Chapter 36: The Duel of Shadows

As Prince Rogba slipped away from Ida's clan, his departure unnoticed by all. His steps took him through the bustling market, cloaked in the shadows, a lone figure in the crowd. Unseen by many, his loyal shadow guard materialized, a silent sentinel at his side. "Ensure my departure remains concealed, and inform Jayé that I'll be safe," the prince whispered, referring to his trusted personal bodyguard.

Amidst the stalls of the market, Prince Rogba found solace in the smiles of his people. Their faces reflected a sense of belonging, a connection that ran deep. Drawing closer to a woman selling vibrant fabrics, he overheard fragments of conversations that cut through the air like a blade.

"Did you hear? The bravest of the king's princes was defeated, saved only by his third brother," the woman declared, her voice a mixture of incredulity and mockery.

"A shame indeed. How could a prince trained in the arts of sword and magic, fortified by charms, fall like a mere novice?" the prince's lips curved into a smirk as he interjected, a twinkle in his eyes. The people around erupted in laughter, joining the jest.

Another voice chimed in, a man's tone dripping with amusement. "And have you heard the reason for his downfall? He rejected his birthright for the sake of a lady."

The absurdity of it all rankled the first prince. His patience wore thin as he listened to the absurd tales woven by idle tongues. A burning desire to prove his valor, to demonstrate that he was still the indomitable warrior they knew, ignited within him.

A sudden commotion tore through the market air. A thief, swift and daring, had stolen a bundle of yams and was attempting a hasty escape. "Thief! Thief!" The cry reverberated, drawing a gathering crowd. In moments, a challenger emerged, his courage fanned by the ire of injustice. "Evil may lurk in the night's shroud, but this daylight theft shall not go unpunished," he proclaimed, stepping forward to confront the thief.

"Have you forgotten that a fox prowls without fear? A duck's meal of stone can be softened by water," the thief retorted, his words laced with an impish grin. With a flourish, he cast a spell that draped sleep over the market like a heavy veil. As heads drooped and eyes closed, the people succumbed to the thief's enchantment.

But from the midst of the slumbering throng, a voice rang out, clear and unyielding. "Deceit crumbles under the weight of truth, and lies wither in the face of honor. Sleep, sibling of death, shall not hold dominion here." The spell shattered like glass, and the prince's opponent stumbled back, his magic unraveling.

The first prince watched with growing interest. Just as he was about to intervene, a surge of power emanated from the crowd, an incantation fueled by conviction. "What we share with the earth, let it be our bond. As the bush rat communicates with the forest, let our words be accepted. As the mantis communes with the heavens, let our wishes be acknowledged. Sky god, heed our command: silence this chaos." The challenger's words forged a spell that clamped down on the thief's voice, leaving him powerless.

Yet, before the prince could step in, a new force made itself known. The thief invoked the wind, a wild and untamed ally. In a gust, the thief vanished, leaving only whispers in his wake.

"He's gone," a collective sigh of frustration swept through the market. The challenger's efforts had been in vain.

"I shall deliver the thief and his cowardice to justice!" The prince's voice thundered through the market square, and for a fleeting moment, all eyes turned toward him. But it wasn't recognition that he sought—it was justice.

With a swift motion, he stood where the thief had stood, feeling the remnants of his magic in the air. In an instant, he reappeared before the thief, determination burning in his eyes. "Halt!" His command echoed through the stillness of the night.

The thief turned, amusement dancing in his gaze. "Ah, you followed me. Impressive. But know that my path is fortified by far more than your determination."

Curiosity piqued, the prince inquired, "Whose lineage do you claim?"

"I am the son of Olufa," the thief declared with an air of authority.

Recognition dawned on the prince. "Ah, fellow initiate of the mystical arts?"

The thief chuckled, but his tone grew more sinister. "Initiate, indeed. But my lineage is of a different ilk. I am born of the forces that weave through this world."

Unfazed, the prince's eyes glittered with a suppressed power. "And I, too, am no stranger to the arcane. I am the descendant of those who command the winds and shape the earth. . I am the son of the union between witches and wizards and also the son of the very forces that govern this realm."

A moment of tension hung in the air, the clash of two formidable foes poised for confrontation. "No one dares to defy death, just as none can challenge illness. Vultures shall not outlive their fate, and I am initiated into both death and sickness. May illness course through your veins," the thief intoned, weaving a spell that sent a chill down the prince's spine.

The prince felt his strength waver, his body succumbing to the curse. Feverish and weak, he fought against the onslaught of sickness that coursed through him. He called upon the very ground beneath him, invoking its power to counter the thief's magic. "Lithosphere, solid and steadfast, heed my call. You, who hold the weight of ages, ensnare him, bind him!"

As if responding to his command, chains of earth erupted from the ground, wrapping around the thief and holding him fast. But the thief was quick to retaliate, invoking his own ancestry. "I am the child of death and sickness, and their bond courses through me. Let sickness ebb away, let death retreat."

The prince's body trembled, and then relief washed over him as the sickness receded. With renewed vigor, he lashed out, unleashing a torrent of magic upon the captive thief. Blow after blow, he rained his power down, determination fueling each strike.

As the dust settled, the prince stood victorious, his breath ragged and his form bathed in a radiant light. The thief lay defeated, his dark magic quelled. "Your mouth shall no longer be a conduit for your malevolent craft," the prince's voice was firm as he addressed the fallen thief, his words a promise of the justice that awaited him.

With a triumphant sigh, the prince returned to the bustling market, where his personal bodyguard awaited. "My prince," the bodyguard's voice held both surprise and admiration. Prince Rogba seized the opportunity, allowing the news of his victory over the dark magic user to spread like wildfire.

In the days that followed, the tale of the prince's duel with the shadowy thief became a legend, whispered from person to person. Prince Rogba's reputation soared, and his nobility grew stronger. He had proven, once and for all, that his bravery and strength were unyielding, that he was the prince his people could rely on.