Chapter 48 — The Dance of Blades

The arena seemed to hold its breath. Aric and Lysander circled each other, every movement charged with tension and precision. Lysander’s twin daggers shimmered with speed, each step a blur, each feint a challenge.

Aric tightened his grip on his sword, breathing steady, his mind sharp. Observe, predict, adapt. Kaelen’s lessons echoed in his thoughts, guiding every movement. This duel was not about power—it was about flow, rhythm, and precision.

With a sudden burst, Lysander lunged, dagger flashing toward Aric’s shoulder. The prince sidestepped, his blade deflecting the strike with a resounding clash. Sparks flew as steel met steel. Lysander spun, striking again from a different angle, forcing Aric to adapt instantly.

The crowd gasped. “He’s countering every move!” one noble exclaimed. “How is the prince keeping up with Lysander’s speed?”

Kaelen’s golden eyes followed every motion, analyzing both fighters silently. Lysander relies on deception and unpredictability. Aric must not only observe, but dictate the rhythm. Make him follow your lead.

Aric feinted a forward strike, baiting Lysander into a predictable counter. As expected, Lysander lunged, attempting to exploit what he thought was an opening. Aric flowed with the motion, sidestepping and delivering a precise slash to the dagger-hand guard.

Lysander’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of respect flashing across his face. “Impressive… you’ve learned to read my rhythm,” he muttered, spinning away to regain distance.

Aric pressed the advantage, blending offense and defense with seamless rhythm. Each strike he made was measured, calculated, and adaptive. He was no longer merely reacting—he was controlling the pace of the duel, forcing Lysander to respond.

The battle became a blur of motion: sparks flying, steel clashing, dust swirling around their feet. Lysander attempted a flurry of deceptive strikes, each faster than the last. Aric, however, had learned to anticipate micro-pauses, subtle weight shifts, and the rhythm of feints. He deflected, countered, and adapted with fluid precision.

Kaelen’s voice resonated quietly in Aric’s mind: You are not just fighting Lysander—you are learning the essence of combat. Rhythm, prediction, and adaptation are your allies. Flow with the battle, and you will find openings even the fastest opponent cannot hide.

Finally, Aric saw the opening he had been seeking: a slight overextension in Lysander’s dual strike. With calm precision, he delivered a clean counterattack, forcing Lysander to stumble back and raising a cheer from the crowd.

The duel paused, both fighters breathing heavily, eyes locked in mutual respect. Lysander’s smirk returned, tinged with admiration. “You’ve mastered more than speed, young prince. You’ve learned to read, predict, and flow with me. Few can claim that.”

Aric’s chest heaved, sweat dripping, but a confident smile formed. “I still have much to learn, but I will continue to grow.”

Kaelen’s golden eyes glimmered with pride. He is becoming more than a student. Each battle is shaping him into a swordsman capable of facing legends—and perhaps even surpassing them one day.

The arena erupted in cheers, witnessing the prince’s triumph of skill, strategy, and rhythm. The Royal Grand Tournament had entered a new stage, one where intellect, precision, and adaptability mattered as much as strength—and Aric was proving himself ready for it all.