CHAPTER 52: SPAR [2]

"It’s a deal then, don’t back out later," Ray smirked as we both stepped into a dueling ring.

The ring was nothing special — just a wide circle of packed dirt, bordered by waist-high wooden posts and rope. Nothing grand, nothing dramatic.

Me and Ray stood inside it, the air thick with that pre-fight tension people love to romanticize.

I grinned and summoned Enkidu, the golden chains curling lazily in the air like they were bored too.

Here’s the thing, though, in the novel, Ray’s childhood was one big "how to make a psychopath" speedrun.

Poison, starvation, watching his family die, getting stabbed, cut, and burned — you name it, he collected the experience like trading cards.

So when Aurelia swooped in and saved him, the guy basically fell in love on the spot. And not the cute, healthy kind of love. I’m talking full-blown "I will murder entire bloodlines for you" devotion.

Over time, in the middle of the novel, that devotion twisted into obsession. He became a mass murderer with all the empathy of a brick.

No hesitation, no second thoughts — if you even breathed wrong near Aurelia, you were gone.

Eventually, in the novel, he got "cured."

This all happened way later.

But the thing is... some events from the story have already been shifted forward. Which means I can’t just sit back and assume he’s still on schedule.

So, I had to check it.

And what do you think is the best way to check? It’s to get him to rage. Push the right buttons until he showed me whether the monster was still under the skin.

Which, yes, is why we’re here.

What? You thought I was just some arrogant blond-haired young master challenging the protagonist on day one for bragging rights?

Please, I’m not that suicidal.

Ray stood in front of me with dual daggers in his hands.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Whenever you are," I said, flashing him the kind of shameless grin that usually makes people want to punch me.

He didn’t bite. Just kept that calm stare.

"So, are you going to make the first move?" I asked. "Or are we just going to stand here until someone dies of boredom?"

"You talk too much," he said.

"And you talk too little. We balance each other out. Cute, isn’t it?"

I kept his eyes on me. "You know, for someone who trains this much, you really—"

One of my chains shot towards him from behind.

The youth spun at the last second, one dagger flashing down to catch it in mid-lunge. The metal links rang against the blade, scattering sparks before he shoved it back.

"Hm." He smirked faintly. "From behind? Bold."

I shrugged. "I call it efficiency. Why fight fair when I can win?"

Right now, he wasn’t even using his grimoire. Now, was the chance for me to take him down. But first, I needed to make him rage using Aurelia.

Ray shifted his stance, daggers at the ready, his eyes locked on me like I’d just insulted his cooking.

I let Enkidu’s chains sway between us, each movement calculated to annoy him. "So," I said, circling to the side, "how’s Princess Aurelia these days? Still shining like a perfect little doll on a pedestal?"

He didn’t answer, just tracked me with that calm, patient focus.

"I mean," I continued, letting a chain whip out toward his feet, "she must be exhausting to protect. All that smiling and waving... pretending to care about everyone. Honestly, I don’t know how you stand being her shadow."

Ray sidestepped, dagger flashing to deflect the chain before darting in with a slash at my side. I twisted away, grinning.

"Or maybe you don’t care about the ’princess’ part at all," I added, snapping another chain at his shoulder. "Maybe you’re just hopelessly in love, following her around like some loyal puppy."

His jaw tightened — just a little.

"Ohhh, hit a nerve?" I said, ducking under his next swing and sending two chains forward in a pincer. He spun, blades clashing against the golden links, sparks dancing in the air.

Ray’s voice was low, steady. "Careful, Loki."

"Why? Afraid I’ll say something true?" I pressed, letting my grin stretch wider. "She’s beautiful, sure. But you do realize she’d replace you in a heartbeat if she had to, right?"

For the first time, his movement got sharper — faster. His next strike had more force, the twin daggers cutting arcs that made me backpedal.

"Ohhh, there it is," I teased. "A little fire. Little more and maybe I’ll get to see the real you."

He didn’t rise to the bait completely. His breathing was even, but his eyes... his eyes were colder now.

Still holding back.

I was close, though. And if I could push him just a little further, I’d know whether the monster was still there.

I circled him slowly, chains swaying, a grin firmly in place. "You know," I said, "for all that talk about her being the ’gentle and kind’ princess... I’ve seen guard dogs with better manners. At least they wag their tails."

Ray didn’t react — just kept his blade up, eyes sharp.

"And her voice," I went on, "it’s like warm honey. If the honey was laced with poison. And judgment. And... you know... boredom."

He parried a chain without a word, his movements crisp, disciplined.

"Honestly," I added, "I think she has people rehearse conversations with her beforehand. Just so no one says anything interesting by accident."

Ray lunged forward quickly, but there was no heat in it. Just perfect technique.

"Oh, come on, Ray," I mocked, ducking a slash. "Not even a twitch? I’m insulting your one true love here. I expected at least a little frothing at the mouth. Maybe a vow of vengeance. Something."

He sidestepped another chain strike, exhaling slowly, like I was an annoying fly he refused to swat out of principle.

"And another thing," I said, leaning in just enough to make it personal, "if she wasn’t royalty, you know what she’d be? That one girl at the market who sells overpriced flowers and looks offended if you ask for change."

Still nothing.

I straightened, disappointed. "Wow. Guess I overestimated your tragic devotion. I thought I’d get fireworks, or at least a death threat."

Ray tilted his head as he was ready to attack again. "You done? Now let’s spar for real."

I let the chains retract with a faint rattle.

The chains slithered back into my grimoire.

I dusted my sleeves like I’d just finished polishing silverware. "Draw," I announced. "Good match. You did almost... ten percent as well as me."

Ray frowned. "Wait, draw? I didn’t—"

"Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to thank me." I waved him off like some benevolent king. "I’m generous. It’s exhausting."

"No, I mean—"

"I know. You’re speechless. Happens a lot around me."

"That’s not—"

I held up a finger. "Shh. Let’s not ruin the sportsmanship moment. Everyone saw. We shook hands. It’s official."

"We didn’t shake hands."

"Right, we did the imaginary handshake. Very advanced technique. You’re welcome for teaching it to you."

He took a step closer, looking annoyed. "Loki, I’m saying it wasn’t—"

"Oh, look at the time!" I spun toward the courtyard like I’d just remembered an urgent appointment. "I have fans to greet and peasants to inspire."

"I’m not agreeing to a draw!"

"Love your enthusiasm, Ray!" I called over my shoulder, walking away faster.

"I mean it!"

"I know!" I yelled back. "That’s what makes it funny!"

***

That was the last thing Ray heard from me before I decided my glorious work for the day was done.

Look, I’m a man of many talents—strategy, charm, looking great while doing both. But "getting beaten up in the training field" is not on my list.

The crowd had already started to gather; sticking around risked the very fragile balance between my public image and my face staying unpunched.

So, naturally, I ran.

Not the panicked kind of run — oh no.

This was a heroic retreat. A dignified withdrawal. I even made sure my coat flared dramatically behind me so people would think, "Wow, he’s too cool for this place."

Out in the field again, I found a nice shady tree, sat down, and congratulated myself for another job perfectly done.

My plan had been simple: irritate Ray just enough to make him mad, show off my chains, declare the match a draw before he could stab me, and leave. Executed flawlessly.

Some people might say that’s "cheating" or "cowardice." I call it "tactical brilliance."

Why waste energy on winning when you can just... declare you’ve already won?

Besides, Ray would have only gotten more annoyed, and then I’d have to dodge daggers again.

My reflexes are amazing, obviously, but why test perfection when it’s already perfect?

A couple of passing students whispered something about me "running away."

I gave them my best smile and said, "No, no. I was simply done winning for today." They looked confused, which is exactly the effect I was going for.