Kastori Devastations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 2) (6 page)

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll let you go after three rounds. And listen to me. I can make this super quick for you while still giving you lessons. Or. I can toy with you for the next couple of hours until you get worn down and lose because your shoulders can’t support holding the sword up.”

Cyrus smirked, focused.
He knows he wins either way.

“Celeste, would you care to alternate with Cyrus? It would do you well.”

“Oh, I’m good, I like watching you two fight. But maybe when you two are done, I’ll jump in.”

Crystil shook her head as she turned her attention back to Cyrus, who was now tossing the sword between his hands like a small ball.
What… what is he even…

“This isn’t you fighting in a simulation, Cyrus. Don’t be stupid and don’t do anything you wouldn’t do in a battle,” she said, her voice firm but not cold.

“That’s so boring,” Cyrus said, but he stopped tossing the sword between his hands and gripped it properly.
At least he remembers something.

Celeste suddenly groaned loudly and grabbed her head, falling to her knees. Cyrus dropped his sword and Crystil put hers in her sheath as they both ran over to the young girl.

“Celeste!” Cyrus yelled as he lifted her back to her feet.

“You OK?” Crystil asked.

“I…” Celeste said. “I don’t know what that was. A sudden rush of something. It was so painful.”

“Get some rest,” Crystil said. “You hungry?”

“Not anymore,” Celeste said as she rubbed her head. “I’m… gonna go in
Omega
, if that’s OK, Crystil.”

“Of course,” she said.
Take your time. It’ll force me to stay here and not retreat and isolate myself.

“Thanks. I’ll be back out later.”

She looked at Cyrus, and the two seemed to lock eyes for quite some time.
Wonder if they just know what the other is thinking. To be that close as siblings. To speak a language you don’t actually speak. Wonder if I could ever have something like that.

Celeste smiled to Crystil as she went past her and to the ship. Crystil was curious at how Celeste awkwardly ran to the ship.
What’s that important to push through pain like that?

“Let me grab my sword before we begin, can’t let this be an unfair fight,” Cyrus said as he walked back to his weapon.

“What, and that won’t be when you have a weapon?” Crystil jabbed back.

Cyrus responded with a gesture that, six months ago, might have infuriated Crystil and compelled her to give a speech on respect to superiors. Now, seeing his hand raised his finger held high, she just laughed.
His humor’s all right, once you get used to it. And really, what would Cyrus be without the loose attitude?

Just the male version of me. Let that never happen.

Stay the way you are, buddy. You’re pretty cool.

She glanced at the ship, where Celeste had vanished. She figured the girl would assume her seat inside the cockpit and meditate the pain away, as she caught Celeste doing often in the past few months.

She turned to see Cyrus having found his sword, and he raised it high in the sky triumphantly before pointing it toward Crystil.

“Crystil Bradford,” he projected as if giving a great speech. “I, the great and mighty Emperor Cyrus Orthran, have come to do battle with you. This may be our final battle. Do you have any last words?”

Oh, this is too easy.

“Yeah,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Don’t ever hold your sword like that. I’ll knock it out of your hand before you have the chance to even jab.”

Cyrus’ attention went to his wrist, and he gave a loud sigh as he tightened and turned back to Crystil.

“Not so famous last words,” he said, and he charged. “Battle!”

Crystil smirked, having not yet even raised her sword. Based on the way Cyrus was running with his sword, she wouldn’t even need to until the last moment.

“Easier than the simulation,” she mumbled to herself as Cyrus closed in.

9

Cyrus rushed toward Crystil like the angry ursus had toward him earlier, determined to finally beat her in training.
She’s gotten me too many times. I’m going to overwhelm her and claim victory.

His speed received an extra boost from the adrenaline pumping inside him. His right hand gripped the sword with such vigor, it might as well have become a part of him. His eyes locked in on his target, his peripheral vision vanishing. Crystil smirked, and Cyrus sought nothing more than to erase it and replace it with an open mouth of fear.

Gonna finish her here. Beat her, finally. And if I don’t… well, she won’t kill me.

I think.

I hope.

He closed to mere feet from Crystil, close enough that he could’ve chucked the sword accurately. As he got closer, though, his thoughts shifted from determined to nervous as her smile vanished in favor of narrowed, steeled eyes, a stoic expression and a tensing of the body, like a balicae coiling to launch its body.
Oh boy, move fast, think fast, act fast, no, don’t think, instinct, Cyrus, inst—

He came to her, and he lunged. But he overextended himself, having lunged too soon, and he fell forward. Crystil sidestepped, so close to the blade that part of her hair whistled in the air, and before Cyrus knew what had happened, his weight carried him forward to the ground. His right foot slammed into something hard, sending sharp pain from his ankle up through his shin. He cried as he fell to the ground, and before he could reach back to grab his lower leg, that same strong object—Crystil’s artificial foot—had pinned his right arm and his sword on the ground. He felt a prick between his shoulder blades.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, you’ve got a sword right on your spine,” Crystil said.

Cyrus groaned and gave up, defeated once more too easily. He let go of the sword.

“You were right about one thing, Cyrus. If I wanted it so, this would be our final battle.”

“Agh,” Cyrus cried out in pain as her foot dug into his arm, right on his elbow, creating sharp, searing pain. “You’re cheating! If I had an artificial foot I could win too.”

“Oh?”

Her foot lifted, but before Cyrus could pull his arm toward his body, a new foot came in, still wearing combat boots, but not quite as strong. Unfortunately, it was still strong enough to keep him pinned.

“What’s your excuse now? If you could fight like a girl, you would’ve won?”

Cyrus tried to lull Crystil into a trap—a trap he had not thought out at all—by going silent and letting his breathing slow down. It tested his patience, as Crystil didn’t check on his health immediately. But the opportunity came when she lifted her blade.

“Cyrus,” she said, more of a reminder than a question.

“My excuse… is you’re too slow!”

He threw an immense amount of force at her, rolling toward his right, trying to knock her off balance with his body. Instead, she played into it, thrusting her other knee into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him as her sword went inches from his throat.

“I will admit, I haven’t had this much fun in a while,” she said. “If you surrender, I’ll let you breathe.”

Cyrus, gasping for breath and in agonizing pain, gave the same gesture as before with his left hand.

“Surrender to me, Cyrus,” Crystil said.

“OK, OK!” he gasped, raising his hands. Crystil got up, and Cyrus took quick, deep breaths in. She offered him her hand, and after he had recovered, he accepted it and she hoisted him off the ground. She put her hand firmly on his shoulder, and for once, Cyrus wanted anything but her touched.

“Running full speed into battle like that might inspire your troops, but if you actually carry it to your enemy, it’s a good way to die,” she said, helping him dust off the grass and dirt on his clothing. “You ran so fast there was no way you could control yourself. The line between moving fast and being thrown off course is dangerously thin, and you as a green combatant need to stay far from it. You need to be quick but in control. Take the initiative, but don’t abuse it.”

Cyrus listened intently to the recap, but it was hard to ignore the sharp pain in his elbow and core. He would have gotten Celeste and have her cast healing spells in front of Crystil, if not for wanting to stay with his interest.

“Here,” she said, and she handed him the sword. “Grab it with two hands. You using one hand is the easiest way for me to get it out of you, especially since you aren’t experienced enough.”

She grabbed his hands and showed him how to grip the sword, sending warm sensations through Cyrus despite the immense pain. He noticed a discernible difference, too—the sword felt like less of a steel blade in his hands and more like an extension of himself.

“You could eventually learn how to use a sword one-handed, but that’s far off. I wouldn’t even try it until you can fight two-handed on instinct alone.”

“And what, still lose to you?”

“Duh,” Crystil said with a smile. “But just because you lose to me doesn’t mean you would lose in other battles. My goal is to raise your skills to just below mine.”

“What, not above yours?”

“Only you could teach yourself that,” Crystil said. “And that’s assuming I don’t ever teach myself. And you know I won’t let that happen. I can’t have my rookie beating me.”

“Rookie?” Cyrus said with wide eyes.

“Mmhmm,” she said. “You’ll get it eventually. Don’t worry about it.”

Say something. Go for it.

“Only cuz I have a rather attractive teacher motivating me to reach the top.”

Crystil gave no verbal response, but her blush gave Cyrus confidence to go for a second round of sparring.

“I want a rematch,” he said. “Show what I’ve learned from the best.”

“I do too, I don’t think I produced a single drop of sweat in that round.”

Cyrus shook his head as Crystil playfully pushed him. He walked about ten feet and turned to Crystil, who had remarkably already shifted from flirtatious, funny woman to stoic soldier.

“Ready?” he asked, holding his sword out with two hands this time.

Crystil gave a nod. Cyrus approached slowly—at nearly a walking pace—and when he came within range, he swung, and the two began parrying each other’s attacks, each one searching for a weakness. Crystil moved incredibly fast in combat, making Cyrus wondered if the girl was also Kastori, capable of moving at super speeds during battle.
No, don’t get crazy. She’s the best my father had.

Cyrus tried incorporating the environment to his advantage, backing up to a hill to give him the higher ground. Crystil, though, looped around him.

“Higher ground only works if I have nowhere else to go,” she said, and though Cyrus got frustrated and dropped his guard, Crystil blitzing him quickly refocused him.

The two clanged blades and approached the forest, and turned his back to the forest. He glanced back, trying to figure out if running into the forest would provide him an advantage. But before he could reach an answer, Crystil hit his sword with such force that it knocked him back into a tree. He held his blade up, and the two blades collided with a sharp shrill. Crystil and Cyrus stood so close that as Crystil leaned in, pressing Cyrus against the tree trunk, their bodies touched.

“You’re trapped, you know,” she said. “I could kill you in so many different ways right now.”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Cyrus said. “I still have my sword on me. I can free—”

He felt a sharp knee collide with his thigh, and his grip weakened in response to the pain. Crystil quickly knocked his blade to the ground, and she grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and held her sword up.

“You were saying?”

Cyrus sighed, knowing resistance was entirely futile.

“Well, I’m not even gonna try and talk my way out of this one. I surrender.”

Crystil released his collar and pulled the sword back. Cyrus massaged the spot on his thigh where Crystil had hit him.

“You don’t show any mercy during these training sessions, do you?”

“Do you think an enemy like Typhos would?”

Cyrus didn’t respond, mostly because he had no way of countering the argument.

“Just don’t break my kidney,” he said, drawing a smile from his commander. “How did I do?”

“Better,” she said. “Much better, actually. You learned the lessons, but you didn’t quite execute them properly. We already went over why running to the hill, while not bad, didn’t really do much. And I know you were thinking about how the forest could help you, but the last thing you want to do is think during the middle of a battle. Your mind should be shut down, you should be working on pure instinct. I saw you turn around and take a second to think, and at that moment, you were on defense until I let you up.”

“Hmm,” Cyrus said.
Interesting. This is actually quite cool. I like having her go all out.
“But my technique?”

“It’s good, it’s not great. You’re so strong that you can get away with subpar technique, but if you combine great technique with your—”