Liam paused mid-step, turning to lock gaze with Kaine. The air in the training hall turned razor-sharp—silent and heavy.
Even Seraphina tilted her head, eyes glinting with interest. "Oh?" she purred. "We're doing that today?"
Charlotte frowned, confusion flashing across her face. "Wait, what? He just sparred—"
"Are you in any position to question me?" Kaine cut in, his voice like ice under pressure. He stepped forward, each footfall against the mat resounding louder than it should have. "And he's clearly not even winded."
Liam slowly turned to face him, cracking his neck with a low pop. "So what's this? A lesson in humility? Or just a petty grudge match in disguise?"
Kaine didn't blink. "If I wanted to humble you, Hunter, I'd have done it long before now."
'Long before now, huh?' Liam thought with a quiet scoff. 'Bullshit. He's just pissed that Seraphina's been throwing compliments my way. Honestly, I'm more pissed than he is. Nevertheless, can't have him breathing on my neck because of a psycho. I'll just have to play along.'
With a steady exhale, Liam flexed his fingers once. "Any rule changes I should know about? Or is it still 'five strikes and you're out'?"
Kaine stepped onto the mat in silence, slipping off his long coat and tossing it aside. Underneath, he wore a sleek black training shirt that hugged a body built from a life of battle—not theory.
"Same arena, different game," Kaine said coldly. "This time, the first to draw blood wins."
A quiet clap echoed from Seraphina. "Mmm, now that's more my taste. Blood always makes things so... vivid."
Liam's eyes narrowed slightly. "Draw blood? How exactly are we doing that? Fists don't cut."
"You're right," Kaine said, voice like steel on stone. "Last semester, you leaned toward the sword. But in our most recent evaluation, I noticed you've grown far more fluid with the dagger." He stepped closer. "I want to see that. No holding back. This match will be a dagger spar."
Liam blinked once. 'A dagger fight?'
"I don't have my weapon on me," he said aloud.
"No need," Kaine replied.
He raised his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, two plain daggers shimmered into existence—then tossed one to Liam. Liam caught it reflexively, turning it in his hand, weighing the balance.
'Spatial conjuration,' Liam noted. 'Just like Seraphina. Definitely not planning to go easy. Not that he ever has.'
He studied the blade, feeling its weight. It was basic—nothing enchanted—but well-forged and deadly enough for the purpose.
'He really wants blood,' Liam thought. 'Not a problem for me. Charlotte sparred with eight others before I faced her, so I held back to avoid overexerting her. But Kaine... Kaine taught me most of hand-to-hand combats skils I know. So it would be a shame not to use everything he gave me—on him.'
He shifted his grip into a reverse stance, fingers wrapping around the hilt with ease.
'Weight training with Sir Darius and Sir Garrick is starting to pay off. My footwork's lighter, my form more fluid. Time to test it.'
Across from him, Kaine spun the dagger in a smooth forward grip, settling into a stance that spoke of refined lethality.
"Let's begin," he said.
The moment the word "Begin" left Kaine's mouth, time seemed to fracture—no ceremony, no countdown.
Kaine exploded forward with a sudden lunge, his feet silent on the mat but his intent loud and clear: test Liam's reaction time. His dagger came in at a shallow, arcing jab aimed at Liam's left side—a feint, fast and deceptively casual.
Liam shifted his body just enough to avoid the blade, pivoting on his back foot. He didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped into the feint, twisting his hips and bringing his reverse-gripped dagger upward in a tight arc toward Kaine's exposed ribs.
Steel met steel. Kaine had already retracted his jab and rotated his wrist with unnerving precision, blocking Liam's strike with the flat of his blade. The older man's face remained cold, unreadable, even as their blades locked for a breath of a second.
Kaine took a single step back—not in retreat, but in control. He switched his grip now to reverse, mirroring Liam, and circled to the right. His feet slid across the mat like water—no wasted movement, no sound.
Liam kept pace, adjusting his stance. His style was looser, more unpredictable—a mix of what he'd learned from Seraphina's feint-heavy deception and Sir Darius's disciplined core forms. His eyes never left Kaine's blade.
Suddenly, Kaine struck again—this time with a burst of acceleration that defied his size. His dagger cut a diagonal slash from Liam's right shoulder to left hip, and Liam barely brought his own blade up in time to deflect it. Sparks flew as metal screamed against metal.
A follow-up thrust came next, aimed low at Liam's thigh. Liam twisted, catching Kaine's wrist with his free hand, and tried to lever it away—but Kaine reversed the force immediately, turning his arm in a tight spiral and breaking the grip effortlessly.
'He redirected the pressure,' Liam thought, the realization coming as his stance faltered half a second.
Kaine moved like a serpent then—sliding past Liam's left flank with a spin, trying to catch him with a slash at the back of the knee.
But Liam was already reacting.
He pushed off the ground with one hand, lifting himself in a wide arc mid-spin, and flipped backward just enough for the blade to graze air. He landed in a low crouch, sweat beading on his brow.
They reset—just for a moment. Then Kaine charged again.
This time, Liam took the initiative.
He dashed forward with a sudden burst of speed, fainting a wide swing with his dagger while using his shoulder as a battering ram. Kaine leaned into the hit instead of dodging it, absorbing the blow and using Liam's momentum to shift their balance. Their shoulders collided with a thud, and Kaine hooked his leg behind Liam's for a sweep.
But Liam jumped—his heel narrowly missing Kaine's ankle trap. He twisted mid-air, slashing downward with his dagger.
Kaine raised his arm and deflected it—but not without consequence.
A thin red line formed along his forearm.
Kaine looked down at it, just briefly.
"…Impressive," he muttered. His tone didn't change, but there was a sharp glint in his eyes now. Not bad, Hunter.
Liam landed and straightened, breathing steady but his muscles tense.
"I figured I'd return the favor," he said coolly.
But Kaine wasn't done.
In a heartbeat, he surged forward again—faster now, abandoning the slow, methodical pace from before. His dagger danced like a phantom, striking from high, low, inside, outside—forcing Liam to give ground, each movement designed to kill or cripple.
Liam ducked, parried, sidestepped. He recognized the rhythm—Kaine was cycling through stances: short blade combat, trench-style CQB, assassin's flow, even a few traces of knight-style tempo from Garrick's influence.
He responded with hybridized counters, redirecting Kaine's attacks with tight wrist rotations, flowing his dagger along Kaine's blade to kill its momentum. His movements were almost feline now—fluid, reactive, his reverse grip carving arcs through the air like stylized calligraphy.
Then he dropped low—too low.
Kaine brought a knee up, catching Liam in the chest and knocking the wind from him. Liam skidded back, breath stuttering for half a second—but he grinned.
Because even in pain, he had seen it—a flaw in Kaine's stance. Subtle. A microsecond of overcommitment in his right foot during transitions.
And Liam would exploit it.
He launched forward, feinted a right-hand strike, but at the last second, flipped the dagger to a forward grip and twisted under Kaine's guard. Kaine reacted late—just a fraction of a second—but enough.
Liam's blade kissed the side of Kaine's neck—barely touching, but enough to draw a second line of blood.
Kaine stood still. His breathing was calm. He looked down at the small cut on his neck, then back to Liam.
"…Twice in one bout," he murmured. "You really took my lessons seriously."
Liam said nothing—he just lowered his blade, eyes focused, stance still guarded.
Then, without another word, Kaine turned his back to Liam.
"Better than last semester," he said coolly, slipping one arm into his coat. "But don't fool yourself into thinking you beat me. In a real fight, I would've killed you—at least five times over with the openings you left."
His voice was ice, void of ego or emotion. Just fact.
Liam watched him in silence.
'Yeah… I figured as much,' he thought. 'He was holding back. But why?'
Kaine never pulled punches. Normally, Liam would've been coughing blood with at least two cracked ribs by now.
'Maybe… he didn't want the others to see it?' Liam entertained the idea for a second—but shook his head almost immediately.
'No. That's not it. He doesn't give a damn what they see. Which means… it was something else entirely.'
From her platform, Seraphina let out a slow, sultry laugh. "Oh, that was delightful. I'm so turned on right now."
Charlotte whistled low. "Damn, Bae. That was hot."