Chapter 153 One Against Two, A Display of Power
With everyone watching, Rodolfo couldn't get through to Jason.
Jason’s temper burned like a lit fuse—stubborn, volatile, and impossible to extinguish. The more Rodolfo reasoned with him, the deeper he dug in his heels.
Across the way, Emily and Elysia stood frozen, shock plain on their faces.
Emily leaned in and whispered, “What is Ms. Cressida Hamilton thinking? If she loses, she’ll destroy her own reputation.”
Just then, a guard dispatched by Marshall approached.
The guard stopped before Jason and Rodolfo, his tone respectful. "Mr. Russell sends word. A bloodbath serves no one's interests. There's a pillar array at the training grounds—suitable for testing balance and skill. He suggests changing the terms: whoever falls from the pillars first loses. That way both parties can fight at full strength without causing serious injury."
Jason nodded immediately. "Mr. Russell's wisdom is appreciated."
The guard smiled and gestured. Attendants hurried forward to carry the injured Flynn away for treatment.
Jason met Cressida’s gaze. "Me and Captain Chambers, Ms. Hamilton—you can choose either one of us, or fight us both. Your choice. That way, no one can accuse us of taking advantage simply because we are men.”
Rodolfo's head snapped toward Jason.
There was absolutely no reason to drag him into this. Now he was trapped, and worse—he had the creeping sensation he was walking straight into a trap Cressida had laid from the start.
"I don't think this is—" Rodolfo started, but his protest was drowned out by the surging cheers of the Royal Guard.
They roared with excitement—
"Commander Wright, Captain Chambers—show them what the Royal Guard is made of!"
"Fight hard, no backing down, no holding back!"
The faintest curve touched Cressida's lips.
She inclined her head slightly. "Since you're worried about unfair advantages, let's make it fair. Commander Wright and Captain Chambers—both of you. Together."
The crowd erupted.
Even Madeline looked stunned.
In her mind, Cressida had lost her senses. Jason and Rodolfo were two of the finest fighters in the Royal Guard. They had earned their positions through ruthless skill in hand-to-hand combat and cold steel. How else could they safeguard the king’s life?
And Cressida had just challenged them both at once, as if she were untouchable.
Jason and Rodolfo exchanged a glance. A vein pulsed at Jason's temple.
"Fine," he said coldly. "You said it yourself. Let me be clear, Ms. Hamilton—I won't be pulling my punches."
"I wouldn't want you to."
Jason turned to select a weapon, choosing a longsword.
When he looked back, Rodolfo remained rooted in place, brow tightly furrowed. Jason strode over and lowered his voice to a sharp whisper. “She’s just a woman. Don’t tell me you’re actually afraid.”
He assumed Rodolfo was still shaken by Flynn’s defeat.
But Rodolfo couldn't bring himself to say what he was really thinking—that they were the ones who should be afraid. Because they didn't stand a chance against Cressida.
Jason pressed him. "Go pick a weapon. Mr. Russell's watching our performance. If we embarrass ourselves today, how are we supposed to command the Royal Guard? How will anyone respect you?"
In the end, Rodolfo had no choice. He turned and chose a sword, his stomach sinking with every step.
When they both looked up at Cressida, they realized she seemed prepared to fight barehanded.
Rodolfo's voice came out sharper than he intended. "Absolutely not!"
Cressida's gaze settled on his face.
Rodolfo cleared his throat and rephrased. "Since we're using swords, Ms. Cressida Hamilton, please choose a weapon as well. That's only fair."
He knew the truth—Cressida's hand-to-hand combat skills were devastating. If this came down to fists and feet, they'd have no chance. Their only slim hope lay in the possibility that she was weaker with a blade.
Cressida listened, her expression unreadable, cold and smooth as glass.
"Very well." Her voice was quiet. She walked over and selected a sword.
The three of them moved toward the pillar array, the Royal Guard surging behind them in a tide of excitement.
The array consisted of tall stone pillars rising from a wide reflecting pool, designed to train balance and precise footwork.
Jason and Rodolfo leapt onto the pillars first. Cressida followed, landing lightly across from them with almost no sound.
The sky had turned heavy and dark. Thick clouds churned overhead, thunder rumbling deep in their bellies. The wind before the storm tugged at Cressida's ice-blue tunic and skirt.
She stood motionless on her pillar, sword raised, as still as a statue in the eye of a hurricane. Even the wind seemed to part around her.
"Ms. Hamilton, forgive the offense," Jason said, and struck first.
He and Rodolfo attacked in seamless coordination, their strikes brutal and lightning-fast.
The water beneath mirrored the stormy sky. Above it, three figures moved in rapid bursts, leaping from pillar to pillar. Each landing sent ripples spreading across the surface in perfect circles.
Cressida raised her sword and met both their blades at once, Steel clashed with a sharp, ringing note. Then she twisted, redirecting their momentum, and forced them both back in a single fluid motion.
The instant their swords connected, Jason’s heart sank.
He'd assumed Flynn had held back—that his humiliating loss had been deliberate. But now, feeling the raw power behind Cressida's strikes, the way her blade cut through the air with that bone-deep pressure—he knew. Flynn had been beaten. Legitimately.
In the split second Jason's focus wavered, Cressida's sword slammed into the base of his thumb. Skin split. Blood welled up instantly.
He didn't have time to register the pain. He jerked back, barely avoiding the follow-up strike that would have taken his head clean off.
They circled her, attacking in turns, but she moved between the pillars like water—light, controlled, every step calculated down to the inch.
Jason couldn't find an opening. The longer the fight went on, the more his frustration mounted.
Suddenly, he swept his blade low toward her hem. Cressida stepped down hard on the flat of his sword, pinning it.
Jason's pulse spiked. He tried to yank the blade free. Too late.
Cressida's sword was already at his face. He jerked backward on instinct, his foot slipping off the edge. The crowd gasped as he plunged into the water below, sending up a spray of dark droplets.
"Commander!" Rodolfo shouted.
He didn't have time to check on Jason. Cressida had already turned on him.
Rodolfo raised his sword in a desperate block. Their blades met with a screech of metal, sparks flying between them.
In that brief, brutal moment, close enough to see every detail, he caught the look in her eyes—
It wasn't just focus. It wasn't even battle-lust. It was something colder. Sharper. A predator that had been patient far too long, and had finally locked onto its prey.
It didn't take long for Rodolfo to realize the truth: Cressida wasn't fighting him seriously. She was toying with him.
Like a cat batting at a mouse, she drove him to the edge again and again, only to pull back at the last second and give him just enough room to recover. To think he had a chance.
By now, Marshall, Miguel, and Joseph had moved closer to watch.
Joseph squinted at the figures above the water, swords flashing in the dim light, bodies leaping between pillars with inhuman precision. The clash of steel rang out like bells.
He shook his head and muttered, "Why is Captain Chambers still holding back? Someone like Cressida shouldn't last ten moves against him."
Marshall and Miguel both turned and gave him identical cold stares.
Joseph blinked. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
Anyone paying attention could see it. Cressida wasn't the one being spared. Rodolfo was.
This wasn't a match anymore. It was a public humiliation.
Marshall raised an eyebrow. Even he could see it now.
Was there bad blood between Rodolfo and Cressida? Some old score she was settling? Otherwise, why would she do this?
Cressida kept the pressure on, her blade slicing through the fabric at Rodolfo's shoulder again and again—four times in quick succession.
They'd all removed their metal armor earlier. Now his shoulder was in tatters, strips of cloth falling away piece by piece, exposing the skin beneath.
And there, unmistakable, was a scar.
The kind left by a throwing blade.
Cold sweat slid down Rodolfo's temple. His chest tightened with every strike.
Cressida wasn't just fighting him. She was making a statement—publicly, deliberately. She knew. She knew everything he'd done for Yosef.
And every strike that followed carried the weight of retribution.
She was punishing him. Not just for being Yosef's assassin, but for letting Mark go. For allowing that man to threaten her. Every old debt was being paid back now, one cold strike at a time, driving him backward step by step.
It was a warning. Even if she couldn't catch Yosef yet, she could still destroy him.
Worse—out of the corner of his eye, Rodolfo caught Miguel's gaze. The man was staring at the scar on his shoulder with the kind of focus that made Rodolfo's blood run cold.
In that instant, it felt like ice water had been poured over his entire body.
Almost simultaneously, Cressida's blade flicked upward in a sharp, vicious arc. Rodolfo's sword flew from his grip and plunged into the water below.
Rodolfo looked up.
Cressida's sword hovered an inch from his forehead. One more push and it would punch straight through his skull.
Thunder cracked overhead, a blinding flash of white light reflecting off the cold steel. The wind surged, whipping her skirt and tunic into a violent flutter.
The Royal Guard, who had been shouting and cheering moments before, fell silent.
For any fighter, losing one’s weapon in combat was the same as throwing down one’s shield and fleeing.
"Well?" Cressida asked. "Captain Chambers—do you still think this was a fight where you were holding back?"
Rodolfo’s face had drained of all color.
He lowered his head slightly. "I accept my defeat."