Chapter 41: Combat

Chapter 41: Combat

"Yes," Drevolan responded while squaring off with his adversary. "It wouldn't be a fair fight otherwise."

"Ah. Naturally. How foolish of me."

The adversaries drew closer, and Drevolan's opponent nervously eyed the sword and licked her lips.

"Don't fret," Drevolan reassured. "It only does what I command."

The other nodded and assumed a defensive stance, her left hand forward, clutching the dagger. Drevolan mirrored her, unsheathed his dagger, and initiated the attack with his sword, which she blocked. She aimed her dagger at his abdomen, but he dodged and countered with a swift thrust to her chest.

Blood flowed. Drevolan stepped back and saluted.

I turned to Drevolan, "Am I up next, or are you battling them all?"

One of the Dragonlords awaiting their turn retorted, "You're up, Shortlives," as he stepped forward, brandished his sword, and squared off against me.

"Alright," I replied, quickly pulling out a throwing knife from my cloak and launching it into his throat.

"Viktor!" Drevolan cried out.

"I've taken care of my opponent," I responded, observing the man struggling on the ground, a few feet away from Drevolan's victim. The sound of unsheathing swords resonated. Opal dashed towards someone as I drew my rapier. It dawned on me that I might have breached some sort of social etiquette.

There are moments when you simply have to rely on someone. Liora would have been my first choice, but her whereabouts were unknown. So, I handed Thorne some cash and requested him to procure a seven-inch-bladed stiletto, discreetly. He accomplished the task within an afternoon, not raising any queries.

I checked the knife's balance and approved of it. I dedicated an hour to honing the tip in my apartment. Although it shouldn't have taken that long, I was more accustomed to sharpening blades for slicing veggies or meat, not piercing bodies. It's a distinct art. Once it was sharp enough, I painted the blade and, after some contemplation, the handle, with a layer of matte black. I left the actual edge of the blade unpainted.

As I finished, evening was setting in. I returned to Fedya's place, positioning Opal in the window. I took a spot around the corner and began my vigil.

"Well, Opal? Is he there?"

"Mmm... yes, boss, I see him."

"Is he accompanied by his pal?"

"Yes. And a few more."

"Are you certain you're concealed?"

"Don't fret about it, boss."

"Alright. We'll hang tight, then."

I rehearsed my plan, or what little of it existed, a couple of times mentally, then settled down for a considerable wait. I kept myself entertained by constructing snippets of terrible poetry, which reminded me of a Terran girl named Lilia, who I'd dated for a few months the previous year. Hailing from South Avandryl, where the majority of humans reside, she was likely drawn to me due to my wealth and perceived toughness. I guess I am quite resilient, upon reflection.

Regardless, her influence was beneficial, though short-lived. She desired affluence and sophistication, and had a disputatious streak. Learning to hold my tongue when insulted by Imperion punks was a work in progress for me, and she was instrumental in that, given that the only way to tolerate her was by biting my tongue when she blurted outrageous comments about Imperions or the Vorgan or whatever. Our time together was enjoyable, but she ultimately left for one of the island duchies that offered generous remuneration for human singers. I missed her, albeit mildly.