Chapter 702: Sparring With Tide Blade Arts [Bonus - ]

Chapter 702: Sparring With Tide Blade Arts [Bonus Chapter]

With a practiced effortless flick of her wrist, she dumped the dust into three of the four mugs, Aeliana’s, Solenne’s and Rika’s, leaving Silas’s cup and her own untouched.

She stirred the steaming liquid with a silver spoon until the powder dissolved without a trace with the sweet sharp scent of the lemien juice completely masking the small earthy musk of the herb.

"Perfection," Morwenna whispered, her face glowing with triumphant demonic glee.

She arranged the four mugs on a silver tray and strode back into the living room, her face schooling itself into an innocent neutral mask.

"Drinks are ready," Morwenna announced, setting the tray down upon the coffee table. "Drink up while it’s hot."

"Ah, marvelous!" Silas said, reaching out and grabbing his mug.

He took a generous gulp, letting out a satisfied appreciative sigh as the sweet citrusy heat washed down his throat.

"Damn, that’s good... Tart, but with a clean finish. It was an excellent choice, Morwenna."

"It’s wonderful!" Solenne beamed, cradling her mug with both hands, taking three massive sips that made her pointed ears flutter with delight.

Rika eagerly took hers, blowing gently on the surface before slurping down half the cup, even offering a tiny spoonful to the fledgling phoenix, who chirped happily as it lapped at the sweet moisture.

Thump!

Rika’s head dropped onto the armrest in the middle of a slurp.

The cup slid out of her fingers and rolled across the carpet.

On her chest the little phoenix gave one drowsy chirp, toppled over, and went limp with the both of them asleep before the mug stopped rolling.

"Rika?" Silas started up from the armchair, his smile gone. "Hey, are you..."

"Hatchlings eat their bonded’s strength, Captain," Morwenna said a little too quickly and pushed him back down by the shoulder. "She’s been running on fumes since the egg cracked so let her sleep."

Silas looked at the soft rise and fall of Rika’s chest and the tiny golden puffs of smoke from the phoenix’s beak, then settled back into the cushions.

"...Yeah. That tracks."

’Half a cup!’ Morwenna thought with her pulse racing. ’Half a cup and a goddess drops like a dragged anchor, phoenix and all!’

A fierce secret grin tugged at her lips.

’Thank the seas I snagged these!’

Standing near the edge of the rug, Morwenna’s eyes locked onto Aeliana like a hawk watching a field mouse.

’Drink it, you literary degenerate,’ Morwenna urged silently, her hands clenching behind her back. ’Drink the kelp...’

Aeliana lifted her mug, inhaling the fragrant steam.

For a fraction of a second, her delicate nose twitched as her silver-green eyes narrowed with the keen centuries-old herbal instincts of an Elf.

Morwenna’s heart stalled in her throat.

’Did she catch the scent...?!’

Aeliana’s gaze slid to Rika, sprawled across the cushions with the phoenix on her chest.

"The little goddess has had a long day," She murmured, then she looked back at the mug.

Aeliana then took a long delicate sip, letting out a soft sigh of pure relaxation.

"A truly exquisite harvest, Morwenna," Aeliana complimented, her voice sounding remarkably smooth. "The mountain acidity perfectly balances the natural tannins... You have remarkably refined tastes for a pirate."

Morwenna let out a silent triumphant breath, practically doing a backflip in her own mind.

"Yeah, well, don’t get used to room service," Morwenna grunted.

She swiftly scooped up all the empty mugs, setting them back on the tray, and turned her predatory gaze squarely onto Silas.

"Come on, Captain," Morwenna said, her tone leaving zero room for argument as she seized Silas by the elbow, hauling him up from the armchair. "We’re going to the training yard... You promised me a review of your sword-forms before we left the city, and I’m holding you to it."

Silas didn’t resist. His gold-ringed eyes sparked with eager excitement.

"Fine by me," Silas grinned, rolling his shoulders beneath his hoodie. "I’ve been itching to stretch my legs anyway. Let’s see if your blade has gotten rusty while I was away."

"Good luck, Lord Silas!" Solenne called out, waving a sleepy hand from the couch.

"Show her your might... Master..." Rika mumbled into the cushions without opening her eyes, the little phoenix snoring against her neck.

"Do not break too many walls, Lord Sy," Aeliana murmured gracefully, leaning her head against the back of the sofa.

Morwenna dragged Silas through the heavy archway leading toward the western wing, hitting the rune-plate on the wall.

Psssshhhh-KLAK!

The reinforced sound-dampening blast doors slid shut, sealing the living room behind them.

In the lounge, Aeliana blinked slowly with a sudden heavy wave of lethargy washing over her limbs like thick warm honey.

She turned her head, intending to ask Solenne about the mechanical structure of her golems...

Thud!

Solenne had completely slumped forward with her forehead resting against the glass coffee table and her nine silver tails sprawled out across the rug in dead motionless heaps, letting out soft adorable little snores.

Aeliana blinked, her vision blurring at the edges as she looked toward the armchair...

Rika was still curled into the same tight motionless ball where she had slumped, completely out cold, with the fledgling phoenix tucked beneath her chin, snoring with tiny puffs of golden smoke.

Aeliana’s breath hitched as a cold realization detonated through her sluggish mind.

’The lemien juice...’ Aeliana thought, her heavy eyelids fluttering frantically as the dark bottomless pull of the slumber-herbs dragged her consciousness downward into the black sea.

’That... that ruthless... high-seas... BITCH...’

Thump!

Aeliana’s head lolled backward against the velvet cushions with her consciousness completely extinguishing as she plunged into a dreamless sleep.

For the second time in weeks, the Elf princess had been expertly drugged into unconsciousness.

...

Beyond the heavy sound-dampening blast doors, the private training yard was magnificent.

It was an expansive circular arena spanning forty paces across, lined with shock-absorbent tiles of dark basalt and ringed by shimmering translucent high-tier barrier runes.

Weapons racks of polished oak stood against the reinforced walls, stocked with blunted tournament arms forged from hardened ironwood and spell-tempered steel.

Silas walked into the center of the ring with the oversized chibi-hoodie Evelyn had given him rustling softly against his linen trousers.

His Gold Core perception expanded outward in an invisible microscopic web, scanning every corner of the ceiling, every seam in the basalt tiles, and every conduit in the walls.

’Clean,’ Silas confirmed internally, his Gold Core humming with quiet confidence. ’No spying arrays, no monitoring runes, no hidden audio transmitters... It’s completely sealed.’

Right now, it was just him and Morwenna.

Rustle!

A soft sharp rustle of leather made Silas turn around and his breath caught slightly in his throat.

Morwenna was standing by the perimeter rail, casually stripping off her heavy traveling gear.

First she unbuckled the scabbard at her hip and laid Tidebringer carefully on the bench, well out of the way.

She unbuckled the thick iron-reinforced corslet, tossing the heavy leather armor onto a wooden bench with a loud thud then, with an effortless unbothered motion, she unbuttoned her weathered leather riding shorts, kicking them aside to leave herself clad only in a skintight sleeveless black training tunic of breathable sharkskin and a pair of remarkably brief form-fitting boy-shorts that clung to her hips like a second layer of skin.

The sight was a devastating assault on the senses.

Morwenna wasn’t a delicate frail maiden like most of the women he had seen, nor did she possess the slender ethereal perfect frame of Eluned.

She was a warrior forged by centuries of surviving the lightless depths of the roaring ocean trenches.

Her skin was pale and flawless with a salt-sea sheen.

Her shoulders were broad, her collarbones sharp and defined, flowing down into a tight washboard stomach with an intoxicating line of abdominal muscle running straight down to her navel.

Her chest was bountiful and heavy, pushing aggressively against the taut sharkskin of her tunic, rising and falling with every deep breath.

And her hips... Silas’s eyes involuntarily tracked downward with his throat suddenly going completely dry.

Her thighs were thick, muscular, and powerful, perfectly balanced by a gloriously round and curvaceous backside that filled out the tight fabric of her shorts with breathtaking fullness.

"Damn, Morwenna," Silas chuckled, his voice dropping into a low appreciative rumble as he crossed his arms, admiring the view without the slightest shame. "Looking dangerous tonight... That sharkskin fits you like a glove."

Morwenna paused, reaching over to the weapon rack and plucking two blunted practice swords carved from dense heavy ironwood.

Her ears went faintly hot beneath her dark unruly locks, but she kept her chin lifted with fierce brazen swagger.

"Glad you like the view, Captain," Morwenna smirked, tossing one of the wooden swords across the ring. "Take it in while you can... Because once we cross blades, you won’t have time to stare."

Silas caught the heavy ironwood hilt cleanly in his right palm, spinning the blunted blade in a fluid whistling circle before settling into an easy balanced stance.

He was genuinely thrilled for this.

Since departing Blessed Land, his cultivation had stabilized, his Gold Core had deepened, and his comprehension of the Tidal-Blade Arts had taken massive unprecedented leaps.

The Second Style, which Morwenna had claimed would take decades of grueling bone-crushing repetition to even grasp, had practically unlocked itself within his mind after his battles against Sky and Morrighan, and he had finally mastered it in the cage by reading the currents through the fluid in his own eyes.

’I need to master the Third and Fourth styles,’ Silas resolved internally, his eyes sharpening with hunger. ’The First shears the horizon, the Sub-Style eliminates molecular friction, and the Second reads every opening before it forms. If I can add these two forms to my arsenal before we return to Blessed Land... my sword-arts will be practically untouchable.’

Across the basalt ring, Morwenna took a slow deep breath.

Her bountiful chest rose dramatically beneath the black sharkskin with her breasts bouncing with a heavy intoxicating jiggle as her breath caught in her throat.

’I hope this is erotic enough for him...’ Morwenna thought frantically, her heart hammering against her ribs like a runaway piston.

She was completely out of her depth when it came to seduction.

She was a pirate who had spent centuries barking orders at scurvy-ridden deckhands and cutting the throats of deep-sea leviathans!

She didn’t know how to bat her eyelashes, play coy behind a silk fan, or whisper sweet manipulative poetry into a man’s ear like Eluned did...

The only language Morwenna truly understood... was the language of violence.

The dance of crossing blades, the roar of blood in the ears, and the clash of unyielding wills.

’If I defeat him in battle...’ Morwenna reasoned with desperate logic with her grip tightening on the ironwood hilt, ’...if I push him to his limits, show him the full terrifying beauty of my blade, and leave him breathless and bleeding on the floorboards... Captain will get hard as iron! He’ll look at my strength, he’ll look at this body, and he’ll want to pin me against the wall and ravish me until the foundations crack!’

Compared to Eluned’s slender frame, Morwenna knew she had more meat, more muscle, and an undeniably fatter curvier ass! Why in the world would her Captain ever reject her?!

’And if battle fails to get him hard...’ she resolved fiercely with a dark blush burning her neck, ’...I’ll just drop my sword, fall to my knees, and beg him like a shameless whore! But first... let’s see how much my student has grown!’

They stood five paces apart, their breathing misting softly in the cool enchanted air of the ring.

A single bead of sweat formed at Morwenna’s temple, sliding slowly down the sharp contour of her cheekbone, tracking along her jawline, and clinging to the edge of her chin.

The world held its breath.

Drip!

The droplet fell, striking the polished basalt floor with a microscopic imperceptible splash...

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

The floorboards detonated as both figures blurred simultaneously, vanishing from their positions in a concussive shockwave of displaced air.

CLAAAAAANG!

The two ironwood blades collided in dead center, sending a deafening crack reverberating through the barrier.

The phantom pressure of heavy water erupted from their hilts, blasting outward in an invisible circular shockwave that rippled the basalt tiles as the basalt cracked in a ring around their boots!

Morwenna’s lips peeled back in a feral battle-hungry grin as she dropped her weight with her leading elbow driving forward to snap a brutal close-quarters thrust toward Silas’s throat.

Silas didn’t blink.

With a loose fluid flick of his wrist, the foundational Base Flow of the Tidal-Blade Arts, he caught the flat of her descending blade at a sharp fifteen-degree angle, pulling his center of gravity backward rather than pushing against her momentum.

The phantom heavy-water burst from his palm, cleanly deflecting her thrust over his left shoulder...

Simultaneously, Silas pivoted on his rear heel with his right leg whipping out in a vicious lightning-fast front kick aimed squarely at her exposed solar plexus.

’Good boy...’

THUD!

Morwenna didn’t dodge.

She tightened her abdominal muscles into solid granite, intentionally eating the force of the kick directly into her stomach.

BANG!

The breath exploded from her teeth in a sharp hiss, but she didn’t budge an inch.

’It’s like kicking a wall!’ Silas thought.

Instead, she used the point of contact as a fulcrum with her left hand snaking out like an iron vice to clamp around Silas’s ankle, while her ironwood blade swept low in a brutal sweeping hook that swept his supporting leg clean out from under him.

WHOOSH!

The arena spun as the lamplight smeared into gold streaks... and Silas was thrown into the air with his balance completely compromised, spinning horizontally three feet off the ground.