Read Novel Full Chapter 198: It was a lesson, a dance.
Chapter 198: It was a lesson, a dance.
We skidded apart, boots carving furrows into the smooth floor of the colosseum. Dust hung in the air, catching the light, swirling with the ghost of our previous clashes. I could feel the aftershocks of the sonic explosions vibrating through the soles of my shoes, my chest still heaving, but the grin on Belle’s face told me everything. She wasn’t even close to trying.
"Still holding back," she said, voice light, almost teasing.
"So are you," I shot back, trying to sound confident, but my chest tightened. I could feel the tension in my muscles, the way my heart was racing at a speed that wasn’t normal. This isn’t a normal fight. Not even close.
She tilted her head, ponytail flicking as she stepped forward, and suddenly the air seemed heavier. Her boots barely made a sound as they glided across the arena floor, but every step felt like a measured assault on the ground beneath me. She moved first, a simple feint toward my left, and I reacted instinctively—but she was already elsewhere, a blur against the colosseum lights.
I didn’t see the punch coming until it was too late. Her fist connected with my chest, and the force drove me back like a battering ram. My body became a projectile, flying across the arena with a velocity I didn’t know I could withstand. The air screamed around me, my ears ringing, my lungs crushed from the sudden acceleration.
I slammed into the far wall. The impact sent shockwaves through my bones. The wall cracked, fissures spreading across the ancient stone as if it had been waiting for me to collide. Debris tumbled down, some chunks falling directly on top of me, but I didn’t even flinch. Life affinity surged, healing torn muscles, fractured ribs, and abrasions before pain could even register. My body was whole again in seconds, my heartbeat slowing back to a semblance of normalcy.
Breathing in, I pushed off the rubble and staggered forward, boots crunching on stone, my vision narrowing on her. Belle had only a small smirk on her lips, eyes still covered by the blindfold, but the air around her radiated pressure. She hadn’t moved an inch; the punch had barely seemed to require effort. I had seen enough. This is the ceiling I’m trying to touch.
She tossed a sword at me, blade glinting black under the light. It spun once, then landed perfectly in my hands. I caught it instinctively, feeling the weight, the balance, the hum of energy in its steel. I recognized it immediately: her weapon, one she trusted me enough to hand over.
"Scabbard," she said, flicking her hand toward her hip. A glimmer of steel appeared—the sheath of the sword—her own, lightweight and rigid. She drew it in one motion and twirled it expertly in front of her. The faint metallic ring made my pulse spike. We’re about to dance, no mana, no dualflow, just the body.
I assumed stance, black blade in hand, scabbard poised for defense, and we moved together like the colosseum itself had become a stage. Our first strike was simultaneous, a near imperceptible rush of motion. I lunged forward, sword slicing through the air, only to feel her scabbard meet mine. The collision was thunderous. Sparks flew, echoing across the massive chamber, and the reverberation of impact rattled my teeth.
She pressed the pressure. Every strike was faster than my senses could fully follow, each movement weaving feints into attacks that blurred the distinction between offense and defense. I reacted, parried, sidestepped, spun, and struck in return, but it was clear: she was testing me, forcing me to meet her on a battlefield where speed and precision were the only currencies that mattered.
Her footwork was poetry. A step to the left, a pivot, a spin, and my strike was met by the scabbard’s edge in a clash that cracked the stone floor. I countered with a spin of my own, sword slicing downward in a vertical arc, forcing her to vault back, landing on her toes. The air between us was alive, filled with the hum of metal slicing air faster than sound could follow.
I attacked again, feinting left, striking right, and for a brief instant, I caught her off-guard. The scabbard scraped along my sword’s edge, a brief glimmer of victory, but the next instant she was already moving behind me, sweeping low with the scabbard and forcing me to leap back, barely avoiding a strike that would have cleaved my legs.
She’s making me earn this. Every step, every movement is a lesson.
We moved across the arena in blinding speed, each impact of sword and scabbard tearing through the air, each collision sending echoes of violence bouncing off the walls. I felt my arms shake, my grip tighten, but adrenaline surged through every vein. My senses were heightened beyond normal limits, tracking her movements, calculating trajectories, predicting angles—but still, she was always just ahead, always pushing me to meet a new threshold.
A sideways strike came, aimed to knock me off balance, and I barely twisted my body in time, feeling the scabbard graze my shoulder. Pain exploded for a fraction of a second, then vanished. Life affinity subtly stabilizing my body, but this wasn’t about survival anymore. This was about learning, about understanding the rhythm of someone untouchable.
I lunged, spinning the sword in a horizontal arc, cutting across her side. She parried, scabbard absorbing the strike, and in one fluid motion, pivoted to push me back. The force was enough to stagger me, and I hit the ground hard, stone chipping beneath me. I rolled, springing to my feet, sword up, breath even. Keep pace, Sebastian. Don’t let her dictate everything.
She smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly. "Better," she said. Her words were soft, but they carried weight. Better, but still not enough.
I adjusted my stance, tapping into everything I had: reflexes sharpened by dualflow, instincts honed by previous trials, and life affinity subtly keeping me at the edge of human limits. I attacked again, low, fast, each strike testing her guard, trying to force even a fraction of hesitation.
She didn’t flinch. Not once. Every move I made was countered with an elegance that felt effortless. And yet, she never struck with full force. She’s holding back, but even her restraint could obliterate me.
I took a deep breath, feeling the rhythm of our battle: sword and scabbard, air slicing, stone cracking, the sound barrier shattering with every clash. I parried a high strike, rolled, pushed upward with a forward thrust, and for the first time, I felt her hesitate. Just the slightest pause, an almost imperceptible delay.
I seized the opening, spinning low, sword striking in a horizontal sweep. The scabbard met mine with a metallic scream, sending sparks flying across the arena. I pressed, forcing her backward step by step. Her smile widened faintly, her eyes still hidden behind the blindfold. She was enjoying herself, even while training me, even while crushing every limit I thought I had.
I tried a feint, low to the left, and she anticipated, stepping aside. I reversed mid-spin, the sword swinging over my head, slicing through the air with a kinetic roar. She met it with the scabbard, the two metals screeching as if arguing over dominance. The collision sent reverberations through my arms, nearly dislocating my shoulder, but I held, teeth gritted, adrenaline pumping in every vein.
She pushed forward, scabbard striking in a blur. I countered, parried, spun, thrust, ducked, and in a final flurry, we moved in a motion so fast it seemed the arena itself bent around us. Dust, stone fragments, and sparks all mixed into a chaotic storm of motion. Each strike felt like a conversation, each parry a statement: I see you. I know you. I challenge you.
And then it was over—for a moment. We stood facing each other, breathing hard, boots scuffing the floor. Sweat glistened on her skin, ponytail flicking with the tiniest movement. Her blindfolded gaze was fixed on me. My chest heaved, sword still raised. The clash of our dual-flowing, human-speed blades had left grooves in the arena, scratches in the walls, shattered fragments of stone scattered everywhere.
I felt alive in a way I hadn’t before. Exhausted, battered, but alive. Her scabbard lowered slightly, a faint smile brushing her lips. She hadn’t moved with lethal intent, hadn’t ended me—not because she couldn’t, but because she wanted this to be my trial, my growth, my understanding of her speed and her control.
I exhaled slowly, gripping the sword tighter, looking at her. "Not bad," I said, trying to sound cocky, though my lungs screamed and my arms shook. "For a goddess holding back."
She tilted her head, ponytail swishing, and let out a soft laugh that echoed around the arena. "You’re improving," she said. "Faster. Smarter. But you’re still going to have to earn the next ten times if you want to even scratch my defense."
I smiled, wiping sweat from my brow. "Challenge accepted," I said, heart still hammering, body still buzzing from the aftershocks of our sparring. The black sword felt heavy and perfect in my hands, a tangible connection to her, to the lesson, to everything I had endured just to get here.
And as I readied myself for the next flurry, watching her stance, watching the subtle ways she shifted her weight, I knew this wasn’t about winning or losing. This was about understanding the distance between us, learning it, stretching it, and daring to cross it someday.
Every collision of steel, every spark that leapt from the stone floor, every ripple in the air was a heartbeat in that understanding. And though I couldn’t match her—couldn’t hope to—I could still move with her, breathe with her, learn from her, and live to fight another strike.
Because that was what this was. Not a battle. Not a fight. Not a test. It was a lesson, a dance, and a promise of everything to come.
And I was ready for it.