Chapter 666: Both Of Me

Yenna’s horn blared across the chalked field, and Darven left his mark before the note even finished.

"Here we go!" Hajin whooped, charging straight at the spear instead of giving it room to breathe.

The blunted point drove for his chest, and he slapped it wide while stepping inside its reach.

"Too close for you, buddy?"

Darven snorted and shortened his grip on the shaft, "Close is where you stay honest."

Oric’s shield slammed down behind Hajin, cutting off his retreat while Ilsen’s first arrow whipped past his ear.

"Shit, that was rude!"

’Spear in front, shield behind, arrows threading every gap, they really did practice this crowding line.’

’The clone’s clock started before the readiness blasts, so this whole circus needs finishing fast.’

Darven reset and drove again, three quick thrusts hunting the space beneath Hajin’s raised arm.

He jammed each one early, catching the shaft before the point could reach its full extension.

"Come on, give me the long one, the big one you practiced all morning—"

"You’d love that," Darven hissed, feinting high and sweeping the butt at his knee.

Hajin hopped the sweep and let the next rush shove him back, three steps toward the clone’s flank.

[ Seoul_Tactician: He’s not retreating, he’s walking them toward the staff on purpose ]

[ IronVanguard: The whole stand can see it, so why are they following? ]

They followed anyway, and he could almost taste the reason in their tightening formation.

’You found the weak body, so now you need to crowd it, and that is exactly where it lives.’

Hajin slid left on the final step, and Darven’s thrust followed him straight across the face of Oric’s raised shield. Wood cracked against painted bolts, and the two practiced partners lost half a heartbeat untangling their crossed lines of attack.

"Move your damn shaft!" Oric barked.

"Move your damn shield!"

"Ha, take your time, gentlemen, I’ll wait right here!"

Ilsen lost her angle behind the tangle and sprinted across the marked lane to find a clean shot.

The clone moved before Hajin could even glance at it, reading her stride on its own judgment.

"Wrong lane," it noted, already turning the ash staff.

Her string reached her cheek just as the staff’s end cracked across her committed wrist.

The bow spun out of her fingers and skidded over the sand, landing well outside her reach.

"Ow, you—that’s my draw hand!" Ilsen yelped, clutching the wrist against her chest.

"Then stop drawing it inside my sector."

She looked at the fallen bow, then at the staff hovering beside her ribs, and raised one open hand, "Yield, I yield, and don’t you dare step on my bow."

"Ilsen Vey yields," Yenna called from the platform, "clear the field."

’One down, and the staff never needed me watching its back.’

[ TacticalNerd: The clone read her by itself, he never even looked over ]

Oric spun toward the clone with his shield leading, choosing three Rings as the easier finish.

’Wrong body to bully, and you just showed it the back of your shield strap.’

The pivot bared the bolted grip behind Oric’s shield, and the clone rammed its staff end into the strap housing. The shield locked crooked on his arm, and a low sweep of the timber took his front foot clean away.

Oric hit the sand on his back, and the staff’s other end flicked the arming sword from his grip.

Darven saw his partner fall and finally committed, throwing the full extension he practiced all morning.

"There it is!" Hajin cackled, ducking under the point and diving into the open shoulder.

’Eight inches beneath the arm, exactly where the clone called it in the tent.’

His left blade hooked the shaft while his right hand clamped the wood and wrenched it against Darven’s thumb.

The spear tore loose, and Hajin flung it behind him without caring where it landed.

"Hey, that’s mine—"

"Was yours!"

He hooked Darven’s ankle, rode him down into the sand, and pinned his spear arm under one knee.

The blunted edge settled against Darven’s throat, resting there without pressing any weight at all.

"Pinned," he wheezed, "and you’re welcome to keep arguing from down there."

Beside them, the clone set the staff across Oric’s chest and held his jammed shield flat against his ribs.

"Disarmed and pinned," it reported, "no crack in the staff."

Yenna lowered the horn and rose from her chair on the platform, "Darven Holt, disarmed and pinned, Oric Dain, disarmed and pinned, Ilsen Vey by surrender, the match goes to Lord Hajin."

Both bodies stood over their opponents while the recorder’s blank tally sheet finally filled with three marks.

The stands exploded, and the noise slammed down on the barrier from every side at once.

"Under five minutes!" Loccy shrieked from the balcony, ears flapping as she pounded the rail, "somebody owes me fifty silver!"

"Nobody took that bet," Juna drawled, tail swishing once, "and the first chicken portion is mine for calling their crowding line."

"Bring my damn staff up here," Ferra barked over both of them, "I want to see that grain before anyone celebrates."

Rumi whistled through her fingers while Nari leaned over the rail and stuck her tongue out at the losers’ bench.

Vella leaned past the twins with her spoon raised like a gavel, "Pain changes, you tell me, nobody celebrates over a cracked channel."

[ HearthKeeper: Both of him standing, three challengers down, and nobody even bleeding ]

[ ShadowMage44: They read the clone perfectly and still walked right into its corner ]

[ IronVanguard: The household on that balcony is louder than the whole stadium ]

Hajin lifted his blade off Darven’s throat and offered him a hand up from the churned sand.

"You found the weaker side, congratulations, it hits back."

Darven barked a laugh and let himself be hauled upright, rubbing his thumb, "Next time I’m asking which exchanges the clone holds before I sign anything."

"Ask it nicely, it’s touchy about its staff."

Oric rolled to his knees, scowling at the jammed strap while the clone released the pressure on his chest.

"Three Rings," he muttered, working the buckle loose, "and I picked it like a ripe apple."

"Apples don’t usually sweep your legs," Hajin snickered.

The clone retrieved the fallen bow, checked its string with one thumb, and offered it back grip first.

Ilsen took it with her good hand, flexing the bruised fingers, "You read me without him, didn’t you?"

"Your left foot crossed the chalk a step before your draw."

"That’s annoying," she huffed, though one corner of her mouth twitched upward despite the sting.

Hajin rolled his own shoulders and listened for anything that changed inside his channels after the fight.

’Channels quiet, wrist fine, no change worth earning Vella’s ladle across my skull tonight.’

He turned toward the clone and nodded once, and it lowered the ash staff carefully onto the sand.

"Dissolving," the clone said, stepping back from the staff before its outline thinned.

Its memories poured back into him as the body faded, Ilsen’s crossing foot and the strap housing giving under timber.

Three Rings rose from the empty space and drifted back across the field toward his waiting arms.

For thirty seconds his active Ring defense stayed unavailable, and the whole crowd could see him standing there unguarded.

"Thirty seconds," Hajin called toward the platform, spreading his arms wide, "anyone want a rematch?"

"No," Yenna said flatly.

"Worth asking!"

He waited out every second with his blades lowered and a stupid grin he could not wipe away.

The match was already won, and he never once needed all seven Rings back together to win it.

The last Ring settled home around his forearm, and seven turned together beneath the roaring stands.