Resolution (III)

  “A-A fight? You want us to fight?!”

  Angelica’s words practically tripped on their way out. Shock, confusion, bewilderment—a whole slew of reasonably fresh expressions suddenly usurped the mournful look on her face.

  The brand-new spectrum of disbelief had all but erased it.

  “Hehehe~ It’s exactly what you’re thinking, I want us to duel one-on-one. If you win and you think I’m a weakling, then I’ll withdraw myself from the mission. But!” Cyril added with a grin, sharpening his eyes on her “...If I win then we’re teaming up to catch Scarecrow, end of story. What do you think, it’s a good idea right?”

  He wasn’t looking at the stupefied Angelica, rather, the question was actually meant for the woman beside her.

  Yelena gave a curt nod.

  “He has a point young miss. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter I still need to confirm the extent of his skill myself since I can’t accompany you inside the dungeon. He needs to prove that he’s worthy of being your partner.”

  Cyril agreed with Yelena’s declaration, even if he thought the wording itself was a little strange. Regardless of whether she’d already discerned his true intentions or not, he couldn’t miss this chance. It was the fastest way, and currently the only method he could think up to get Angelica back on her feet.

  His plan worked.

  Trapped between the pressure of their unrelenting gazes, Angelica reluctantly gave in.

  “Fineeee...” she said, elongating the word. “It’s about time I resumed my training anyway, and its early in the morning so the training hall is probably free right now since Bianca and the others aren't usually around at this time of day.”

  “Great, then let’s head to the training hall miss Regis.” Cyril grinned, lightly scratching his nose.

  “Somehow I feel like I’ve been tricked into this, and now I have to change again...” Angelica let out a small, grumpy sound of chagrin as she pushed herself up from the sofa and disappeared through the doorway.

  “I commend you for proposing such a bold idea, but unless you have the strength to back it up this is only going to end up creating more problems.” Yelena mused aloud, her thoughts flowing on a wave of contemplation.

  Cyril mulled over her words, wondering if they were actually meant to be some kind of warning. Eventually he dismissed it, even if that was the case, whatever assessment she previously had of him was long outdated by now.

  This time, things were different.

  “Do you truly believe that you have the strength to best her in close combat, by yourself?” Yelena pressed, crushing the last word under a heavy block of emphasis.

  After hearing that, Cyril was certain. A gleam of mischief flickered across his eyes as he turned to face the conflicted A-rank. Their discussion must have left Yelena without much of an appetite because the glass teacup steaming in front of her had yet to lose even a single drop.

  Cyril’s expression changed once their eyes met, as if it was meant to convey the surprising amount of willfulness in his tone: “Who said anything about besting her?”

  Soft footfalls echoed throughout a spacious hallway.

  Three people were moving along one of the lower sections of Wellington Crest’s vast condominium, their expressions portraying a complicated mix of concern, excitement, and reluctance.

  Angelica took the lead as she weaved through the open-air hall, her gaze set on the outdoor scenery flourishing with all manner of exotic plant life. Cyril and Yelena followed behind her—the latter maintaining a regal and dignified posture, while the former strolled casually with both hands locked behind his head as he sauntered down the sunlit hall.

  “Are you worried?” Cyril asked, his gaze zooming in on Angelica’s back.

  “Not for the young miss.” She replied sharply. “If you’re already getting cold feet about this, there's really no shame in withdrawing here you know. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you of all people this, but Angelica is strong.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, it would have worked wonders if you'd told me that a few days ago, but as I am now...” He trailed off, increasing his pace to break their steady rhythm.

  “...I’m not second rate anymore.”

  His audacious words still hung in the air and with that, the boy swiftly made his way into the radiant training hall. Even with all the faith she had in Angelica’s ability, having personally trained her for years, Yelena could find neither the strength nor the resolve to dispute his claim.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The training hall was surprisingly large for one located in such a modernized building. It occupied the lower floors at the rear of the condo complex, hidden away from the street-level view. Alabaster walls curved smoothly into a high, domed ceiling, where rows of fluorescent lights were bolted into the exposed metal framework—though none were lit at the moment. Aside from the weapon racks that lined the perimeter, the space resembled a minimalist gymnasium. What set it apart was the far end, where one entire wall had been replaced with reinforced glass, forming an open view of the surrounding skyline.

  Scanning the open room, Cyril took a moment to indulge in the charged atmosphere, the room felt alive, but in a quiet sort of way. He could feel the countless hours of practice, dedication and frustration that had been put into the place, feelings he was all too familiar with.

  The wall on the opposite end of the room was lined with a collection of vertically oriented practice swords held neatly upright by their racks.

  “Cyril catch!”

  Reacting to the sound, he turned to see a wooden practice sword swiveling towards him. He effortlessly snatched the replica from its flight path, and even though it was slightly chipped, the weapon felt remarkably just in his hands. "A replica huh? It's just like the ones we use at school."

  "These are magical conduits—made in the likeness of real artefacts and have no problem channeling magical energy up to a certain threshold."

  About ten meters away, Angelica—having donned more free moving clothing in the form of a lightly colored sweatpants and a pink tunic —stood ready with her own wooden blade. “So, how do you want to do this?” she asked, her soft voice filling the room near instantly.

  “We don’t have to do anything too fancy, just one hit will do. Whichever one of us manages to land a clean hit, disarm their opponent, or is unable to continue for whatever reason will be declared the winner. The use of magic and skills is allowed as well. How about that, are you fine with those conditions?” Cyril asked, scoping out their expressions.

  “I don’t mind but are you sure about this Cyril? I don’t mean to brag or anything, but you’ve seen what my unique skill can do right?” She’d spoken those words with a soft, almost merciful intonation as if she were an adult talking down to a child, but unfortunately, the girl's fragile compassion had fallen on deaf ears.

  Just as Yelena expected, Angelica’s opponent was having none of it.

  “That’s your problem.” Cyril declared, fueling more strength into his grip.

  His tone, expression, and presence—the combined effect of all three—left her speechless. Her face made it clear she was more than a little stunned.

  Angelica looked confused and intrigued at the same time; it was as if she didn’t quite know how to respond to his statement. Before she’d even realized it, her breathing had changed, it became sharp and focused, a clear indication of what her body was unconsciously preparing for.

  “You and Marcel have that in common. Well, in his case he had that trait in the past but not so much anymore. I don’t know if its something that's drilled into the members of the Origin Clans from their days of infancy, but regardless, the ones I’ve met so far all seem to have it in common...”

  Cyril took a step forward, his expression fierce and his gaze sharp enough to cut through the distance between them.

  “...In other words..” he continued. Settling an accusing finger on his baffled opponent.

  “...You’re looking down on me. You may not realize it yourself but, the training you've been put through since you were a child, your lineage, your power, all of these things combined have made you into who you are, but up until the incident in the dungeon, you’ve never truly lost to anyone have you? There’s never been a situation where you were completely helpless, unbale to do anything.”

  Her lips parted, primed for a response but Cyril rejected her retort simply by angling the wooden blade at her. “Superiority comes in many forms, in Marcel’s case, he shows it by reigning over others, but its different for you, Angelica. Since you possess strength greater than most people, you felt like its your sworn duty to protect them, until you couldn’t, and now you’re doubting your own strength because of it. You think its somehow your duty to protect everyone who’s weaker than you. That’s why we have to fight — to show you that we're equals, and that you need others to rely on too."

  “Are you saying you’re strong enough to defeat me now?”

  “No that’s not what I meant.” Cyril said, dismissing the thought with a shrug. “Defeating you and teaching you a lesson are two different things. I don’t need overwhelming strength for the latter, and besides, I can tell. Even as we’re talking here, you’re still doing it right now. You’re planning to hold back against me, aren’t you?”

  Angelica flinched; her body went stiff as if she'd been assaulted by his words.

  “...My apologies, I tend to react that way out of habit.” Her tone softened considerably, by now it was no louder than a whisper, and yet her resolve wasn’t shaken. If anything, it was only building by the second.

  By no means was the girl anxious or afraid, it was a simple matter of conviction. She was summoning enough willpower to steel herself and challenge the boy’s claims. People were often oblivious to their own flaws, but when confronted with them, more often than not denial was the usual response.

  One of the things humanity despised most was the acceptance of the truth—whether it was subconscious or not, acknowledging one’s flaws was never an easy thing.

  “Fine, you have my word. I’ll fight you for real.” Her vehement words—each one doused with an unwavering conviction— cut through the air like a blade, leaving no room for doubt.

  Angelica’s stance tightened, muscles coiled like a spring, as raw determination flared in her eyes. The air around her shifted completely, now charged and brimming with power from the vicious surge of aura spilling out of her.

  Upon seeing that, Cyril smiled a little, he didn’t need to see anything else to know that she was being serious now. “That’s more like it! I can assure you, I’m not as weak as you think princess.”

  He shifted into his own offensive stance, his blade angled low and poised like a predator waiting to strike. With only his eyes, he scanned the room for Yelena, and upon making eye contact, signaled his approval with a nod.

  Yelena stepped forth.

  “This duel will end when one of you submits, becomes unable to continue, or when the first clean hit is landed. Are you both ready?”

  Cyril exhaled slowly, his grip firming around the hilt of his wooden blade. His opponent gave a curt nod, eyes alight with challenge.

  A tense silence hung between them, charged like a drawn bowstring.

  “Very well then, you may begin.”