Chapter 164: Teaching Time [2]
A streak of color burst from the shadows, jewels glittering along the curve of a dagger. It came straight for my neck, too clean, too sharp to be anything but fatal.
"—!"
I bent back hard, my spine groaning, then kicked off the ground. The blade whispered past, close enough to shear a strand of hair, and I flipped backward, landing heavy but upright. My knees shook, but I hadn’t fallen.
Doran clicked his tongue, stepping out of the smoke with the blade still gleaming in his hand. "Tch. Avoided that, did you?"
He wasn’t even winded.
I dragged air into my lungs, steadying my grip on Silent Fang.
He studied me for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and genuine surprise. "We’ve only been apart a short while... and yet you’ve already reached this state."
My chest still heaved, but I managed a crooked grin. "What can I say? Guess talent runs in me after all."
Doran barked out a laugh, sharp and cutting, though his eyes never lost that dangerous glint.
"Talent, huh? Don’t flatter yourself, boy. Talent might get you through a dance or two, but it won’t keep you alive when your legs give out. What you showed just now wasn’t talent—it was luck."
I lifted Silent Fang and leveled the blade between us. "If it was just luck, then try me again. Let’s see if luck can keep me standing twice."
"Oh?" Doran’s smirk widened into something more wolfish. "Brat’s got teeth now."
He shifted his stance, rolling his dagger between his fingers like it weighed nothing. His shoulders were loose, posture lazy, but every twitch of his body screamed predator.
"You know what separates talent from mastery?" he asked, tilting his head. "Talent wins you a fight. Mastery makes sure you never even have to draw your blade."
"And here I thought thieves liked showing off."
Doran chuckled, circling me, boots whispering against the stone. "Showing off? Please. If you’re good enough, no one even knows you were there. You, though..." He jabbed the dagger at me, not close enough to hit but close enough to taunt. "You’re noisy. Like a pup stomping through snow."
I narrowed my eyes. "Better noisy than rotting in someone’s shadow."
That struck a nerve. For just a heartbeat, the grin on his face faltered, replaced by something sharper, colder. "Careful, boy. Shadows are what keep fools like you alive. Forget that, and you’ll end up just another corpse that bragged too loud."
"Or I’ll be the corpse that drags the wolf down with him."
His laugh came low, deep, carrying more amusement than anger. "Good. That’s the kind of spirit I like to kill—or sharpen. Let’s see which you are."
He lunged.
This time, I didn’t wait. Silent Fang snapped up, catching his dagger in a shriek of metal. Sparks leapt between us as our blades locked, his strength heavier than I expected. My wrist shook under the pressure, but I gritted my teeth and shoved back.
"Not bad," he muttered, eyes glittering. "You’re learning. But you’re still too eager. Counterattacks aren’t about meeting force with force. They’re about making me miss before I even swing."
With a twist of his wrist, he slipped free of my blade and slashed low for my ribs.
I turned my body, letting the attack whistle past, and drove my knee forward. He caught it with his palm, the blow reverberating between us, but his grin didn’t fade.
"Now you’re thinking," Doran said, voice rough with approval. "But don’t think for a second you’ve got me figured out. The counterattack is a patient man’s weapon. And patience... is the one thing you lack."
I exhaled, steadying my stance. My pulse hammered in my ears, but the grin pulling at my lips matched his now.
"Then I guess you’ll just have to beat it into me, teacher."
He tilted his head back and laughed, the sound echoing against the stone walls.
"Brat, don’t tempt me. You might not walk out of this chamber if I take that offer seriously."
"Then don’t hold back."
The instant I felt that murderous intent crawl up my neck, my body moved on instinct. I twisted and leapt back, the dagger’s edge whispering past so close it stole a strand of hair from me.
My boots hit the ground hard, knees almost buckling. I didn’t even think about counterattacking—I barely got away with my skin intact.
And already, my body screamed at me. My stamina bled out fast, and worse, I felt a sharp tug at my core. Mana drained like someone scooping it straight out of my skull, leaving behind a dull ache that throbbed behind my eyes.
So that was the cost. Evading a strike like that, from someone of his level, wasn’t just physical—it tore mana from me as if survival itself had a price.
"Tch..." I steadied my breath, Silent Fang shaking slightly in my grip.
Then Doran’s smirk glinted through the haze, his dagger spinning lazily in his fingers as if he hadn’t even tried. "You dodged. Not bad. But if that’s all you’ve got, boy, you won’t last."
"Shut it," I growled. My chest burned, but I forced my legs to move.
The best defense is offense. If I gave him a moment, he’d vanish back into the smoke, set another trap, and I’d be nothing but his prey. I couldn’t let him control the pace.
So I lunged first.
Mana pulsed down my arms, forcing my muscles into motion despite their protest. Silent Fang cut through the air, a silver arc aiming for the smirk on his face.
"Now it’s my turn!"
Doran’s eyes widened—not with fear, but with something fiercer. Interest. The smoke still curled around us, shadows shifting, but for the first time, he stopped retreating.
He met my strike head-on.
Steel rang, sparks spit into the dark, and in that clash I realized something terrifying:
He hadn’t even used his full speed before.
This—this was just him warming up.