Chapter 7: The Duel at Dusk.

  The sun hung low on the horizon, its golden light bleeding into the sky, casting long, jagged shadows across Saikono Village. Though small in scale, the village pulsed with life, its streets bustling with merchants closing their stalls, the scent of grilled meat and fresh-baked bread lingering in the cooling evening air. Paper lanterns flickered to life, their soft glow dancing across the smooth, stone-paved roads, creating a scene that felt almost peaceful.

  But amidst this tranquility, a storm brewed.

  In the heart of the village, a crowd had formed—a sea of curious faces, their collective breath held as tension crackled like a live wire between two men.

  Two adventurers, once comrades, now stood at the precipice of battle.

  Just as the bearded man's axe was about to descend, Fulan and Fayrouz moved.

  A faint white aura erupted around Fulan's body as he vanished from his spot, his speed a blur, cutting through the still air like a phantom.

  At the same time, Fayrouz's glowing blue bandages whipped forward, shooting out like striking serpents, wrapping around the axe's handle just before it could cleave the swordsman in two.

  The impact never came.

  The crowd gasped, a wave of murmurs rippling through the gathered villagers as they bore witness to the sudden, seamless intervention.

  The swordsman, still standing behind Fulan, blinked in shock, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his weapon. His gaze locked onto the young man who had just saved his life.

  "This speed..." he muttered, barely above a whisper.

  On the other side, the bearded man's grip tightened around his weapon. His sharp gaze flicked to Fayrouz, irritation simmering beneath his calm tone.

  "Young lady," he said, his voice controlled but carrying a weight of barely restrained fury. "What do you think you're doing?"

  Fayrouz met his gaze with an expression as still as a frozen lake. "Stopping a fool from committing murder in the middle of a peaceful village."

  The bearded man's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening.

  "Murder?" His voice dipped into something colder, sharper. "You've got it all wrong. This is justice—a simple discussion between friends. So, why don't you step aside before things get worse?"

  The crowd fell silent, the air thick with tension.

  Fayrouz, however, didn't flinch.

  She tightened her grip on the glowing bands, her voice even but laced with steel. "Things getting worse? The only person who'll have a bad time here is you. To me, you're just a ticking time bomb that needs to be thrown in a cell for a few days to cool off."

  The bearded man's face darkened, his expression twisting in barely contained rage.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  The axe in his grip flared to life, its surface glowing orange, steam rising in furious tendrils as the heat intensified.

  Fayrouz's blue bandages began to burn.

  A flicker of pain flashed in her glowing blue eyes, but it wasn't from the heat.

  For a split second, an image surfaced in her mind—her mother's face. A memory, distant yet sharp, flashing like a bolt of lightning before she pushed it away.

  She reacted instantly.

  With a swift movement, she retracted her bandages, allowing them to shrink and shift, condensing into a small blue ring of fabric around her finger. Her gaze flickered to it for a moment, relief washing over her as she confirmed it had taken no damage.

  Meanwhile, the bearded man raised his axe high.

  Fulan's body tensed, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. His stance shifted subtly, every fiber of his being prepared to counter the instant the attack fell.

  But the attack never came.

  Instead, the bearded man swung his axe down—not at a person, but at the ground itself.

  Crash!!!

  The axe struck the ground with tremendous force, sending jagged shards of cement flying in all directions. A thick cloud of gray dust erupted into the air, momentarily blurring the surroundings. The crowd instinctively shielded their eyes, coughing as the debris settled. But the dust wasn’t thick enough to obscure their vision completely.

  No, the strike had another purpose entirely.

  The bearded man released his grip on the axe, leaving it embedded in the shattered ground as he turned to walk away. His broad shoulders tensed, but his voice remained firm as it carried over the murmuring crowd.

  "Tonight. Three hours from now, at exactly nine o’clock. You and I will settle this the way warriors do. If you truly call yourself an adventurer, then meet me here. If you want to run, do as you please.

  For Lamaria’s death, I’ll end our friendship tonight."

  A tense silence followed his words.

  The swordsman stood still, his gaze unwavering as he watched his former comrade walk away. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile—one that did nothing to hide the weight behind his words.

  "We’ve known each other for nine years." His voice was calm, steady, but beneath it lay an unspoken depth of emotion. "Do you really think I’d run?"

  The bearded man paused mid-step.

  For a second, he said nothing. Then, without turning back, he spoke again.

  "Yes. If you had valued her more, you’d be the most perfect man I know."

  With those final words, he continued walking, disappearing into the dispersing crowd.

  The confrontation had ended, but the weight of it lingered in the air.

  The villagers, though visibly shaken, were already buzzing with murmurs of excitement and speculation.

  Some children, their expressions filled with disappointment, grumbled as they shuffled away.

  "No fight? I was so excited to see adventurers battle. What a waste of time. My mom won’t let me out at nine anyway."

  Others, however, were already making plans.

  "They’re fighting at nine? It’ll be a bit chilly by then."

  "So? Are you staying home?"

  "Of course not! A duel between professional adventurers is rare. I’m not missing it."

  "Want to bet on the outcome?"

  "Only if you let me bet on the axe guy."

  "The swordsman looks weak. There’s no point in betting..."

  The casual tone of the villagers made it seem as if this upcoming duel was just entertainment—a spectacle to break the monotony of village life.

  But for Fulan and Fayrouz, the situation was far more complicated.

  Fulan’s eyes followed Fayrouz’s retreating figure as she walked in the direction of the bearded man, her back turned to him.

  His gaze then shifted to the swordsman—a man who, despite everything, stood unnaturally calm, his eyes concealing a storm of pain beneath their surface.

  There was more to this story than what had been said.

  Fayrouz, on the other hand, could feel the weight of the bearded man’s grief, the way it clung to him like a heavy chain.

  She understood his anger, his need for closure.

  Losing someone dear was never easy, and no amount of wisdom or philosophy could ease that pain.

  The swordsman and the bearded man. Silence and rage.

  Fulan and Fayrouz.

  Their paths had crossed in ways none of them had foreseen, and now they were all entangled in a web of emotions, vengeance, and unresolved wounds.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, its dying light casting elongated shadows over Saikono, one question lingered in the air—

  Would this night end in tragedy or redemption?