Oath of the King-Chapter 33: The Enemy in the Light

Sylvie held him.

The world spun around them—blood on stone, the stench of iron, the muffled chaos of the waking city—but here, in her arms, Alden found a fragile stillness.His breath rattled in his chest, broken and uneven. His fingers clutched the back of her cloak like a man terrified to let go.

He would have stayed there forever if he could.

But fate—cruel and patient—was never finished with him.

A slow, deliberate clapping echoed down the alleyway.

Alden stiffened. Sylvie turned, her arms still around him, her body instinctively shielding him even though she knew she couldn't stop whatever was coming.

A figure stepped into the light.

He wore a trainee's armor—sleek, polished steel that caught the rising sun like a blade. His cloak was crimson, the color reserved for squires of noble blood. His hair was neat, his smile sharp and cold.And his eyes—Gods, his eyes—held a cruelty that needed no words.

"Touching," the knight trainee said, voice dripping with mockery. "Truly. I almost shed a tear."

Alden broke from Sylvie's embrace without thinking. His body moved faster than thought, faster than reason.

He charged.

Not with a sword.Not with strategy.Just fists and fury and a scream that had been trapped in his ribs for far too long.

The knight trainee didn't flinch.

With a fluid, almost lazy movement, he caught Alden's wrist mid-punch—and twisted.

Pain flared up Alden's arm like fire. He grunted, trying to drive his knee into the knight's gut, but the trainee deflected him with a brutal shove.

Alden stumbled back, stunned.

The knight trainee laughed—a soft, cruel sound.

"You really thought you could touch me? After everything?"

Alden said nothing. His chest heaved with breathless fury.

The knight tilted his head, amused. "You should be thanking me. I was merciful. I sent bandits, not blades. A warning. You were supposed to stay down, broken like the coward you are."

Sylvie moved to Alden's side, but he lifted a hand—stay back.

His eyes burned holes through the space between them.

"You sent those men after her," Alden said, voice low and ragged.

The knight shrugged. "Collateral. What's one maid, more or less? Trash attracts trash."

Sylvie flinched at the words, but Alden...Alden ignited.

He drew his sword in a single, vicious motion.

The knight trainee only smiled wider—and drew his own blade.

It was longer than Alden's. Sharper. Perfectly balanced. The weapon of someone who had trained not for survival, but for domination.

The two circled each other.

The alley grew narrower, the world collapsing down to the glint of steel and the crackle of rage in the cold morning light.

Then—

The knight struck first.

Alden barely parried, the force of the blow vibrating up his arms, rattling his teeth.The knight flowed forward, raining down a series of rapid, punishing strikes.

Alden staggered under the assault, blocking high, low, high again, his muscles screaming with the effort. Each impact jarred him, drove him back a step, then another.

"You don't even know how to hold a sword properly," the knight sneered, launching a brutal downward cut.

Alden caught it on the flat of his blade, but the impact buckled his knees.

He dropped low, tried to sweep the knight's legs.

The knight jumped, graceful as a hawk.

Steel hissed through the air.Alden barely ducked the slash aimed at his throat.

Sylvie pressed her hands against her mouth, watching with wide, horrified eyes.

The knight toyed with him now, delivering precise, almost bored attacks. Testing him. Bleeding him.

"You think you're special because you survived a few years in the dirt?" the knight mocked. "You're nothing. A ghost clinging to scraps of a story no one remembers."

Alden gritted his teeth. His arms were growing heavy. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.

But he didn't back down.

He drove forward, feinting left, slashing right. The knight parried effortlessly, stepping aside and delivering a brutal pommel strike to Alden's ribs.

Alden gasped, doubling over—but he twisted, swinging his blade upward in a desperate arc.

Steel met steel with a deafening clang.

The knight trainee laughed, delighted.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and hungry. "Struggle. Break. Show me how pathetic you really are."

He attacked again, faster this time, a whirlwind of slashes and thrusts. Alden parried one, two—then took a shallow cut across the forearm.

Blood splattered the stones.

Sylvie screamed his name.

But Alden barely heard her.

The world narrowed to the dance of blades, the pounding of his heart, the white-hot roar of rage in his ears.

He lunged again—reckless, wild.

The knight sidestepped easily and kicked him square in the chest.

Alden hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. His sword skittered across the stones, clattering out of reach.

The knight stood over him, blade poised for the killing blow.

"Look at you," the knight said softly. "Not a hero. Not even a villain. Just... forgotten."

He raised his sword.

And Alden—

Alden reached, not for his sword.

But for Bedringer.

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The doll, lying forgotten among the blood and dust.

His fingers brushed the worn cloth.And something inside him—something old, something furious—rose from the ashes.

Alden surged up, grabbing the knight's sword-arm with both hands. They struggled, muscles straining, inches from Alden's throat.

The knight snarled, trying to force the blade down.

But Alden's grip was iron now.

For the first time, the knight's eyes widened.Fear.Real, gut-deep fear.

Alden wrenched the arm sideways, twisting, turning—using the knight's own momentum against him. They crashed into the wall, hard.

The sword clattered free.

Both men staggered apart—bloodied, panting, wild-eyed.

Alden dove for his fallen blade.

Steel kissed his hand.

The knight trainee growled and lunged—but Alden was ready.

He pivoted, slashing upward.

The knight parried—but the impact drove him back two steps, then three.

Now it was Alden pressing forward, blow after blow after blow.

Not graceful.

Not elegant.

But relentless.

Fueled by fury.Fueled by guilt.Fueled by every broken promise he had ever whispered into the dark.

The knight trainee gritted his teeth, parrying desperately.

But even he was beginning to tire.

Alden screamed—an inhuman sound—and slammed his blade against the knight's with everything he had.

Steel shrieked.The knight stumbled.

Alden closed in.

The fight wasn't over.Not yet.

But for the first time, the knight realized:

He might not win.