Free Web NovelChapter 399: Chapter 399
The fight erupted from there. Blades collided again and again in a flurry of movement. Each strike came fast and powerful, neither man was willing to give the other even the smallest advantage. Falein pressed forward aggressively, his attacks heavy and relentless, while the champion matched him precisely.
Gasps rippled through the crowd when the champion’s blade swept dangerously close to Falein’s throat.
A heartbeat later, Falein countered with a savage downward strike that nearly split the man’s shoulder.
Both of them moved with practiced agility, dodging, blocking, and striking with deadly intent.
Several times their blades came so close to landing a crippling blow that the watching crowd collectively held its breath.
Sweat began to bead along Falein’s brow as the fight stretched on. His muscles burned with the effort of each swing, yet the fury driving him forward never wavered.
Then the champion saw his opening.
He shifted suddenly, knocking Falein’s sword aside before bringing his own blade down in a powerful strike that slipped past Falein’s defenses.
The steel tore across Falein’s side.
Blood burst from the wound immediately, staining his clothes in dark crimson.
But Falein didn’t fall back. He barely seemed to notice the hit. Instead, he surged forward with renewed ferocity, his teeth bared as he swung his sword again and again. The pain of the wound did nothing to slow him; if anything, it only fueled the brutality of his attacks. The champion was forced onto the defensive.
Both men soon began to tire, their breaths growing heavier with every passing second. Sweat and blood slicked their hands with every wound they inflicted on each other, yet neither loosened their grip.
Falein gradually began to take control of the fight. His strikes grew more calculated. He forced the champion back step by step, destabilizing him with relentless pressure.
Then the moment came. With a sudden twist of his weapon, Falein struck the champion’s sword at an angle that knocked it violently from the man’s grasp.
The weapon flew from his hand and landed several feet away on the ground.
The soldier barely had time to react.
Falein stepped forward and drove his sword straight into the man’s chest.
The blade buried deep. A choked sound escaped the champion’s throat as his body went rigid. Falein held the sword there for a brief moment before brutally yanking it free and slashing his blade across the man’s throat.
The soldier collapsed to the ground.
Falein stood over the corpse, his chest rising and falling heavily with exertion. Blood spattered his clothes and continued to ooze from the wound along his side, but he barely seemed aware of it.
Slowly, he crouched down. He grabbed a fistful of the dead man’s hair and lifted his head slightly from the ground, displaying the fallen champion to everyone gathered around them. The gesture was crude and taunting.
After a moment, he released the body and rose to his feet again. His gaze found the queen.
Nheera still sat tall on her horse, watching everything with open displeasure etched across her face.
"I defeated your so-called champion," Falein said coldly. "No wonder your son chose to be a coward and hide."
A flicker of irritation crossed Nheera’s expression, though her voice remained calm when she answered.
"House Acheron has acknowledged your victory here today, and for that you will be compensated for all that you have lost."
Falein straightened fully. Then he threw his head back and let out a harsh, derisive laugh.
"What can you possibly offer me to make up for the loss of my son?" he demanded. "The only thing that would satisfy me is seeing your son’s corpse."
Nheera’s eyes hardened instantly.
"Watch your mouth, Tomar," she scowled. "I will let that slide because I refuse to tarnish your victory here today. But the next time you threaten my son, you will be punished harshly for it."
***
The sun had just begun its slow descent across the horizon when half of Circe’s hunting party prepared to depart and head back to the manor. The rest of the group remained behind to continue the search,
unwilling to abandon their efforts just yet. The last rays of sunlight stretched thin across the sky, fading little by little as dusk crept in and darkness gradually took hold after a long day of relentless searching. Yet they had nothing to show for their labor, nothing except the bone-deep weariness and fatigue that clung to them like a second skin.
Circe felt that exhaustion more acutely than anyone else present. It weighed heavily upon her shoulders, mingling with the deep despair that another day had passed and Rowen was still nowhere to be found.
Four days. Rowen had been missing for four long, agonizing days during which Circe had scarcely allowed herself rest, her thoughts consumed entirely by his whereabouts and his safety. Even now, her heart ached painfully at the mere thought of him. The possibility that he might be injured, suffering, or trapped somewhere far away where she could not reach him twisted her chest with a quiet, unbearable dread.
Just then, one of the guards riding ahead suddenly raised his voice in alarm when he spotted a figure further down the road. His sharp call immediately alerted the rest of the search party, drawing their attention forward.
Circe leaned slightly forward in her saddle and narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the shape of the figure more clearly. It appeared to be a woman. She moved slowly along the road, and even from a distance it was obvious that something was wrong. She was limping with every step she took.
"She’s injured," Circe murmured to Casilo, who rode beside her.
"It appears so," he replied thoughtfully, studying the distant figure.
"We should help her," Circe said at once, urging her horse forward. "It will grow colder as the night settles in, and she isn’t adequately dressed for this weather."
As Circe approached, the woman’s already slow steps began to falter even more. She seemed startled by the sight of the approaching riders, her posture stiffening with visible apprehension. By the time Circe brought her horse to a halt directly in front of her, the woman looked almost frightened.
Now that Circe was close enough to see clearly, the extent of the woman’s condition became painfully apparent.
She had no shoes on her feet. The skin was raw and mottled with scratches, small cuts, and swollen blisters from walking barefoot along the harsh road. Her dress was thin and ill-suited for the biting chill of winter, its worn fabric clinging loosely to her frame while the hem was heavily smeared with dirt. Her hair hung in mild disarray around her face, strands tangled and windblown, and there was dirt lodged beneath her fingernails as though she had clawed through soil or debris.
She must be freezing, Circe thought grimly. Cold, exhausted, and in pain.
"Where are you coming from?" Circe asked gently.
The woman opened her mouth as though to answer, but no words came. After a brief moment, she closed it again and slowly shook her head.
"I... I don’t know," she finally said. Her voice was soft, trembling with uncertainty.
Circe’s brows drew together in a troubled frown. For days now her thoughts had been consumed entirely by Rowen, his disappearance, the endless possibilities of what might have happened to him. And now, without warning, this woman had appeared out of nowhere, lost and disheveled, wandering the road barefoot with no memory of where she had come from.
Was she simply lost? Or perhaps running from something?
"You have no reason to be afraid," Circe assured her gently, sensing the woman’s unease at being surrounded by strangers.
"No one here will harm you. I want to help you in whatever way I can." She paused briefly before asking, "What is your name?"
The woman lifted her gaze to meet Circe’s. Her eyes were wide and guileless.
"My name is Cornelia Biven," she answered quietly.
Her name sparked a hint of recognition in Casilo. He recalled hearing the name somewhere but he couldn’t pinpoint where.
"Do you have a place to spend the night?" The question came from Casilo, who had guided his horse closer to them.
Cornelia shook her head. Before she had even finished the gesture, Circe was already motioning to one of the guards nearby. The man dismounted without hesitation and removed the thick coat from his shoulders, gently placing it around Cornelia’s trembling frame.
"There is an inn not too far from here," Casilo suggested. "We can arrange for you to stay there tonight." freēwēbηovel.c૦m
Cornelia nodded quickly, gratitude flickering across her weary face. More than anything else, she looked relieved, relieved that she would soon have somewhere warm and safe to rest.
