Crossworld Swordplay

Chapter 12: Chapter 12 A Swordsman's Blood



The academy was in an uproar.

First-years rushed across campus, streaming toward the western training courtyard. Word had spread like wildfire:

The second son of House Valtair was about to duel the third son of Viscount Alaric Veras—First of His Name.

Born into what was once a fading noble house, Alaric Veras had pulled his bloodline back from the brink through unwavering loyalty and distinguished service to the crown. Elevated from baron to viscount, he now held dominion over the verdant lands of Eldermire—a region known for its ancient forests and vital river crossings.

And now, the son of a lesser baron—though whispered about with rising interest—was challenging that very family. Not for the first time.

But the second.

Only two days after defeating one of their own.

"Make haste! The fight's about to begin!"

"Hurry up!" a girl murmured breathlessly, lifting the side of her dress as she sprinted down the female dormitory stairs.

As she rounded the corner, she collided full-force into someone walking the opposite direction.

They both stumbled.

"Oh—excuse me!" the girl gasped. "I wasn't paying attention. Please forgive me, just this once—I'm in quite a hurry—!"

"No worries, Lady Elowen" Selra spoke, patting herself, "it looks like your not the only one?" she said looking the short haired girl in front of her then the others that were walking behind her. 

"well, theirs a duel about to begin between a first year and lord Cedric Veras, a second year" she said while moving forward. 

"first year?" Selra turned, and was about to ask about who the first year was, but she paused and then kept walking in the direction she was headed, as she looked at the two silver stars in her palm—

"Maybe I should watch the fight," she whispered, turning around again, a sharp glint in her eyes, If his opponent can't beat Cedric maybe I should give it a try afterwards~

The rain began to drizzle, the clouds rumbling with low thunder as the weather hesitated, unsure of its next move.

"What took you so long?" Damon asked, just as Lina arrived, panting. She held out a wooden sword to him.

"Sorry," she said, bowing her head slightly as she caught her breath.

He sighed, tossing the sword from hand to hand.

"It's fine," he said, slashing downward to test the strength of his recovering sword hand.

"You seem ready," Cedric Veras remarked, his eyes scanning Damon's bandaged frame. The cast was gone—but the bandages around his waist and shoulder remained. Still, Damon stepped forward, getting into stance.

He didn't reply.

Instead, he kept swinging the sword—once… twice…

The ring around them had grown.

Children of noble houses, both great and small, had gathered to watch—drawn by the upcoming clash between predator and prey.

But as the tension built, it became harder to tell which was which.

Until finally—

"This should do…" Damon muttered.

Thunder cracked across the sky.

Their swords met.

A violent clang echoed across the courtyard—and what the crowd could only describe as murderous intent filled the air.

Damon and Cedric had closed the distance, clashing with a force that left the onlookers breathless.

So this is the power of a Sigil Stone, Damon thought, feeling his muscles surge as he matched Cedric's strength. The unstable force in his body rippled—barely controlled. He kicked back, gaining space, then parried a quick thrust.

He didn't hesitate. He countered immediately, stabbing forward with precision.

"Not bad," Cedric said, blocking the wooden blade with his forearm and retaliating with a sharp downward slash aimed directly at Damon's injured shoulder.

Damon twisted—just in time—dodging the blow.

The wooden blade whistled past his injured shoulder, cutting through the space where bone and muscle had been an easy target. He planted his back foot, spun low, and swept upward in a rising arc that Cedric barely blocked with a twisting parry.

The crack of wood against wood resounded like thunder, echoed by the storm clouds above.

Cedric narrowed his eyes, stepping back just enough to reassess.

His mind raced to craft a new strategy—

But he didn't get the chance to implement it.

Damon crouched low.

His hand gripped the middle of his training blade.

Snap!

Blackened veins twisted beneath his skin. His grip was firm, unflinching.

And then he shot forward—

—wielding the broken pieces like an improvised set of shanks.

!!!

Cedric blocked the jagged hilt piece with his right hand—but that left him wide open.

Damon flipped the blade half in his grip and drove it into Cedric's abdomen.

"NEIGHHHHH!"

A horse's scream echoed through the sky—raw and guttural—as thunder rolled overhead.

Cedric gasped.

His breath hitched as the broken blade pierced his side, wood splintering against flesh. His legs faltered beneath him, the momentum of his body collapsing into Damon's shoulder before he stumbled back, clutching the wound.

A sharp silence swept across the courtyard.

The crowd of nobles stared in stunned disbelief—second-years, first-years, even a few instructors lining the edges under the eaves.

They hadn't expected this. 

Cedric's sword arm dropped. His knees buckled.

Blood—not crimson, but oddly dark and thick—began to seep through his tunic, staining the pristine academy uniform.

Damon stepped forward slowly, the remaining half of his training sword slipping from his hand with a dull clatter.

His veins continued to darken—blackened lines pulsing beneath his skin—as system prompts flashed one after another across his vision.

Then came something low and guttural.

His blood boiled—something primal seizing his senses—and without thinking, he ducked.

Swish!

Four gleaming blades slashed through the air above his head, missing him by inches. They struck the stone with enough force to send sparks skittering.

Before he could rise, another claw swiped upward from below—


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