CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Savage Hunter’s Lament

My world seemed to stop when she stepped into the gymnasium, clad in her fencing gear—an echo of the days when I've become her sparring partner.

Elegance and grace radiated from her every movement, making the foil that hung loosely in one hand and the fencing mask held securely at her side seem less like mere equipment and more like regal ornaments, befitting a queen.

Even without looking around, I could tell that most of the men and women in the gymnasium had their eyes on her. I knew it had something to do with whatever Sol had sprinkled on her the last time he appeared—some kind of magnetism that made anyone who laid eyes on her unable to look away.

But I wasn't just anyone.

To them, she might be just a beauty wrapped in mystery. But to me, she was a fragment of the past that refused to fade—a queen without a throne, tempered by loss and reborn in defiance of fate. The Karina standing before me now is both my unfulfilled promise and my unfinished story.

For a fleeting moment, I saw her as she once was—a noble lady who could wield her sword with effortless grace. A woman who had been destined to rule, and yet, through the cruel hands of fate, had been denied that future.

The gymnasium buzzed with restless energy—voices overlapping, the clatter of gear, and the rhythmic shuffle of feet merging into a distant hum—yet my world remained still as my gaze locked onto her, seated alone on an uncrowded bench. I could tell she was reminiscing again—probably lost in thoughts of the training hall where she once sparred with me or Keiran, a place that had always ignited a familiar spark of excitement in her.

Before she got engaged, wielding a sword had been second nature to her. The duke had trained her personally, and though I always won our sparring matches, defeating her was never easy. She was nimble, calculating—constantly assessing every movement, every opening, as if each duel was a puzzle she was determined to solve.

"When are you going to introduce me to her?" Keiran asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. I had nearly forgotten he was beside me—his class had been canceled, and ever since he found out we had fencing practice in the afternoon, he'd been pestering me non-stop.

I stood up, my gaze shifting to Keiran and the twin beside him, who also seemed curious about Karina. "Not yet," I replied before picking up my foil and striding toward her.

Without a word, I took a seat beside her. Yet, if stares could melt, she might have turned into a puddle by now—because no matter how much I tried, I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. There was something about the way the light caught in her eyes, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers absentmindedly traced the hilt of her foil—every detail felt impossibly significant, as if she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

I could feel my heart racing, the urge to pull her into my arms gnawing at the edges of my restraint—it was driving me insane. I wanted to tell her everything, to close the distance between us with the truth. But the fear held me back. If I told her who I was, would it bring back the pain she had buried? Would it shatter the fragile sense of peace she had found? The thought of being the reason for her suffering terrified me. So, I chose to wait—for the right moment to lay all my cards down… and chase after her the way I've always wanted to.

or now… I'd settle for looking forward to a match with her.

The mere thought of facing her in a fencing bout sent a thrill through me, anticipation curling in my fingertips. It wasn't quite the same as the sparring matches that we used to have, but the idea of crossing blades with her again—of seeing that fire in her eyes—was enough to set my pulse racing. Our proctor would be my former coach, and technically, I wasn't required to participate in her class.

But that was before.

Today, I would make sure to use all my aces.

"What is it?" she finally asked, her curious gaze meeting mine.

I must've let too much excitement slip. I looked away for a second before turning back to her with a grin. She didn't say anything after that—just a brief glance before turning away, letting her thoughts drift somewhere I couldn't reach.

Whenever her thoughts drifted, I found myself hoping—just once—that they would land on me. On Kairos. The man who had once been a part of her life. But I could never tell if she remembered. Not once had her expression wavered when I asked her to call me by that name. And it made me wonder… had she ever truly remembered me at all?

I stood up when the professor called me, adjusting my grip on my foil. As I stepped forward, a familiar sensation settled over me—the quiet focus before a match, the anticipation humming beneath my skin.

But this time, something was different.

I could feel her eyes on me.

Karina was watching. Assessing me, perhaps.

I resisted the urge to look her way, to meet her gaze, but the weight of it pressed against me. It was the first time I was certain she was paying attention. Did she recognize me? Did something in the way I moved remind her of the past she had long since forgotten?

No—I couldn't let myself hope for that.

Still, the thought of her watching, even if she didn't understand why, sent a thrill through me. If she wouldn't remember me as Kairos, then I'd make sure she remembered me as the man standing before her now.

"I'm planning to start with a match to see if they've studied ahead of time. You don't have to participate today—your classmates are way out of your league," my former coach, now our Physical Education professor, said as she called me out.

"I want to have a match with someone, Coach."

She frowned. In all the years she'd known me, I had never once requested a match. It had always been the other way around.

"Who? Is there anyone in your class who even knows fencing?"

I grinned. "She doesn't know a thing about fencing, but I know she can keep up with me."

"Interesting." She glanced at the class list. "What's her name? I'll add her to the lineup."

"Karina Azalena."

As I turned my gaze toward Karina, my grin deepened, watching her smile falter as she caught sight of my expression.

"Alright. I'll put you in the last match."

—

The rhythmic clatter of footsteps and the sharp clinks of clashing foils from the other side of the gymnasium faded into silence as Karina and I stepped onto the fencing mat. The air was thick with anticipation, the hushed murmurs of onlookers weaving into the electric tension crackling between us like a live wire. This was just a Physical Education class, yet in this moment, it felt like something far more significant.

At least, to me, it did.

Some had already placed their bets—predictable, really. As the former captain of the fencing club, they assumed the outcome was inevitable.

Karina would lose.

Or so they thought.

I knew my own skill, but I wasn't foolish enough to underestimate her. The Karina Azalena I knew always had a trick up her sleeve when it came to sword fighting. I'd lost more than a few sparring sessions against her in the past—not because she was stronger, but because I had underestimated her. She was sharp, unpredictable.

Cunning.

She stood before me, gripping her foil with quiet confidence—so much so that anyone observing her stance would assume this wasn't her first time fencing. It lacked the rigid precision of a trained fencer, yet there was something about the way she carried herself—something raw and instinctual, like a fighter who had seen countless battles in another form.

The thin blade hummed slightly in her hand, the tension in her grip steady, unyielding. Her posture wasn't perfect, but the way she adjusted her weight, the subtle shift of her footing, and the sharp gleam in her eyes told me one thing—she was studying me. And behind that calm expression, beneath the composed facade, I could see it—she was excited.

So was I.

"En Garde! Prêt? Allez!" The instructor's voice rang out.

Karina moved first, striking without hesitation—and I couldn't help but smile behind my fencing mask. My grip tightened around the foil, a restless energy thrumming in my fingertips as I parried her attack with ease. The sharp clang of metal against metal sent a familiar pulse through my veins, my breath steady yet brimming with anticipation.

She didn't hesitate. Not for a second.

I countered immediately, redirecting her blade with a fluid flick of my wrist before aiming for her side. A simple maneuver—one that should have landed. But at the last moment, she twisted, slipping just out of reach.

A spark of amusement ignited inside me. She had never fenced before, yet I never doubted—she could match me.

She was fast. Not just in movement, but in instinct. The way she adjusted, reading my attacks and responding in real time, was something no ordinary beginner could do. It was as if she's telling everyone watching us that she had fought countless battles before—just not with a foil.

I pressed forward, testing her. My blade flicked toward her shoulder in a feint before shifting low in a sudden lunge. She reacted a fraction too late, barely managing to deflect it. Her stance wavered for the briefest moment before she corrected herself, weight shifting naturally as if she had been doing this all her life.

But then—she countered.

Without hesitation, she retaliated with a sharp thrust toward my unguarded side, forcing me to pivot and parry at the last second. The moment our blades clashed—she disengaged, shifting her weight with an unexpected speed that sent her blade slicing toward my shoulder. I blocked just in time, feeling the force behind her strike.

She didn't stop there. Pressing the attack, she advanced, driving me back a step with a rapid succession of strikes—her movements unrefined yet dangerously effective. It wasn't traditional fencing; it was something else. Something honed through a different kind of battle.

I caught her blade and twisted, breaking the rhythm that she had built. A flicker of frustration crossed her eyes, but beneath it, I saw something else. Excitement.

I grinned behind my mask. She wasn't just keeping up. She was adapting.

Behind my mask, I grinned. "Not bad," I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "Are you sure this is your first time?"

I could see her eyes narrowing behind her mask. "Indeed," she murmured, her voice steady. "But I'm quite adept at holding swords. Just prepare yourself when you lose."

It wasn't a baseless threat. She meant every word.

And that—more than anything—made me laugh.

For a fleeting moment, I was pulled back to the past, to the first time we sparred. When she wagered my loyalty on a duel, believing I was nothing more than a wandering mercenary with nowhere to go.

"We'll see about that." My grip tightened around the foil, the weight of both past and present settling in my chest.

We circled each other, our foils clashing in brief, sharp exchanges before she disengaged with a swift flick of her wrist, retreating a step. The sharp scent of metal lingered in the air between us, the rhythmic scuff of our footwork the only sound beyond the quiet hum of distant voices. I could hear her steady breathing, the slight hitch in her exhale—a telltale sign of her focus, her entire being now immersed in the bout. My grip adjusted instinctively, the world beyond the strip dissolving into the cadence of our duel. And for a moment, I let myself forget who I was supposed to be in this world—not Kairos the mercenary, nor Kai Alaric the fencer, but Kai Alaric Ashford, the savage hunter—for my lady needed to face the Duke of the North at last.

I lunged, testing her defenses, my blade slicing through the air with precision. She countered swiftly, adapting faster than I expected, her reflexes honed, her intent unreadable—almost. She was unpredictable, but I had sparred with her before. I knew the way she shifted her weight before a feint, the subtle hesitation in her wrist before she struck. It was a dance we had once perfected in another lifetime, steel meeting steel under the golden glow of candlelit halls, where practice matches blurred the lines between rivalry and something unspoken. Even then, I had studied her—not as a mere opponent, but as a hunter learning the patterns of his most elusive prey.

I pressed forward, pushing her into a faster exchange, the rhythm of our duel tightening like a snare. And then—just for a second—something flickered at the edge of my mind. A memory.

I anticipated her feint. But I didn't anticipate the follow-up.

With a sharp pivot, she adjusted her stance mid-motion, redirecting her attack. My grip faltered for half a second—just enough time for her blade to disarm me.

I pressed forward, tightening the rhythm of our duel, forcing her to react on instinct alone. And then—just for a moment—something pulled at the edge of my mind. A memory.

Of how I lost her, despite being as powerful as the Duke, despite having that title.

The echo of a duel long past—one that had never been fought with swords but with fate itself. I had strength, skill, the ruthless instinct of a hunter, and yet none of it had been enough. Power meant nothing when time itself had conspired against me, when all I could do was watch her slip beyond my grasp.

I anticipated her feint. I knew the exact moment she would shift, the subtle change in her footing before the strike. And yet—I held back. Even knowing what came next.

With a sharp pivot, she adjusted her stance mid-motion, redirecting her attack. My grip faltered for half a second—just enough time for her blade to slip past my guard and strike true.

My foil clattered to the ground.

Silence.

A single breath. Hers. Mine. The faint echo of steel against wood.

I looked at her—not at my opponent, not at the fencer standing before me, but at the one person I had once sworn to protect, but failed.

"You were holding back," she accused, voice low.

I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my weapon, but my expression remained unreadable.

"Maybe I wanted to satisfy your curiosity," I said lightly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Losing like this beats the purpose of the bet."

"I know."

I did. But that wasn't why I let her win.

Her gaze pinned me in place. "Then why?"

I hesitated. How could I tell her?

That her death still haunted me, creeping into my dreams like a ghost I could never outrun. That even now, the memory of it clung to me, wrapping around my chest like unseen chains.

When I tried to show off my skill as the Duke of the North, shame had struck me down faster than her blade ever could.

But before I could answer, the instructor spoke, praising our match before confirming what Karina had already suspected—that I had lost on purpose.

We returned to our seats, but I could feel it.

The unease settling in her chest.

The questions formed in her mind.

And I knew.

It was only a matter of time before she started searching for the answers.