From all the challengers, only this one wao fight me, so Riker, with all the genius of a game show host hyped up on liters of whiskey, spread his arms wide. “Let the duel begin! Witness, oh esteemed audiehe csh of strength and skill!” His voice echoed through the arena, triggering a roar from the crowd.

  I didn’t wait for more dramatics.

  With a quick dash, I leapt onto the boulder, bang effortlessly as I narrowed my eyes at my challenger.

  He followed, not missing a beat, nding on the boulder opposite mih an agility that didn’t quite match his sants aesthetic. Standing tall, he clutched his wooden sword in both hands and announced, “I am Amogeng! Prepare yourself, Sword Queen, for my strength flows from the depths of my love!”

  Oh, great. One of those.

  My fiightened around my rapier, my jaw g. “Good to know, Amogeng,” I said, preparing my stand dagger.

  But he wasn’t listening. With a yell that rang across the hilly arena, he charged at me, sword raised high, ing down with a swing that could probably split Riker in half.

  Because I was cocky, I raised my rapier to parry, but the sheer force of his strike jolted through my arm like a shockwave.

  Damn, that’s strong!

  The impact sent me sliding backward, f me to leap off the boulder tain my footing before I got smacked into the audience.

  He didn’t let up.

  With another bellow, he unched himself after me, swinging his sword in a relentless barrage of fast, powerful strikes. Eae whistled through the air, the sound biting against my ears as I dodged and blocked where I could.

  This wasn’t some amateur swinging wildly. No, his attacks were trolled, banced, and annoyingly precise.

  He wasn’t giving me any openings—no careless footwork, ation, just pure strength and momentum. And, yeah, let’s not fet: he was a guy, which meant stronger arms, heavier blows, and more endurance. All things that made me grit my teeth harder with each strike I deflected.

  Wanna be Charlie regardless.

  “Still standing, Sword Queen?” he taunted between swings, his breath even, like this was some m jog for him. “Love empowers me! My passion fuels my strength!”

  “Awesome,” I muttered, dodging another heavy swing clumsily. “If you could el a little less love and a little more chill, that’d be great.”

  He didn’t respond—too busy charging at me again with that overzealous gleam in his eyes.

  I had to admit; he was good. His style was fast and aggressive, but never reckless. He pressed forward without overextending, keeping a solid bah every swing.

  Okay, Charlie, think. If he will not hand you a win on a silver ptter, you’ll just have to outmaneuver him.

  I shifted my stance, keeping my movements light and quick, waiting for just the right moment to strike back. Amogeng’s on was longer, heavier, and annoyingly well-suited to keep me at bay.

  Every time I tried to close the distance, he’d simply slide back with the ease of someone who clearly spent too many hours perfeg this dance of read retreat.

  Great.

  I just had to go for the style, didn’t I?

  I bit my lip, silently cursing myself. I could’ve picked something practical—a sword and shield aybe even a sturdy longsword. But no, I had to be dramatic, wielding a rapier and dagger like some feng noble from a bad holo-novel.

  I feinted left, trying to lure him into an over-it, but he didn’t fall for it.

  Instead, he pivoted smoothly, maintaining his perfect range advantage, his sword arg in a wide, graceful sweep that forced me to backpedal once again. The crowd roared, clearly enjoying his relentless aggression and my mounting frustration.

  Think, Charlie. Find an opening.

  I sed the terrain, weighing my options as I sidestepped another swing. That’s when it happened—I miscalcuted.

  Oep too far to the right, and my foot nded on what I thought was a solid rock.

  It wasn’t.

  The damhing was fake, part of Riker’s stupid dam design, and it wobbled under my weight. I stumbled, arms filing for a split sed as I tried tain my bahat was all the opening Amogeng needed.

  He moved.

  Fast, faster than I expected, closing the gap with a swift, powerful strike aimed straight for my off-hand.

  I barely brought my dagger up in time.

  Crack.

  The bde cshed against his wooden sword.

  But the force was too much. Even with the block, his on smmed against my wrist hard enough to sting like hell, sending a jolt of pain shooting up my arm.

  “Damn it!” I hissed through gritted teeth, shaking out my hand as I leapt back to create some distahe dull ache in my wrist was already setting in, but at least I hadn’t dropped the dagger.

  Small victories, right?

  Amogeng grinned, clearly enjoying the upper hand. “Feeling the love yet, Sword Queen?” he called out, his voice smug.

  “Oh, I feel something alright,” I muttered, flexing my fio make sure nothing was broken. The crowd cheered louder, clearly thrilled by the sight of me struggling.

  I gnced around quickly, trying to find a way out of this mess. Alright, Charlie. Time to get serious.

  He’s stronger, has better reach, and you’re down a hand that now feels like it got hit by a truck.

  Lovely.

  What’s pn B?

  Pn B: The flow teique.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  I closed my eyes, casting out every stray thought.

  The ache in my wrist faded into background he crowd became a distant hum.

  Nothing mattered but him and me.

  I heard his footsteps shift, felt the air stir as he moved. My lips curled into a faint smile as I opened my eyes.

  He lunged.

  I leaned into his strike, parrying with my dagger just enough to redirect his bde. My rapier flicked toward him, a whisper away from nding before he leapt back, barely avoiding the hit. His retreat was quick, but I didn’t follow.

  No wasted movement.

  “You’re already falling for me, aren’t you?” he called, smug as ever.

  Didn’t register.

  Didn’t matter.

  Focus.

  He attacked again—fast, brutal, wide arcs meant to overwhelm. I stepped back, half a step to the side, just enough to evade.

  His sword whistled past.

  Close.

  But not close enough.

  Minimal effort, maximum effect.

  He swung harder, faster.

  Another sidestep.

  A faint rustle of fabric as his bde missed by mere timeters. My rapier darted out, grazing the edge of his sleeve before he recoiled again.

  Frustration rippled across his face.

  “Stop dodging and fight me properly!” he barked, voice edged with irritation.

  I remained silent, my eyes locked on his.

  His movements were getting sloppier. More forceful, but less trolled.

  He was trying too hard to break my rhythm, but he couldn’t. Every time he overreached, I punished with a quick fliy bde, never fully eg but close enough to make him hesitate.

  He tried another wide swing. I didn’t even bother to parry, just shifted my weight slightly, letting the bde pass harmlessly by as I tered with a rapid thrust. He almost twisted in time, but my rapier pinched his side.

  We’re even.

  “Damn it!” he spat, bag off. “Why won’t you stop dang around?!”

  His frustration deepened, his stance faltering just slightly.

  Not yet.

  I could feel it—the opening was ing soon. One more mistake, and it would be over.

  Time to finish this.

  He started swinging wildly, each strike more reckless tha. His breathing was heavy, and the smooth rhythm of his earlier attacks had devolved into sheer force. All muscle, no finesse.

  Perfect.

  I left out an opening—just enough to bait him—and allowed myself a small, knowing smile.

  “You’re cheating oh Riker, aren’t you?!” he yelled, voice eg through the arena.

  I didn’t respond.

  No need.

  His words were meant to distract me, but I wasn’t the one losing trol. He lunged, aiming for the opening. I dodged, feeling the air hiss past my side.

  Close.

  He saw how near his bde had been and pressed harder, thinking he had me on the ropes.

  Mistake.

  His strike was wild, over-itted. I parried with my dagger, f his bde down in one smooth motion. Before he could recover, I snapped my rapier up, its point stopping just at his throat.

  His eyes widened.

  The crowd erupted into cheers, but before I could fully enjoy the moment, he burst into ughter. “You’re the best, Sword Queen! Five me—I just love taunting during a fight!”

  Of course he does.

  At that moment, Riker’s voied across the arena, grandiose as always. “And behold! Our radiant champion stands victorious once more! What a dazzling dispy of skill and poise!”

  As the cheers grew louder, my oppouroward the crowd, raising his arms and shouting, “I fought like this every match!”

  The ughter from the audience firmed it. Apparently, they kly what to expect from him. Internally, I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly got stu the bay skull.

  Of course, he’s everyone’s favorite love-sick sword idiot.

  Outwardly, I gave a regal nod, because why not py up the role while I had the audience?

  “Thank you, dear suitor,” I said with exaggerated grace. The crowd roared with ughter as I gave a theatrical flourish of my rapier, spun on my heel, and dramatically stalked toward the backstage area. “Maybe try poetry ime—might hurt less.”

  Once I was out of sight, I let out a long, tired sigh. Holy, if every fight was going to be like this, I would need a drink—

  Bad Charlie! No drink!

  My inner voice sounded annoyingly like Adam, and I had to mentally sp myself. No whiskey. Just soda. It’s fizzy, it’s harmless, it won’t start a lecture from my brother.

  See?

  Good Charlie!

  I plopped down onto the sofa and took a deep breath. Sure, I wasn’t pletely wiped like I would be after battling a boss, but my muscles still ached, and my mind was buzzing from the effort.

  Women are weaker. ’t cheat nature here, I guess. A smirk pyed on my lips. But I could cheat with a strategy and a lot of elegance—worked well enough so far.

  “Lady Charlie, here’s your towel,” Lo said as she approached, a ly folded towel and—oh, blessed soda. She only mentiohe towel, but my attention zeroed in on that cold drink like it was the Spear of Destiny.

  Without thinking twice, I grabbed it and gulped it down in record time, the cool fizz easing the dryness in my throat. “Thanks, Lo,” I said, grinning at her. “It was a win after all. But holy Nathan, that was hard.”

  “Holy Nathan?” Lo raised an eyebrow, clearly fused.

  And, of course, Jerry had to chime in. “You do say that sometimes.”

  “Okay, okay. Jeez, then!” I ughed, wiping sweat from my brow with the towel. “’t even have my weird excmations without getting called out, huh?”

  I tried to rex a bit more, sinking deeper into the couch, but that pn was doomed the moment Riker’s voice echoed through the room, bbbering some nonsense I couldn’t evehered to decipher.

  Ten minutes of calm? Too much to ask. Groaning, I got up and walked toward the door, ready this time to avoid the awkward where’s Charlie? moments.

  Just in time, too.

  “Sword Queeeeeen!” Riker’s exaggerated yell practically shook the walls. “The Choseands ready to face you!”

  I gave myself a quick check, smoothing out the fabriy dress and trudged toward the stage, my steps deliberately slow.

  As I approached, I spotted the so-called “Choseandio Riker. He was the man I’d noticed earlier—the oh the quiet fidend slightly too polished appearance. He had that whole mysterious, stoic warrior vibe going on, like he was auditioning for a dramatic martial arts flick.

  This’ll be fun.

  “Rapier and dagger versus dao and s!” Riker announced with way too muthusiasm, his grin so wide it threateo split his face. I took my position across from Kai, eyeing his oup.

  A dao and s? Really?

  Riker, clearly loving every sed of this, raised his arms dramatically. “Will Kai seize the throne? Let the csh of champions begin! Withe… battle!”