Cain and Uther rushed toward one another the moment the horn sounded. Steel met steel in a sharp, ringing clash that echoed across the arena.
Cain was the first to press the offense. His movements were fast, almost unnaturally so to the untrained eye.
His movements flowed forward with precise, efficient strikes, his blade cutting through the air in clean arcs as he demonstrated the disciplined, less lethal forms of the School of the Wolf. His measured each step, he strikes were intentionally fast and full of feints. Cain attacked without hesitation, forcing Uther to follow his pace.
Uther, by contrast, fought more defensively. The graybeard parried and blocked with calm, practiced ease, his sword always exactly where it needed to be. Even when Cain used feints to trick him. He gave ground when necessary, redirected blows instead of contesting them head-on, conserving energy while studying Cain carefully.
To the crowd, it looked like an even match. To a few others it was different To Cain, it felt wrong. He could feel it. Uther was holding back.
The man didn't look weak by no means. The man's stance was solid, his balance impeccable, his reactions sharp and even kept up with a Witcher's speed. There was definitely strength there, but he was hiding it, Cain couldn't tell the reason why. Like many veteran warrior's he could be waiting for the right moment. Or he could be testing his skills and adjusting.
When Cain looked at Uther's stature and skill. I showed of a man who had survived more battles than he cared to remember.
Cain struck again, fast, precise, a feint followed by a sweeping cut meant to test Uther's guard.
Uther blocked effortlessly.
Cain's eyes narrowed as he pressed forward to break his defense.
From the side of the arena, Callum watched intently, his expression unreadable. He could see it too. The pauses, the timing, the way Uther never overcommitted. The man is like Vesemir From the royal podium, Tristan leaned forward slightly, his experienced eye catching the same details.
Queen Calanthe spoke softly, her gaze fixed on the duel. "These young Witcher are skilled. I'm delighted to see, even if their numbers are fading, their quality clearly has not."
Tristan nodded. "Aye, my Queen. But like you said their young. Even if they are talented, they are still green behind the ears."
Queen Calanthe nodded. "I suppose your right Tistan. But that gray beard, Uther was his name. Doesn't he seem familiar?"
Eist gazed deeply at Uther. "Your right your grace, he does seem familiar."
Sorceress Calanthe said nothing. She only sipped her wine, her red hair brushing past her shoulder as her eyes followed Cain's movements closely.
The blades collided again, sparks flying as Cain leaned in.
"How long are you gonna hold back, graybeard?" Cain said under his breath.
But Uther only smirked. "Who said I'm holding back? I might just be enjoying myself. Or maybe this is all I am capable of doing."
Cain's face remained neutral. "Your a lot stronger then you let on. You stay on the defense and don't actually attack. There are four more bouts after this. We should hurry."
Uther chuckled. "Don't worry about the others."
Cain broke the bind and pressed harder, but something shifted.
Uther's words lingered.
Cain's mind flicked back—fast, sharp—to the farmer boys. The whispered insults. The greedy looks. The way some of the veterans' eyes had followed those boys when they left with coin in their pockets.
Cain's eyes darkened.
The Urther spoke. "You finally realized it huh?. Of course. One hundred and fifty crowns was a greater guaranteed. The Five hundred ducats or Two hundred fifty was not. Those men can beat a pair of farm boys easily."
Cain felt anger rise, but remained cold and focused. He disengaged suddenly, stepping back.
As the crowd murmured in confusion. Cain turned away from Uther.
Uther raised an eyebrow. "Giving up?"
"No," Cain said calmly. " But I have to go fix a mess I made."
Uther studied him closely. "You'd abandon a fight for a handful of nobodies?"
Cain stopped and looked back at him. "Yes. I'm part of the reason they're in danger."
Uther shook his head slightly. "If they can't defend themselves, that's not on you. Their weakness is not your fault."
Cain's voice turned cold. "Being weak is one thing. Staying weak is another. Most people are never given the chance to become strong. I put a target on their backs, that's what matters most. Making sure they can get back to their families safely. This tournament and money is not worth more their their life's, that hold infinite potential."
Uther smiled. Then he walked past Cain, and placed his sword in the ground. "I forfeit."
The arena exploded into shocked murmurs.
Cain turned sharply. "What are you doing?"
Uther didn't stop walking. "The boys are fine."
Cain's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I had two of my people watching them from the moment they left," Uther said over his shoulder. "They'll make it home safely with the coins you gave them."
Cain stood there, stunned, as Uther continued to walk past him.
From the royal box, Sorceress Calanthe drank her wine, her expression still cold, her red hair catching the light as she looked away.
Cain exhaled slowly, and headed back into the waiting hall. Cain made a mental note. He would check on the boy's later hopeful Uther's right or there will be hell to pay.
As Cain entered the hall, he saw Callum was standing beside the announcer.
"Cain," Callum said. "There's been a change to the lineup."
Cain paused. "What happened? People dropped out?"
The announcer swallowed nervously. "Sir Witcher… the other ten fighters have withdrawn."
Cain blinked. "All of them?"
"Yes. Five left after the those five boys. Two more left without explanation. Three refused to fight 'mutant freaks.' I apologize their words not mine."
Cain shrugged. Callum didn't react.
"So it's just us," Callum said quietly. Cain nodded with a small smile. " Just like the old days."
Cain folded his arms. "One match each, and now straight to the finals."
The announcer nodded. "The Queen has been informed. She will allow the tournament to continue. She also said that if you two manage to put on a good show, there will be an extra reward in it."
Cain smirked. "Consider it done. Me and my friend her like to show our skills."
Cain and Callum walked back toward the arena together.
The silence between them was heavy.
Then Callum spoke.
"Cain," he said. "You know you're like a brother to me, right?"
Cain nodded. "Yeah. Of course." Callum stopped walking. Then he turned, emerald green cat-slit eyes cold and sharp.
"Then why did you betray me, why did you sleep with my mother?"
Cain felt it settle in his chest.
There it is.
He glanced toward the royal stand. Calanthe met his gaze briefly cold, distant. He looked back at Callum.
"I won't make excuses," Cain said evenly. "I was wrong and don't deserve to be called a brother after that. If you want to use this to blow off steam, go ahead. It not even close to what I owe you, but I am ready to start making amends."
Callum drew his sword. "I already planned to. Don't hold back thinking I you owe me anything. I wont' and I will beat you like always."
Cain drew his own blade. "I expect nothing less."
Callum's voice was low. "I'm going to beat you with my skill. Like I did at Kaer Morhen for all those years."
Cain nodded as he readied himself. "We're actually tied. My Ninety-eight to your ninety-eight. The last win was yours, but this one will still be mine."
Callum's lips twitched faintly as he got into his stance. "We'll see. Just don't pass out too quickly."
Then Callum moved. He rushed Cain with blinding speed.
Cain met him head-on. Steel collided with a thunderous clang that echoed through the arena as their blades locked.