The Witch's Cursed Daughter

87. The Grandmaster

The first swing of swords between the second prince and the Grandmaster met with a terrible force that reverberated against the stone walls and through the bodies of fighting men. Julian's aura spread in shadow-like movements with each ear-splitting slash as it licked at cowardly knights, exhausted Mages, and the cold Duke.

The two appeared like monsters as they dashed, lunged, and hacked at each other, dancing in the firelight. Boots splashed in puddles of blood and urine, which spread evenly through the cervices in the courtyard tiles. Echoes of grunts and heavy breaths were deafening as the speed of the fighters increased.

While the two engaged in uninterruptable combat, Voster and the Anzu Mages wielded elemental energy against their opponents. Bricks flew like meteors through the air as Mages channelled one another to crush those beside Warrick Palace. The balconies came down, creating a fog of dust that rose to greet the blankets of angry clouds that had arrived high above. While magical energy roamed with murderous intensity, an Imperial Mage pulled the surrounding magic towards himself, concentrating the power into a loose chunk of gravel that buzzed under pressure. Releasing the small stone in Voster's direction, fellow Mages threw themselves in its path to shield him. A blast radiated, showering the area in sharp sand-sized pellets of rock and magic; cloaked soldiers fell where they stood the moment the attack caught them.

Copious amounts of magical energy roared freely like furious waves, swallowing the battleground. Julian's Void gobbled at the magic voraciously; the sudden increase of power caused the hilt of Julian's sword to heat dramatically, bubbling against his flesh. The unexpected pain distracted him momentarily; as the pungent smell of melting ore reached the prince's nose, Duke Darron's blade caught his forearm.

As the warm steel retracted from Julian's flesh, extracting his inner liquid as a trophy, he grimaced, teeth baring to the rancid air. The scream of electricity as lightening streaked with the steady drumbeat in the clouds acted as a metronome for the sword-wielding pair. With their breathing, the drip of their open wounds, and their sweat synchronising, the two observed one another with bated breath.

"I expected no less from the legendary Duke who rose to his position without the title of Blade Master," Julian called across to Darron. The umber-coloured eyes of the latter appeared almost black as they stared back at him.

"And I am surprised that your words are not only the boasts of an overconfident young prince," the old Duke replied while wiping ruby stains from his sword.

As Julian gazed at the mighty man before him, a smile returned to his face, pulling at the grime-covered skin, "Let's finish this."

Propelling himself in the Grandmaster's direction, Julian stretched out his sword; almost the same stance used when the fight began. This time, his Void encased his body, spinning, circling, blocking out the already dark night, the wretched aroma of death, and the sickening taste of the unclean air. Colt Di Darron did the same; although he remained auraless, his form was fierce-some as the two collided.

Voster thrust his sight towards the singular figure left on his feet as the duel ended. The amber firelight seemed red as the battle died, anticipation and curiosity taking precedence over the constant struggle against past friends. Voster, who had been healing the Anzu soldiers and Mages, trudged heavily across the courtyard. He mumbled as he stepped over casualties and winced as his feet sank into liquids that he did not want to invade his shoes.

Reaching the drained fighters, Voster could make out the victor. Julian was balanced on his feet, his Void supporting his back, his head and eyes rolled towards the sky. He was covered in wounds, each coating his armour-less clothes in blood. Duke Darron lay sprawled on his back facing the prince; his face was clapped, and his legs shaking from fatigue. Voster's heart raced in adulation for Julian. Yet, his praise quickly faded as his blue eyes dropped to the metallic object that linked the two men together.

Sitting firmly in his grip, Julian's blade extended towards the Grandmaster; still embedded into the skin, the sword greeted the old Duke through the plackart shield before his stomach and finally tunnelling into his abdomen. Voster stepped forward slowly, only to receive a sharp turn of the head from both of the exhausted warriors. Julian blinked his eyes slowly as if trying to recognise the Mage before him. Dragging his sub-conscience from wherever it was relaxing after surviving, Julian looked down at his handwork.

"If I release my aura, your insides will be reduced to nothingness," the prince articulated carefully, worried he might slur due to his fading energy.

The Duke tried to laugh, which only encouraged a scowl to crumple his features. "Lucienne had a talented student. I wonder how he managed to keep you hidden for so long," he hissed between breaths.

"Let's say it took an effort on both sides," Julian retorted, a light-hearted tilt of the head comforting the impaled man, "Allow my Mage to heal you."

"At the risk of repeating myself, I stand with the Emperor," Duke Darron stared at Voster, who appeared as equally spent as the two of them. The Mage haphazardly nodded towards the group he had been healing, which included Duke Fassie. The Grandmaster's eyes narrowed as he examined the undying state of his soldiers before releasing a sharp, painful sigh, "Again, I stand with the Emperor, but I will not stand against you either."

"I appreciate that," Julian said softly as he gently pulled his sword away from the old man's body. "Voster!"

The Mage knelt swiftly, his auburn hair loosely tumbling over his shoulders as his hair-tie snapped during the battle. As his hand glowed lightly over the Grandmaster, he looked to Julian.

"Sit."

"I'm not that bad."

The two glared at each other, but before another word could be said, Darron kicked Julian's feet from under him. Landing without any form of grace, Julian lay in filth as Voster lifted his hand over him as well.

As Julian relaxed under the warm glow, he inspected his Mage's complexion. His pale skin and hollowed eyes, sweat speckling his forehead, his swollen fingers from overusing his abilities and his mother's ring. As Julian opened his mouth to speak, a monstrous roar took the place of his words, which ran away from the terrific noise that shook the very atmosphere around them.