Cain and Callum's blades collided again and again, as the sound of steel rang so loudly it drowned out the roar of the crowd. Sparks flew each time their swords met, scattering across the dirt like brief flashes of lightning.
Both Witcher's fought aggressively now, wasting no time and getting straight to the heat of action . This was a battle of will as much as it was about sword skill.
Callum pressed forward relentlessly. His strikes were powerful and direct, each swing carrying the weight of superior strength and momentum. He struck like a hammer, forcing Cain backward step by step. Cain, in contrast, moved like water. He twisted, pivoted, and redirected blows at the last possible moment, letting Callum's power glance off instead of meeting it head-on.
To the audience, it was amazing and terrifying how the two were moving.
They moved faster than any men had a right to move, such inhuman speed, inhuman reflexes. Some spectators leaned forward in awe. Others recoiled, fear creeping into their expressions as they realized just how far beyond human these two young Witchers truly were.
From the royal box, Queen Calanthe watched with keen interest, her lips slightly parted. Beside her, young Pavetta stared wide-eyed, gripping the edge of her seat, utterly captivated.
"These are Witchers?" the Pavetta murmured. "So young… and so amazing."
Tristan watched calmly, arms crossed, though his eyes missed nothing. He could see the difference immediately. Callum's raw power versus Cain's adaptability. But he could tell Callum was slowly improving more then Cain, and at some point Cain will be in trouble.
Stregobor, eyes were wide, his staff forgotten at his side. "Extraordinary…" he whispered. "Their speed, their coordination, this borders on the impossible. Perhaps I should take notes on the Witcher mutations for reference. "
Francesca sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin resting lightly against her fingers. Her gaze followed Cain intently, eyes alight with fascination. She thought Cain worthy of intrigue, and might be useful.
On the arena floor, the balance began to shift.
Callum increased his pace.
His strikes came faster now. shorter, tighter movements, his blade snapping forward with brutal efficiency. Cain parried one blow, redirected another, but the pressure was mounting. Callum anticipated his movements, cut off angles, and began forcing Cain into smaller and smaller spaces.
A shallow cut opened along Cain's forearm. Then another nicked his shoulder.
Cain remained calm as Callum closed the distance again, leaving him no room to breathe. A dull-edged strike slammed into Cain's chest, almost knocking the air from his lungs and sending pain flaring across his ribs.
Cain staggered back half a step, chest rising and falling. He exhaled and then did something no one expected.
Cain lowered his guard completely. He spread his arms wide.
"You get nine more, so take them" Cain said calmly.
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Callum froze mid-motion, emerald slit eyes narrowing. "You serious I told you not to hold back?"
Cain nodded once. "It's the least I can do. Consider it a show of good faith ,and a form of apology "
Callum's gaze flicked to the royal box.
Calanthe met his eyes. She only gave a single, cold nod.
Callum's jaw tightened and nodded back. "Don't regret this, I'm still not down beating you yet."
Cain planted his feet and braced himself. "Come brother, show me your worse."
The first strike came like a thunderbolt. The dull blade crashed into Cain's shoulder hard enough to split skin and bruise bone. Cain grunted but didn't move.
The second slammed into his ribs. The third across his thigh.
Each blow was heavy, deliberate, meant to hurt Cain as deep as he hurt Callum. The crowd watched in horror as Cain's body took punishment no normal man could endure. Blood spotted the dirt—then, but before their eyes, the wounds began to close.
Skin and muscle knit itself together, and bruises faded.
Gasps rippled through the stands. Everyone in the royal box was was surprised and amazed. Calanthe stiffened. Francesca leaned forward sharply. Stregobor stared as if he were witnessing something he did not expect.
Callum's eyes widened. "Cain. How did—?"
Cain straightened as the final strike landed, his breathing steady despite the pain. He rolled his shoulders once and smirked. "Those were some good hits," Cain said quietly. " I hope that helped you calm down, cause now it's my turn."
Callum smiled. "You gonna tell how you did that?"
Cain shrugged his shoulders. "Beat me and I will."
Callum smile returned to his face as he rushed to Cain. Their swords met again in a violent clash. This time, Cain didn't retreat.
Cain moved faster, sharper then before. His reactions tightened, his strikes cleaner, more decisive. He slipped inside Callum's reach, forced him to block instead of press, and began driving him back.
But something was wrong. Cain felt it almost immediately. Callum was getting faster and stronger.
Each exchange grew heavier, Callum's blows carrying more force than before. His footwork sharpened. His timing improved mid-fight, as if something inside him was awakening under pressure.
Cain's heart pounded.
Cain realized. Callum was adapting too fast.
The realization hit hard. If Cain didn't end this now, if he let Callum keep growing in this moment—he would lose. As their blades locked again.
The crowd held its breath.
Steel screamed as they pushed against each other, power colliding in the center of the arena. The fight was reaching it's conclusion.