Ruins And Royalty

The Cut that Bleeds - Chp 10 Part 1

“I don’t understand. Is training over already?” I asked, glancing at Dayron, hoping for some clue in his expression, but he looked just as lost as I felt.

“You cannot treat the Chakrams like the gladiuses,” Sir Damos said, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade through silk. “You must learn to move with the circle of the blade, to dance around its edges without cutting yourself.”

Dayron’s brow furrowed. “If he takes off his armor… he could seriously hurt himself.”

Sir Damos turned, his eyes sharpening like twin suns. He walked toward me, every step deliberate, heavy with expectation.

“Indeed,” he said, voice low, almost dangerous. “He will. Until he learns to wield the Chakrams as they were meant to be wielded.”

He reached me, tapping on my chest plate with a weight that felt more symbolic than physical. “Are you ready to do whatever it takes to master the enchanted blades?”

I didn’t need to answer. He already saw it in the deadpan set of my expression. Wordlessly, I handed him my weapons, sliding off my arm guards first, then the cuirass and shoulder plates, letting them clatter to the ground. The world suddenly felt lighter, freer yet more exposed.

Sir Damos returned the Chakrams to my hands. I flexed my arms, adjusting to the sudden absence of armor, feeling the vulnerability settle like cold stone in my chest.

“Prince Dayron, continue combat as before,” Sir Damos instructed, his gaze flicking to my brother. “Do not hold back just because your brother has no armor shielding him.”

He approached Dayron, producing a sword that gleamed with an almost unnatural sheen. “A special wooden sword, forged from the heartwood of the Geathe forest in Freyah,” he explained. “Strong enough to withstand strikes from any weapon, yet safe enough for training like this.”

I watched as Dayron took it, feeling the weight of what was coming. Our fight would no longer be a spar; it would be a storm between us, raw and unshielded.

Sir Damos knew exactly how today would unfold; the man had come fully prepared.

I caught the flicker of hesitation in Dayron’s eyes, but he accepted the wooden sword nonetheless, bowing to Sir Damos’ authority.

“Let the battle commence!” the trainer’s voice rang out, cutting through the quiet forest like a clarion call.

I took my stance, muscles coiled and ready, Chakrams held tight, edges humming just above my skin. Dayron mirrored me, steady and unreadable. I readied myself to strike first, reminding myself to keep the circular blades from grazing my body.

Dayron parried with fluid precision, his wooden sword gliding against mine. Sparks of friction flared in my mind as the edge of the blade slid across my forearm, then up over my upper arm. I bit my lip against the sting, refusing to falter. The cuts were shallow, but sharp enough to command respect, reminders to respect the flow of the Chakrams, to keep my angles tight.

He noticed the pain, yet as a consummate fighter, Dayron did not ease his strikes. In true combat, unless the wounded stepped aside or the trainer intervened, the battle continued, impartial to the agony it wrought.

His sword arced toward me, and I used the side of my forearm to block. No armor cushioned me now; the burn of wood against skin was brutal. But I’d anticipated this. The flicker of confusion in his eyes was the c***k I needed.

I seized the moment, swinging the Chakram in my opposite hand, threading it between his sword and shield. It struck his chest plate with a resonant thud, staggering him backward.

Dayron recovered quickly, his surprise flashing across his features. My chest swelled at the triumph. I had finally landed a hit.

Sir Damos, however, was not impressed. His sharp command cut through the tension. “Enough!”

The battle ended, leaving the forest quiet once more, and me panting, alive with adrenaline and satisfaction.

“If you’re not going to take your training seriously, you might as well leave now,” Sir Damos snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the forest’s calm.

“What do you mean? I am taking this seriously!” I shot back, offended, my chest rising with indignation. He said nothing in return, simply turning to make his way back toward the palace, leaving me simmering in silence.

“I fought strategically,” I continued, forcing my words out, “I outsmarted my opponent and landed a decisive blow. If this were a real battle, and I wielded the enchanted Chakrams, that strike would have pierced his cuirass without hesitation.”

“Yes,” he said finally, eyes cold, “it might have worked in a real battle, slicing deep into your opponent’s chest, perhaps ending his life. But your recklessness leaves you with an injured arm. Your performance compromised before it even begins.”

“But in a real battle, I’d have my arm guards on,” I protested, voice tight.

“I’ve told you before, Nightingale,” he said, disappointment heavy in his tone, “you cannot rely on your armor to keep you safe.”

The forest training ended sooner than I had anticipated. Sir Damos ordered me to the Palace’s medical bay to have my wounds treated. Minor as they were, I would have been content to pour some clean water over them and call it a day. But my trainer insisted, speaking with that unshakable certainty of his, warning that many more battles were ahead, and that I would be expected to fight without armor from now on.

I wasn’t opposed. If anything, I welcomed it. The path to the enchanted Chakrams demanded it. To master the blades, I would have to push myself further than ever before.

The medical bay lay near the palace entrance, in a temple dominated by a statue of the God of Healing. Offerings littered the stone steps at his feet, tokens of hope and supplication, that the deity might bless the healers and watch over the health of all who dwelled in Emperos. The scent of herbs and the quiet hum of activity greeted me as I stepped inside, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the forest.

In the medical bay, my wounds were tended by the finest healers in all of Emperos. These palace doctors prided themselves on ensuring that every member of the Royal family received the best treatment, constantly researching and refining their methods like scholars of life and death.

A woman guided me to a nearby bed, where she rubbed a mixture of herbs into my cuts and bruises, carefully wrapping them with bandages spun from spider silk. A miraculous material said to be both antiseptic and antifungal. I was just about to rise when a voice cut through the air.

“Aaron!”

I turned to see Dayron striding across the marble floor, each footfall echoing like war drums. His eyes locked onto mine, unyielding.

“What do you want?” I asked, irritation pricking my tone.

“To have a word with you,” he said, motioning to the woman to leave us alone.

“What is your problem with me?” I asked, already anticipating his lecture. His expression was a storm barely contained.

“I don’t know what games you’re playing, but what you did today was reckless! I could have broken your arm!” he snapped.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dayron,” I retorted, shrugging. “You didn’t hit that hard.” My words were a spark thrown onto dry kindling.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Aaron,” he seethed. “Not everything is a joke!”

I rolled my eyes, frustration rolling through me like a bitter wind. “You sound like father. Why does what I do concern you?” I said, voice steady but my blood thrumming beneath my skin.

That was the moment his restraint broke. He grabbed me by the shirt, yanking me close until his face was inches from mine.

“You are a child,” he said, low and cutting, “an insecure, scared, and troubled little boy.”

He released me, and I stumbled back against the bed, knocking it slightly, drawing the curious and startled gazes of everyone present. His words sank deeper than any sword ever could. The sharp edge of his anger cut into me, leaving a hollow ache where pride battled shock. I had never seen this side of him. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, pride choking any apology from my lips.

“May the Gods have mercy on you tomorrow, brother,” he said finally, voice quieter now, like the fading of a storm, and then he was gone, his footsteps fading into the temple’s stillness.

I stayed frozen for a long moment, tasting the bitter sting of his words, feeling the echo of the confrontation reverberate in my chest like a warning I couldn’t yet comprehend. His words, it could only mean that there would be no end to him regarding my training with Sir Damos.