Chapter 123: Sword Match

Qazaethel stood straight as she faced Rahaja, her phantom sword humming in her grip, its golden light casting long, shifting shadows across the sand. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze, and the dust was settling, leaving the two rulers standing in a wide, empty circle of their own making. Behind them, their armies waited in tense silence, the soldiers’ eyes fixed on the figures in the center of the field.

"Are you sure about this?" Qazaethel asked again, her voice carrying the weight of one final chance. She was not asking out of fear. She was asking out of a weary kind of courtesy, the same courtesy she would extend to a wounded animal before putting it out of its misery.

Rahaja did not see it that way. He saw only the challenge, the opportunity, the chance to bring down the most powerful ruler on the continent and claim everything she had for himself.

He took off his pelt and handed it to his General, a heavy thing of fur and leather that had seen better days. The General accepted it with trembling hands, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope. Then Rahaja dismounted his horse, his boots sinking into the soft sand, and took the sword of his General.

It was a fine blade, forged from the finest Reen steel, its edge sharp and gleaming in the pale light. He tested its weight in his hand, swinging it once, twice, and then he stood his ground and smiled slyly. He was confident he would win. He had spent years training with a sword, years preparing for a moment like this, and he was certain that his skill and his strength would carry him to victory.

"I am sure. If I defeat you... Everything you had, the Solkanaia, the golden rabbit, and all your concubines are mine," he said, and his voice was full of a smug, ugly certainty. The words were meant to provoke, to wound, to remind Qazaethel of everything she stood to lose.

But Qazaethel only smirked slightly, a small, fleeting expression that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by something that was pure, cold sarcasm.

"No," she answered, and the word was flat, dismissive, as though she were correcting a child who had made a foolish mistake. There was a moment of silence between them, a long, tense pause that stretched out like a wire pulled tight, and then Rahaja lunged forward to attack.

Qazaethel just yawned. She did not move. She did not raise her sword. She simply stood there, her phantom blade resting loosely at her side, and watched as Rahaja began to run toward her.

The first rule of a sword match was that no powers were allowed except for the enchantments on their weapons. It was a rule designed to level the playing field, to ensure that the fight was decided by skill and strength rather than magic. And so Rahaja ran, his feet were pounding against the sand, his sword are raised, and his face was twisted with determination.

"This is literally three thousand kilometers away," Qazaethel mentioned, her voice was carrying across the field with a note of pure, undiluted boredom. She did not yell it. She did not need to. The words were spoken in the same tone she might use to comment on the weather, and they landed with the same devastating effect.

Rahaja gasped for air and stopped, his chest was heaving, and his face was red with exertion. He had not even reached one thousand meters, and yet he was already tired. The sand was soft and shifting beneath his feet, and every step required twice the effort it would have on solid ground. His armor, which had seemed so impressive when he was on his horse, now felt like a burden, heavy and cumbersome, dragging him down with every stride.

"By the time he reaches Qazaethel, he will have no strength to fight because he spent it on jogging," Liv jokingly said, her voice was low enough that only those nearest to her could hear. She secretly scoffed, a small, contemptuous sound that betrayed her opinion of the Reen king. But Dawn heard her, and she turned her head just enough to fix Liv with a look that was sharp and commanding.

"Enough," Dawn said, her voice quiet but firm, and Liv immediately listened, her mouth snapping shut. She kept her mouth shut for the rest of the wait, but the amused glint in her eyes did not fade.

Qazaethel, in the meantime, had the time to scratch her head. She had the time to look around at the scenery, at the mountains in the distance, at the clouds drifting lazily across the sky. She even had the time to squat down and use her sword to write something on the sand, her movements slow and deliberate, like a child playing on a beach.

The phantom blade left glowing lines in the sand, and the soldiers of Solkanaia, who had been watching with bated breath, began to relax, their tension was giving way to a kind of bemused wonder. Their sovereign was not worried. Their sovereign was not even paying attention. Their sovereign was drawing in the sand while her opponent huffed and puffed his way across the field.

Dawn also felt bored. She felt sleepy, too, her eyelids growing heavy as she waited for Rahaja to get to Qazaethel and finish their battle. The sun was warm on her face, and the wind had died down to a gentle breeze, and she had been working so much lately, so very much, that the thought of just closing her eyes and resting for a moment was almost irresistible.

Liv noticed. Liv always noticed. She guided her horse to stand beside Dawn’s, and she leaned over, her voice soft with concern.

"Your Majesty, do you feel tired?" Liv asked, and Dawn nodded, a small, tired smile crossing her face.

"Just a little," she admitted, and Liv did not hesitate. She reached out and pulled Dawn from her horse, settling the empress in front of her on her own mount, arranging her so that Dawn could rest her body against Liv’s chest. Dawn sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders as she leaned back into the alpha’s warmth.

"Sleep for a while. You’ve been working a lot lately," Liv whispered, her breath warm against Dawn’s ear. Dawn smiled, her eyes already closing.

"It is a requirement as my duty as the empress. And Rahaja is one of the burdens that makes it too hard for me," she said, and her voice was soft, honest, the voice she used only when she was with Liv. Liv’s face became slightly serious as she heard Dawn’s admission.

She knew how hard Dawn worked. She knew how much the empress carried, how many burdens she bore, how many sleepless nights she spent worrying about the kingdom and its people. And she knew that Rahaja, with his petty threats and his arrogant posturing, was just one more weight on Dawn’s already overburdened shoulders.

"Don’t worry. Qazaethel will take care of him," Liv said, and her voice was steady, certain. She believed it. She had seen Qazaethel fight. She had seen the sovereign’s power, her speed, her precision. Rahaja did not stand a chance.

By the time Rahaja reached Qazaethel, his vocal chords were already raspy from screaming. He had spent the entire journey across the field yelling insults, threats, and challenges, and his voice had given out somewhere around the two-thousand-meter mark.

He was very tired, his legs trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he pushed through. He had to. He had come too far to give up now. When he was in front of Qazaethel, his sword was raised, his eyes were wild with desperation, and Qazaethel did not think twice. She swung her sword up at Rahaja, a single, fluid motion that was almost too fast to see.

There was a moment of silence. The wind continued to sweep through the sand, whipping it up into a swirling haze that made it hard for both armies to see what was going on.

All they could see were two figures standing in the center of the field, one tall and still, the other was swaying on its feet. The sand stung their eyes and burned their throats, and the soldiers shielded their faces, their hearts pounding with anticipation and fear.

And then the wind died down, and they saw. Rahaja’s body was split into two, cleanly, precisely, from shoulder to hip, and it collapsed onto the ground in a heap of blood and sand. Qazaethel stood over him, her phantom sword was still glowing while her eyes were sharp and cold.

She did not feel any challenge from this. She did not feel anything at all. The General of the Reen kingdom gasped and froze, his face white, his hands shaking. He had watched his king die in a single stroke, and he knew, in that moment, that the Reen kingdom was lost.

There was another long silence, a silence that stretched on and on, broken only by the soft sound of the wind and the distant cry of a bird. Then Qazaethel lifted her sword and pointed it at the General, her expression cold and commanding.

"Seize them," she said, and her voice was quiet, but it carried across the field like a thunderclap. The Solkanaia army screamed in unison, a great, roaring cry that echoed off the mountains, and they all moved their horses toward the Reen army, their weapons raised, their faces fierce with victory.

"RETREATTTT!" the Reen General screamed at the top of his lungs, and his voice cracked with terror. The Reen soldiers did not need to be told twice. They turned and fled, their formations crumbling, their banners falling, their horses galloping wildly across the sand.

They ran, and they did not look back, and the Solkanaia army pursued them for a mile before Qazaethel raised her hand and called them back. She had what she wanted. She had their king’s head, and she had their surrender, and she had the message she had come to deliver.

Liv stayed in her place, her arms wrapped around Dawn, her hands covering the empress’s ears. She used her magic, a soft, blue glow that spread over Dawn’s head, to make sure the sound of the chaos would not reach her peaceful slumber. Dawn slept on, her face relaxed, her breathing slow and even, oblivious to the battle that had just been fought and won.

Liv looked down at her, at the omega who had become her whole world, and she smiled. It was a small smile, a private one, and she held Dawn a little closer, her alpha instincts humming with satisfaction at having protected her mate from the noise and the danger.

And that was the message. No one should mess around with Qazaethel.