Witch and Butterfly

The first move was so fast that Daniel barely saw it.

Sallustia struck with precision, the black steel reflecting the thaumaturgic light of the chamber. The assassin dodged, spinning to the side, and countered with quick thrusts, the claws whistling as they sliced through the air.

A metallic clash filled the theater box, though the fight remained controlled — each meeting of the blades half-muted so as not to draw the attention of the audience outside.

The slave-paladin blocked the first strike and pivoted to drive her opponent back. Her sword style was aggressive, relying on rapid lunges and sweeping attacks with the two-handed blade, always in constant motion.

La Farfalla answered with a low kick, forcing the paladin to step back, and she tried to use the momentum to slip to the side, seeking her flank. Sallustia pivoted on her heels, using the blade to parry the blow.

Daniel tried not to draw attention to himself, shifting his gaze quickly between the fight and the witch.

Sallustia attacked — a diagonal slash that Farfalla deflected with her clawed gauntlet, diverting most of the force in an attempt to counter. The two moved quickly, but the space was tight, forcing them into economical maneuvers.

“You know the mind control won’t last” Grace said to the magus. “It’s pointless to continue now that you’ve been discovered.”

“It will be enough to seal some votes, to influence decisions… and, in the end, that’s all that matters.”

The sound of tearing cloth and a dull thud signaled the fight was intensifying. Sallustia managed to pin the assassin’s arm against the wall, but La Farfalla twisted away, slicing off a lock of the paladin’s blonde hair.

“Fast” the bodyguard admitted coldly.

La Farfalla came forward again, lowering her center of gravity to try to unbalance the slave-paladin with a leg strike. Sallustia then adopted a forward-leaning stance, wielding the sword one-handed, combining brute force and agility in a chain of attacks meant to maintain constant pressure.

Daniel stepped forward, his hand gripping the top of his cane. Fighting wasn’t his specialty, but a magus could still die from a well-placed blow to the head.

Farfalla noticed and tried to move toward him, but Sallustia intercepted, twisting her wrist to trap the clawed gauntlet against the blunt edge of her blade. The sound of metal scraping metal echoed through the theater box.

The cane’s blow caught the witch on the side of the face, making her stumble back a step from Daniel, as if she hadn’t expected him to engage physically.

The mental pressure in the arena began to ease. She took another step back, shifting the focus of her magic. The air grew heavy, the pressure suddenly increasing.

“No…” for the first time, there was anger in her voice. “You have no idea what you’re ruining.”

With a sharp crack, Sallustia managed to shove La Farfalla aside, driving her into one of the inner columns, but the impact wasn’t enough to bring her down. Irritated, the assassin attempted a double strike: her right hand’s claws aiming for Sallustia’s neck, while the left reached for the arm holding the sword.

The paladin spun and used the sword’s weight to slam against her opponent’s ribs, forcing her to break her rhythm. A muffled sound of pain escaped from beneath the butterfly mask, mixed with quickened breaths.

Sallustia then drove a shoulder into the enemy’s chest, shoving her against another column. La Farfalla responded by driving the tips of her claws into the marble, using the pillar for leverage to try a spinning kick.

The paladin’s sword rose into a high guard to block the blow, then countered with a vertical slash that nearly split the clawed gauntlet in half.

“This interruption will cost you dearly, intruders” the magus said, letting more blood drip from the gash on her arm.

The assassin retreated closer to her, shielding her with her body.

“Perhaps” Daniel replied. “But not today. Any fireworks from you and this place will be swarming with guards in seconds.”

She thought for a moment, then laughed.

“My name is Madame Umbra, Fidenzio de Lio. And I will not forget yours. When we meet again, it will not be in a comfortable theater box.”

“Let’s go, madame. We need to return to the Crypt” La Farfalla urged.

The two withdrew through a side door used by servants. Sallustia kept her sword raised but did not advance.

Daniel understood that pressing further would be unwise. Sometimes, a fight wasn’t won by defeating the enemy, but by what could be preserved. The priority was to ensure the manipulation had been broken.

Outside, the sounds of the debate continued, now without the artificial cadence from before. Daniel looked at the arena through the velvet curtains. Suddenly, the candidates were exchanging tense words.

“This isn’t over” Sallustia said in a grim tone.

“I know” he replied, tapping the cane impatiently on the table. Madame Umbra’s blood still dripped there. “We’re just getting started. Let’s go. There’s more to see, and less time than we’d like.”

They descended together to the stands. Daniel kept his eyes on the arena, but his mind was elsewhere.

A bronze hammer announced the close of the event, and the murmur returned to the crowd. Prebito rose with deliberate calm, adjusting the sky-blue coat.

Without hurrying, he descended the steps to the inner corridor, flanked by two aides. The smile remained fixed, but his eyes scanned the crowd, as if measuring the distance to his enemies. That man knew something had gone wrong.

When he vanished through the reserved exit, everyone in the amphitheater seemed to relax slightly.

The enemies had mentioned a crypt as they fled. If the place they spoke of was the one he imagined, then the Sword’s conspiracy might be even darker than the Princeps and the Convergence had foreseen.