Chapter 57: Bro Parried My Whole Personality

Chapter 57: Bro Parried My Whole Personality Rook stepped into the center of the field, his movements silent and deliberate, each step placed with the precision of a man who already knew the outcome of the fight. He passed the racks of exotic weapons, ignoring the wicked curves of scimitars, the glint of finely balanced longswords, and the heavy axes that called for raw power. His skeletal hand stopped only at a round shield, a xiphos—a short, double-edged sword—to hang at his hip, and a standard Greek dory spear. His choice of such a basic soldier’s kit made Karl narrow his eyes. The Arch Lich knew Rook’s training and repertoire — the bouncer skeleton could handle any weapon in the room, from whips to warhammers — yet here he was, picking the gear of an ancient hoplite."What is he doing...?" Karl thought. "That’s not his usual flair... unless—" Luma’s smirk deepened, her dual khopeshes gleaming in the dim light of the torches. Her tail flicked once in anticipation. "We meet again. Ever since our first encounter, I was really curious how long you’d be able to stand against me." Karl muttered under his breath from the sidelines, "Oh, that’s a Lupen alright." He knew that tone, that look — it was the mix of pride and playful cruelty their kind carried into every fight. Rook only bowed slightly, the motion precise, and raised his shield into a classic defensive pose. The torchlight caught in his empty sockets, but his gaze — somehow — felt heavy and unblinking. Luma bared her teeth in a grin. "I admire your guts, but there’s a reason us Lupens are only second to Ursaroks in combat. It’s because..." She exploded forward before the sentence even ended, a blur of white fur and steel. Her right-hand khopesh swung with blistering speed.The blade crashed into Rook’s shield with a CLANG that rang through the training hall. Sparks scattered into the dark. She leaned in close, her breath warm against the cold metal of the shield. "...we’re fast." Rook didn’t flinch. In the same movement, he spun, bringing the weight of the shield around in a solid bash meant to knock her back.Luma twisted away with a sharp backflip, her boots hitting the ground lightly, her smirk still in place. "I’m gonna enjoy this." Rook became still again — shield and spear forming a wall, an unmoving statue. His silhouette looked more like a fortified gate than a man.Luma darted in again, zigzagging in sharp angles, trying to flank him. But the spear’s tip followed her arc like a predator’s eye, and the shield turned with her every change of direction. "He’s tracking my every step... fine, then." She lunged low, kicked off, and planted a sharp break-turn before lunging again.Rook’s focus was absolute; he read each adjustment in her footwork, each flicker of a hip before she swung. This time Luma slashed from his side, but the shield proved useless against it. Instead of dashing again, she stopped behind him, her swords raised for a cross slash at his back. But Rook, in a single fluid motion, reverse-thrust the other end of his spear toward her face. Luma’s eyes widened. Too close! She aborted the slash mid-swing, tucking into a backward flip. Her boots hit the floor a few meters away, heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit. "Nice move," she said, catching her breath. "You nearly had me there." Rook simply rotated to face her again, shield and spear resuming the same unyielding pose, as though nothing had happened. "But that’s not going to happen again," Luma promised aloud, her voice carrying a sharper edge. She dashed again, circling, going for feint and run tactics. Luma spent her time planting hesitations, but little did she know, Rook was analyzing her every strike. She found out that Rook has his front and left area covered, as the shield was wide and covered most of it, and Rook was fast enough to deflect her attacks. What frustrated her the most was that he hadn’t yet released a single offensive move; all he did was counter, making him impossible to predict. "He’s not even trying to hit me... just waiting. What is he waiting for?" Her lips curled in frustration. She realized that in her current rhythm, she couldn’t land an effective blow at more than 270 degrees — his shield and quick deflections closed too much space. Worse, his economy of movement left nothing to read; his stance was as steady at the end of an exchange as it had been at the start. She had no choice but to go for his right side and back, to feint an attack before countering his counter. She dashed, pressuring him from the front, her khopesh clanging against his shield. She released a flurry of attacks, before dashing and braking midway behind Rook, attacking. She hoped he would counter again so she could counter his counter, but to her surprise, Rook just moved away and took a distance, resetting the fight. The instructor, watching from the sidelines, glanced at Karl. I don’t know if the lord knows, but that guy is truly a monster, he thought. I don’t know what he’s planning, but he is not seriously fighting; he’s just doing a standard drill, using basic tactics. He usually comes here and asks for a 10 versus 1 sparring match for the lord’s own elite agents and intelligence gathering or assassinations if the orders ever came down. But right now, If I had to guess, he is just showing the soldiers how to fight a superior opponent through basic tactics and patience. This is him telling us how to do it. He’s an example of actions speaks louder than words. "How do I take this guy down?" Sweat slid down her temple. He hasn’t launched a single real attack. I can’t find an opening.Her mind snapped to a bolder thought: If that’s the case... I’ll rip that shield from his arm. She surged forward again, feet slamming into the floor with more force, khopeshes arcing in wide, aggressive cuts. But as she came into range, a glint of steel flashed. Suddenly, the spear came down towards her face. She leaned back quickly, the sharp blade scratching her cheek. Her heart skipped, her feet tripping each other from the sudden brakes, she stumbled, tumbling on the floor, like a rolling tortilla, before recovering with a flip a distance away from him. "What was that?!" she whispered to herself, disbelief sharpening her tone. "I barely saw it... I couldn’t see it." Rook didn’t pursue. He simply stood again in that same looming stance — shield forward, xiphos still sheathed, spear ready — as if daring her to try again. And for the first time, Luma realized... she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. While Luma was reeling from Rook’s quick attack, he simply stood there, looming and silent, his pose unchanged. The spear remained poised in his grip, the shield angled like a fortress wall. He wasn’t breathing heavily. He wasn’t fidgeting. He wasn’t even adjusting his stance. He simply waited, motionless and unblinking — the kind of stillness that made predators uneasy. To Luma, that stillness was a challenge. Her pride couldn’t let go of what had just happened. As a Lupen, she was bred and trained for speed, precision, and instinct — and more than that, for supremacy in combat. Lupens prided themselves on their honed techniques, their acute sense of timing, and the iron-hard instinct to finish what they started. They didn’t retreat from a losing fight without taking something from it — a lesson, a weakness, something they could weaponize next time. To quit now without understanding why he could stop her would feel like throwing away her sword. She clenched her jaw, the sting on her face reminding her of his earlier spear strike. Faster. I just have to be faster. Her tail bristled with restrained tension, her fingers tightening on the grips of her khopeshes until the leather wraps creaked under the pressure. She dashed again, this time harder, sharper — her boots hammering the floor with each step. Her form blurred as she broke into a wide arc, circling him like a white wolf around a lone bull. But this wasn’t the same pattern as before. This time she curved sharply, the motion almost predatory, aiming to flank his rear right side — the one point the shield wouldn’t naturally cover if he stayed in his earlier stance. She lowered her stance mid-stride, her eyes locked on the gap, her arms already drawing back for a brutal cross slash. "RAAAAGGGHHH!!" Her roar ripped from her throat, deep and guttural, raw with the sting of wounded pride. Her muscles surged with power; she wanted him to feel it. But Rook — was already moving.In a single, seamless shift, he swapped the shield to his right arm, the spear to his left. The movement wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t fast in the way her dashes were — it was efficient, smooth, like gears locking into place. As she closed the distance, he dipped into a crouch, eyes never leaving her, reading the telltale tightness in her shoulders. He knew. He knew. Her horizontal slash came screaming in — and met the angled face of his shield. The metal rang out, the force redirected by a perfect thirty-degree tilt. Her arms, driven by her own momentum, swung too far forward, her guard opening as her eyes widened in shock. He knew exactly what I was going for. The thought was sharp, cold. That’s when the spear came.It lunged forward like a striking serpent, the point arrowing toward her ribs. Her heart jolted, a sudden drumbeat in her ears. Her instincts screamed. She twisted, boots leaving the floor as she flipped mid-air, her teeth clenched against the strain. The spear’s point hissed past her side, close enough to feel the air part. She landed the rotation half-spun — and saw it. The spear shaft. An opportunity.Her right-hand khopesh hooked under the shaft in a smooth catch, the blade’s inner curve locking it in place. She wrenched her body in sync with her swing, using her own weight and momentum to rip the weapon free from his grip. The spear flew in an elegant arc before striking the cavern wall with a dull, solid thud. Her boots hit the floor. She straightened, grinning sharply, the satisfaction of disarming him blooming in her chest. Got you. Her gaze locked on him — — just in time for the world to explode into the sound of metal meeting metal. CLANG! The shield smashed into her face with crushing force. The impact rattled her teeth, the jolt vibrating through her skull. Her vision flared white for a heartbeat, and she staggered backward, one hand instinctively flying to her face. Her left-hand khopesh slipped from numb fingers, clattering to the ground. She shook her head sharply, forcing her vision to clear. Her ears rang. The taste of her own blood hit her tongue. And there he was — Rook — already stepping forward, unsheathing the xiphos in one smooth, practiced motion. The short, double-edged blade caught the torchlight, gleaming cold and sharp. The shield stayed high, his stance unyielding, unshaken, an immovable bulwark. He looked — in his skeletal way — exactly as he had at the start: composed, ready, and utterly unmoved by her efforts.