Chapter 92 Chapter 92

Chapter 92 Chapter 92
E L A R A

Then it happened.

My foot slipped slightly on the worn wooden floor just as Sera shifted her weight. I barely had time to register the mistake before the dull tap of her wooden sword landed against my back.

Not hard. Not cruel. But clear.

A clean point.

If this had been a real fight… she would have won.

The realization hit harder than the strike itself.

Frustration flared hot in my chest, my breath hitching as I froze for a split second. My fingers tightened around my sword, embarrassment and irritation twisting together inside me. I hated that I’d let my guard down. Hated that she’d caught it.

Slowly, forcing myself to breathe, I stepped back.

I accepted the defeat.

Sera lowered her sword, chest rising and falling as she drew in deep breaths. A smirk tugged at her lips, satisfaction clear in her eyes. “Not bad,” she said, voice slightly breathless. “For basics.”

The words stung more than they should have.

I took a step forward again, instinct screaming at me to strike, to prove that one mistake didn’t define me. My muscles tensed, ready to move...

“Ladies.”

Hunter’s voice cut through the moment, firm and commanding.

I stopped.

“We are going to practice our stance,” he said, eyes moving between Sera and me, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Like I mentioned the last time. You need to master your stance.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, forcing my shoulders to relax. He was right. I knew he was. Power meant nothing without control. Speed meant nothing without balance.

Still, it didn’t make the loss sit any easier in my chest.

Sera rolled her shoulders, resetting, her smirk fading into something more focused. She shifted into position smoothly, feet planted, knees slightly bent, posture perfect.

I mirrored her, trying to remember everything Hunter had shown me before. Weight centered. Back straight. Grip firm but not tight.

Hunter circled us slowly, eyes sharp, voice steady. “Your stance is your foundation,” he said. “If your foundation is weak, everything else collapses.”

His gaze lingered on me just a second longer. Not judging. Assessing.

“Again,” he said. “From the beginning. No rushing. No ego. Just form.”

I swallowed, nodding once.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

And this time, I promised myself, I wouldn’t give Sera another easy opening.

I didn’t wait.

The moment Hunter finished speaking, I moved.

I struck first, stepping in with a sharp, decisive swing before Sera could even shift her weight. My wooden sword cut through the air with a solid crack as it connected with hers, the force of it driving her a half-step back.

For a split second, surprise flashed across her face.

Good.

She staggered, boots scraping against the floor, clearly caught off guard. But Sera was too skilled to stay shaken for long. Almost instantly, she reset her stance, jaw tightening, eyes hardening.

Then she came back at me.

Harder.

Faster.

Our swords collided again, the impact jarring my arms, the vibration rattling up to my shoulders. The sound was louder now. Sharper. Not the controlled taps of training, but heavy, angry strikes meant to overpower, not instruct.

We weren’t sparring anymore.

This was anger.

This was pride.

This was two women refusing to be the one who backed down.

Sera’s strikes came in a flurry, each one driven, aggressive. I matched her blow for blow, teeth clenched, breath coming faster. My muscles burned, but I didn’t slow. I couldn’t.

Every clash felt personal.

Every parry carried more force.

I heard voices around us start to fade, then slowly return louder, closer. The rhythm of other training sessions faltered as attention shifted.

I could feel it without looking.

People were watching.

The crack of wood against wood echoed across the hall, louder than any other sparring pair. A few trainees stopped completely, turning to see what was happening. Others slowed, their strikes less focused as their eyes drifted toward us.

This wasn’t just training anymore.

It was a challenge.

It was a statement.

Neither of us was trying to lose.

Neither of us was holding back.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a dangerous thought took root...

If Hunter didn’t stop this soon, one of us was going to get hurt.

But even knowing that…

I didn’t stop my next strike or yield.

A thought flashed through my mind, sharp and calculated.

If I attack from the side… she might miss it.

I shifted my weight, pivoting just enough to change my angle, and swung toward Sera’s side. The movement felt right, fast, precise.

For a heartbeat, I thought I had her.

But Sera reacted in time.

Her sword snapped up, catching mine with a loud crack, the force of the block sending a jolt up my arms. Our eyes locked, both of us breathing hard now, sweat starting to cling to my skin.

Fine.

I struck again.

Harder.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I put my weight behind the swing, driving forward with everything I had. My wooden sword connected with her side, right at her stomach.

The impact was solid.

Too solid.

Sera let out a sharp gasp, the air knocked from her lungs as she staggered back, her balance breaking. For a split second, I saw it...the opening.

Without thinking, I moved.

I stepped in and hooked my leg behind hers, sweeping hard.

Sera’s breath hitched again as her feet were knocked out from under her. Time seemed to slow for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening, her arms flailing slightly as she tried to catch herself.

Then she hit the ground.

Hard.

The sound of her body hitting the wooden floor echoed through the training hall, louder than any sword strike. The room went eerily quiet.

I froze, staring down at her, my sword lowering as shock and adrenaline tangled in my chest.

Around us, I could feel every pair of eyes in the hall locked onto the scene. The whispers stopped. The movement stopped.

All that remained was Sera on the ground… and me standing over her, breath ragged, hands trembling slightly around the hilt of my sword.