The Backyard Showdown
As always, the backyard of the Feast was thick with the lingering scent of cheap perfume and stale alcohol from the night before. Only the cool dawn air offered a brief, fleeting reprieve from the stifling atmosphere. Through the chill, the heavy, rhythmic thud of metal splitting wood echoed across the grounds. In a dusty corner of the yard, Lahara—her sleeveless shirt drenched in sweat—was engrossed in her training, swinging a massive two-handed axe as if it were a mere toy. With every swing, her muscles rippled, and beads of sweat clung to her intensely focused face. "Hup! Haa!" With each sharp breath, the blade sliced through the air, unleashing a fierce, whistling wind.
A short distance away from this intense display, Luciel, who had stepped out for a morning walk, watched in silence. Though her face remained entirely expressionless, her sharp gaze tracked Lahara's every movement, analyzing the flow of her strength and pinpointing the minutest flaws in her balance.
My, my. Relying solely on brute force leaves far too many openings. Luciel clicked her tongue inwardly.
"Whew... I guess my body really has stiffened up." Splitting one last log clean in half, Lahara let out a ragged breath and rested her forehead against the shaft of her axe. Sweat dripped from her chin, soaking into the dirt. "No matter how good you are, your combat instincts rust the moment you take a single day off. Especially when you're cooped up in a suffocating place like this." Lahara grumbled, casting a sidelong glance at Luciel. "Luciel? What, did you fall in love with me or something?"
Luciel kept her arms crossed, remaining silent for a moment before letting out a cold, flat remark. "I must say... that axework of yours relies far too much on raw instinct, doesn't it?"
"..."
"Looking closely, it hardly resembles proper martial technique. It seems more like you're just swinging it blindly, relying entirely on your innate strength."
Lahara froze like a stone statue. Then, very slowly, she turned her head to glare at Luciel. One of her eyebrows twitched in sheer annoyance. "...What did you just say?" A chilling edge crept into her voice.
"Did you not hear me? It seems your ears have gone dull as well," Luciel replied nonchalantly. "I said your technique lacks foundation. Your stance is unstable, and your striking points are completely inconsistent. That axe looks incredibly heavy, but in the end, you're just smashing things with brute force rather than using any refined skill. In a real battle, relying on such simple power will quickly reveal its limits."
Lahara snorted in sheer disbelief. "Refined skill? Don't make me laugh. Hey, Luciel. What does a sheltered little princess like you know about fighting?" She slammed the axe blade into the ground with a dull thud, growling fiercely. The sheer force of her presence seemed to make the surrounding air tremble. "Back when I was a combat slave, I won ten consecutive matches in the arena with nothing but this axe. And that was against bastards who had completely lost their minds. Not a single survivor walked away with all their limbs intact. This is what real combat martial arts looks like, you greenhouse flower."
Luciel shrugged, a provocative smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "I can see why you won. With the monstrous strength to swing that massive two-handed axe with a single hand, you wouldn't have needed any technique. You simply crushed them with raw power. But how would that hold up against a truly powerful opponent?" Though, of course, that doesn't include my current self, Luciel added inwardly.
"Hmph! Anyone can talk a big game! Flapping your gums is a job for scholars!" Lahara snorted, pushing the embedded axe even deeper into the dirt. Her shoulders heaved with rising anger. "If you're so damn smart, why don't you show me how it's done? Huh, Ciel?" Lahara spat back sarcastically, though there was a hint of playful banter beneath her irritation.
...Ha. To think that I, who once had no equal in this world... Luciel mocked herself internally, but she maintained her outward composure. She slowly but familiarly picked up a slightly dull, one-handed axe that had been tossed aside nearby. Though it was heavier than it looked, it felt as light as a feather in her hand. The instincts forged from traversing battlefields for centuries, the chilling sensation of spilling the blood of countless enemies, seemed to faintly reawaken within her.
"Fine. Let's make a bet, then. The winner gets to make one request of the loser. How about it?"
Lahara's brow furrowed. She seemed to sense that the look in Luciel's eyes was different from usual—detecting a blade-like sharpness hidden within them. "What? Luciel, are you serious? Don't joke around. You're going to fight me with that scrawny body of yours?" She scoffed, scanning Luciel's slender arms up and down. "Don't blame me if you get hurt. You'll probably start crying the moment I graze you."
"Well, we'll see who ends up hurt." Luciel tilted her head slightly, wearing a cold yet beautiful smile. For a fleeting moment, the aura of the absolute ruler who once dominated the battlefield flashed in her quiet eyes. With this body, I only have one strike. I must end this in a single blow.
The air grew thick with tension. The moment Lahara pulled her two-handed axe from the ground and began to take a rough stance, Luciel's body moved first. Her movement was smooth, flowing like water, and tracing an unpredictable trajectory. Reversing her grip on the one-handed axe, she slipped into Lahara's heavy attack range like a shadow.
Just as Lahara was about to bring her axe down in a clumsy strike, Luciel's blade struck the most vulnerable part of Lahara's axe handle—the exact point where the center of gravity shifted. It was a precise, powerful blow that carried all of her weight and technique.
Clang! A sharp, heavy metallic ring echoed alongside the splintering sound of wood. A deep crack ripped through the handle of Lahara's two-handed axe, sending it spinning wildly out of her grip. The weapon flipped through the air several times before plunging miserably into the dirt. It happened so fast that Lahara was left staring at her empty hands in utter disbelief. She had never imagined that her primary weapon—the steel axe she trusted with her life—could be neutralized so effortlessly.
As the dust settled, Luciel spoke in a calm, steady voice, pointing the tip of her one-handed axe at Lahara's throat. "It seems... I've won." Her breathing wasn't even slightly disturbed. Her gaze held no triumphant smugness, only the cold composure of someone who had merely achieved an expected result.
"Wh-What..." But a split second later, Lahara's eyes flashed. It was a feral look, a mixture of rage and bewilderment. "Gotcha!" Though she had lost her weapon, she lunged at Luciel with beast-like instincts. She still possessed overwhelming physical strength and agility. Before Luciel could even widen the distance, Lahara's iron-like arms wrapped around her waist, pinning the hand holding the axe at the same time. It was a sudden, unavoidable ambush.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?! Let go of me this instant!" Luciel struggled, but the half-orc's physical strength far surpassed her own. Trapped as if in an iron vice, her feet dangled helplessly in the air.
"Hmph, weapons are just decorations in the end, aren't they?" Lahara grinned, devoid of malice but thoroughly intoxicated by her victory, as she lifted Luciel effortlessly. It was as if she were handling a small doll. "I might have dropped my weapon, but I didn't lose!"
"This is cheating! This wasn't a fair duel! You coward!" Luciel's voice trembled with rage and humiliation. Her pride as the former Emperor was trampled once again. Damn it, I didn't calculate a defeat like this, you muscle-brained idiot!
"Uh-uh, you said it yourself, didn't you? The winner gets to make a request. We never agreed on the rules of the duel. I won, so now it's your turn to grant my wish." Lahara casually slung Luciel over her shoulder. Luciel's body swayed helplessly.
"Put me down! I said, put me down this instant!" Luciel squirmed desperately, trying to break free, but Lahara's strength was beyond comprehension. Having been reduced to a courtesan of the Feast, her body—weakened by the curse of the Constellations—lacked the strength to resist. In the end, she was left draped over Lahara's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, panting heavily. Her face burned with humiliation.
"Now, since I won, you have to grant my wish, right?" Lahara asked slyly, her voice drifting over her shoulder. Her breath tickled Luciel's ear.
"As long as it is within my power..." Luciel muttered, completely resigned. ...Damn it, what could I possibly do for Lahara right now? I have nothing left but this body. A deep sense of helplessness washed over her.
"Perfect! Wonderful! In that case, how about I receive your special services for just today?" Lahara burst into a satisfied laugh. Keeping Luciel slung over her shoulder, she marched down the corridors of the Feast toward her room. Her steps were light and cheerful.
"Wait, services? What exactly do you mean by... Hey! Lahara! Are you serious?!" Luciel cried out. "This is a joke, right? Put me down this instant, you muscle-brained idiot! Are you even listening?!" Luciel's desperate screams gradually faded down the hallway, leaving only Lahara's boisterous laughter and Luciel's faint, futile protests echoing in the distance.