Chapter 196 - 194: Re-match.

Chapter 196: Chapter 194: Re-match.

​"Who?" Rogard states blankly, and blinks a little when Binny nods in the direction he’d apparently been blatantly staring, " Master ?" He understands how he could come across that way, but... "...He’s not so bad, really."

​"You’re joking , right?" Khobi snorts, still rubbing the side of his head that had taken the brunt of the force when Drogger had smacked their heads together and looking put out by it, " What ? He’s a lot stronger than he looks."

​"Yeah," Rogard hums in agreement, absent-mindedly patting the lump that Khobi’s thick, dumb skull has left on his, "...He is."

​Against his better judgement, Rogard flashes back to an alleyway in town, and the way Drogger had caged him up against a wall.

​He really is .

Fortunately, Khobi redirects the conversation before Rogard gets too carried away.

​"Anyway," he states, directing his attention to Binny, whose gaze snaps away from Rogard where it had lingered, almost thoughtfully, "I thought I told you not to go easy on them."

​It’s Rogard’s turn to stare. That was going easy ? Now he definitely wants a turn.

​"Ah, you caught me~" Binny snickers, hardly even sounding guilty at having been caught.

"Sorry, master . It won’t happen again." The inflection to the word master makes a vein bulge dangerously in Khobi’s forehead, and Montrel and Gandy forget their feud just long enough to cackle maniacally at the aggrieved expression that fans out across his face.

​" I told you not to call me that !"

​...

​No one is surprised when Loac finally makes his approach.

​It was only a matter of time before he found his way there.

​Binny –collapsed against the fence, sweating from every bare inch of skin and his hair in an absolute shambles –is the first to see him, but he’s so exhausted from going so many rounds with the soldiers that all he can do is point, and by then it’s too late.

By then, Loac’s already knocked Montrel clean out of the way and is halfway over the fence.

​"Yo, Khobi," he calls out thickly as he lands, and brushes his hair back to reveal a face like thunder. It straight up stops Montrel dead in his tracks.

In all his years spent chasing him down, he’s never seen Loac’s never looked at him with an expression anywhere near as intense as that.

"You comin’ or what?"

​It’s a challenge, and without hesitation, Khobi accepts.

​"Oh, this oughta be good," Gandy remarks with a wicked grin, leaning into the railing and waving over the soldiers from the sparring ring closest to them as Khobi hurdles the fence and barrel into the ring, sword at the ready.

​Because who doesn’t love a spectacle?

​The tension that kicks into the air as they close in on each other is nauseating.

Even without a blade in hand Loac is capable of exuding a kind of pressure that is downright suffocating, but with one he feels indomitable.

Montrel doesn’t know how Khobi manages to keep moving towards him –his own knees are shaking against his will, and he’s just on the outside looking in.

​Maybe that’s just the difference between him and them.

​Khobi moves first, and they begin.

​And Gandy’s right. It’s good.

​Incredible, even.

​He’s watching intently –they all are –but he doesn’t even see whose blade lands first.

It happens so fast, and with such force that those nearest to the space their swords meet reel backwards as though knocked back by some unseen force, and the tune that the blades strike up is breakneck, and piercing.

It sings for blood as they beat each other back across the dirt, taking it in turns to push and pull; sweeping and ducking and weaving around each other like dancing wisps of smoke or leaves caught in a gale.

Even Montrel occasionally has trouble keeping up, and even though he knows first hand how fast Khobi is, every time Loac comes flying in for him, his hands grip the wooden railing until his knuckles are white.

​But every time, Khobi is there to meet him. Sometimes he parries him, sometimes he dodges aside, and sometimes he isn’t quite fast enough, but even when he breaks away with blood dripping off his body to find Loac’s slade stained red, he readies himself for more. Calls for it, even.

​And Loac’s answers leave the crowd speechless.

​(Because of course a crowd has gathered, Drogger be damned.)

​This Loac is not the same as the one they know. He’s not even the same as the one who had spent this morning pacing out drills like he could do them in his sleep.

They all have the same shape and the same face, but the air surrounding him now is thick, and turbulent, and feels oddly charged, like there’s a kind of static gathering in the space around him.

It somehow feels like the universe is sucking in a breath, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s trying to swallow them whole, or about to howl into the abyss.

It builds each time their blades meet; each time Loac tries to force his way through Khobi’s guard and finds his way barred, and each time Khobi returns the favour.

Khobi must feel it too; there’s no way he doesn’t –not enveloped in it as he is –but if the expression he’s wearing is anything to go by, he relishes it.

​He’s steaming . Not out of rage, but something else. It spurs him on; drives him in and out and through whenever Loac comes in too close.

Which he always is. And his blade is never far behind, one moment flitting lightly from one place to the next and then shearing through the air as if trying to cleave the world in two the next.

It seems impossible that each movement transitions into the next –soldiers just don’t move like that –yet Loac makes it look so goddamned effortless, seamlessly weaving beats of stillness and silence in amongst the chaos; making trying to react to his next move like trying to catch lightning.

Lured in by the flashes of brilliance, Khobi reaches for it anyways only to have it dance from his grasp; laughing as it plays with him.