The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

[A/N] Bwaaaa I'm back

[Belem's POV]

My master never taught me to fight. When King Salas raised his hand no one, least of all me, would think to attack back. I was trained by the guardsmen he employed from when I was young to the very day I left. 

Despite their distaste for me in the palace I knew personally that I was naturally gifted, I was a powerful fighter when it came down to it, agile, fast and precise with a blade. It had come easily to me, so that seeing others struggle would have given me a big head if they weren't the same boys who discussed my lowly orphan heritage. 

Still in that one aspect I knew myself to be skilled more than many fully realised.

Yet I had never seen a fighter quite as good as him.

Cigol appeared to dance when he fought, in the most brutal way, instead of avoiding his dance partners he struck them sharply and cruelly without a seconds worth of deliberation or remorse and the ensuing sounds was sometimes a little sickening.

My sword struck the sword of one assassin I did not know by name and I turned it over his head again so fast that a lower strike would have cast his head aside. The sword was heavy and unwieldy, not something I was used to, but still I was able to hold my own as our swords collided and we waited to see who would be the first to give way.

When I looked over at Cigol during our standoff my blood was chilled. His face was the same cold temperature as he twisted Beiron's blade hand backwards and it made a sort of snapping noise as the bone was cracked and Beiron cried out in a sort of startling screech before Cigol grasped his head and smashed him, full force against the wall.

I thought his skull cracked, in any case there was blood streaming from his nose that was so strange so see on the skilled fighter.

He let him go and he crumpled.

The Cigol turned to us and my heart thumped in my chest as he took a furious step towards us and my attacker tried to pull back in time but he had no chance of getting away from the clean cut that appeared to slice directly into the man's sternum and he yanked it back out fast, a red blade that dripped on the floor.

My heart raced, his eyes briefly travelled over me and then I saw Beiron rise, his bloodied face still dripping, nose broken and eyes squinting in fury, his mouth was bloodied too, I saw, as he opened it and raised the sword in a matter of a second. A missing tooth, red bottom teeth and lips now painted like a courtesan. 

I stabbed in front of me, toward Cigol, so that for the briefest flash his eyes showed surprise, but my sword glided over his shoulder with a lucky precision, sending Beiron stumbling backwards too slowly to stop me as my blade pierced between his collar bones. A devilish gurgle as his weight forced my sword from him and tugged at it, muscle and sinew struggling to let go as he slid to the floor.

Cigol was turned around the next moment I noticed. I saw the scattered bodies around us, the dog that hunted half hidden beneath Beiron, in a room that was becoming increasingly smaller, filling with the scent of blood, that wrapped around us and plugged our noses.

And on the floor lay a man I had once known to call me 'the King's pet'. He was neither friendly nor excessively unfriendly, but thought of me as a bit of an eyesore.

Now he was dead and he lay as proof of the back that I had turned on the place that had raised me. 

I was but an orphan when they took me, I would likely have have rotted away as each little street urchin does, struggling briefly against the Fates grand, and most cruel design, before the angel of death wrapped him in blankets and let him sleep below the earth with his brothers. I was a lucky urchin.