying across the polished tiles.
A raw scream tore from Cormac’s throat. Reeling, he staggered backward, boots skidding over the bloody marble.
Jared did not relent. He chased like a hurricane, Dragonslayer wheeling in his grip. Each cut released a crescent of sword-light that whistled toward the retreating hall lord.
Cormac gathered what remained of his celestial energy, weaving a shaky barrier. But the reservoir was nearly dry, the wall he raised cracked before the first blade even struck.
One arc of light punched cleanly through his forearm. Another grazed his cheek, carving a crimson furrow from ear to jaw. His frame wobbled like a dying tree. In that instant, he knew the balance of power had shifted beyond repair.
“You win today,” Cormac snarled, “But the Celestial Palace will not forget this insult!” Hatred burning in his eyes, he spun and bolted for the shattered archway.
Jared watched the fleeing silhouette recede into shadow and chose not to give chase. He understood that toppling one hall lord did not dismantle the palace, three more awaited beyond the horizon, each commanding armies of followers. Yet fear never touched him.
Power could be honed, and as long as he kept sharpening his own, no adversary would remain unbeatable.
“Jared, you okay?” Flaxseed puffed as he skidded to a halt, eyes scanning the fresh blood on his friend’s sleeve.
“I’m fine,” Jared said, giving his shoulder a dismissive roll. “These scratches can wait. We need to catch Drystan.”
“Right behind you!”
They sprang into motion, silhouettes streaking through the forested slopes. Branches whipped past as they pursued Drystan Hexford and the handful of jittery retainers scrambling ahead of him.
“Stop!” Jared’s voice cracked through the trees, deep and resonant like a temple bell. The command carried an authority that froze the night air. Drystan’s guards flinched as though struck.
Turning, they saw Jared’s eyes gleam with killing intent, and terror flooded their veins.
“Master, we can’t fight him, we’ll be slaughtered. Run!” one guard stammered, voice quaking.
He didn’t wait for permission. Panic overriding loyalty, he dove into the undergrowth, and the rest scattered like startled quail. Left alone, Drystan’s rage burst forth.
“Cowards! Get back here!” he screamed, throat shredding against the word.
Only the echo of his own voice and the fading thump of retreating boots replied.
Jared and Flaxseed closed the distance in a blur of motion. In the next heartbeat, they stood before Drystan, hemming him in from opposite flanks, and their presence forming an invisible cage no mortal escape could pierce.
Faced with Jared’s eyes, twin blades forged to kill, Drystan’s knees all but buckled. He swayed like a rotten post in a storm, clutching at empty air for courage that would not come.
“J-Jared… Please…” he stammered, forcing a grin so crooked it looked carved in pain. “Let’s not do anything rash. We can… We can talk this over.”
“Run out of breath already, Drystan?” Jared’s voice carried the chill of iron struck on an anvil. “A moment ago, you were sprinting like a rabbit. Why not try it again?”
“I admit my fault,” Drystan blurted, hands flapping in surrender. “Take every celestial gem I possess, just spare my life. Those stones were destined for the Third Hall. Everything I did, l swear, it was by Enaricus’s command. I was only following orders!”
