Chapter 521: Why won’t you Die?
The loud whispers from the on-watchers made Octavius start to shiver like a terrified little girl, as he looked around with an extremely pitiful face.
“Imp-p-ossible! Why are you not dying?!” He manically yelled.
His voice was high-pitched, cracking with desperation and disbelief, and his eyes were wild, darting from the broken sword in his hand to the bloodied but very much alive Amazon standing before him.
He could not understand what was happening, could not comprehend how his attacks, which should have been lethal, were barely cutting her.
The second sword he had chosen had been enchanted, designed to cut through flesh and bone like butter.
And yet, it had shattered against her neck like glass against stone. The image of that moment was burned into his mind, a recurring nightmare that played over and over again in his terror-stricken thoughts.
“Like I said, it is because you do not understand how to use a weapon. My body is flesh and blood as much as yours is. If it can be cut, it will be cut.” Heka explained calmly, her voice holding the patient tone of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. “Very well, go and bring yet another sword.”
She was utterly unbothered, completely unconcerned by the fact that she was bleeding from her neck.
Her body was covered in blood, but the wound didn’t seem to cause her any real distress.
She stood there, arms folded, waiting for Octavius to retrieve yet another weapon that might avail him.
Ah, now I see why Heka always have scars all over her body, even when she didn’t engage in more battles than Sara and Tamar, who were actually scarless.
Some of them were probably rough plays she initiated with some poor Amazons.
The Amazons she sparred with had probably been terrified and tried to hold back, but Heka would have pushed them, goaded them, and forced them to hurt her.
Nightmare fuel, in a different kind of sense.
CRASHHHH!
“Put power in you wrist and core, it’s not just about swinging harder!” Heka turned into a drill sergeant.
The latest sword had shattered against her forearm, the pieces clattering to the ground.
She simply stood there, watching Octavius with a critical eye, analyzing his form and finding it lacking.
CRASHHHH!
“Did you think targeting the bone there will make things easier?! The joint, go for the joints, you fool!” Another sword shattered.
Another shallow wound appeared on Heka’s body.
CRASHHHH!
“Argh, you certainly are such an annoying student! You haven’t even severed a limb since we began!” Heka’s voice was rising now, frustration bleeding through her calm exterior.
She had been patient, given him chance after chance, but his incompetence was testing even her patience.
SNAP!
“Stabbing is good and all, but targeting my navel is a bad idea. It’s not one of my vital point!” A broken part of the blade was slightly lodged in her stomach, a thin line of blood trickling down her skin.
SNAP!
“What are you doing, student of mine?! Pierce my softer left breast! Are you trying to not kill me?!” Heka was just as frustrated as Octavius by this point, scratching her head as she stared at the broken pieces of sword around her, blood flowing from every point of her body that wasn’t protected by her scandalous armor.
Wait, why was she wearing the armor then?
Her arms were covered in cuts, her thigh were marked with gashes, and her torso was a map of wounds. But she was still standing, breathing, and very unimpressed.
Octavius fell on his knees, trembling and gnashing his teeth, tears followed a while later, which he always tried to wipe immediately.
His body was shaking uncontrollably, his mind shattered by the impossibility of what he was experiencing. He had given everything he had, had poured every ounce of his strength and magic into his attacks, and it had not been enough.
It seemed like nothing would ever be enough. He was going to die here, in front of everyone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Well, you used up your grace. I guess it truly is my turn now.”
Hearing this, Octavius turned his back and definitely tried to run. But the looks of the many witnesses made him pause.
He seemed like a fairly popular and strong adventurer, and he probably joined the battle against that ultimate wyvern.
The crowd was watching, their eyes filled with judgment, their whispers already spreading through the assembled throng. If he ran, he would be branded a coward forever.
It would be a different, but still humiliating, thing if he had apologized to Heka since the beginning.
But after trying so much to kill her while she didn’t even try to defend herself once, running away was not just humiliating.
He would be seen as immensely cowardly, by even upstart adventurers. He would be the lowest of the low, and automatically the weakest and most pitiful adventurer in Thaad.
If word travel overseas, it would be more devastating. His reputation would be destroyed, his career would be over, and he would never be able to show his face in any civilized society again.
Reputation mattered that much to a regular adventurer.
So Octavius turned back, breathing hard, and faced Heka again, his eyes pleading with her.
He was soundlessly begging for mercy with every gesture, begging for a way out, for anything that would save him from the fate that awaited him.
But there was no mercy in Heka’s eyes, no pity, nor compassion. There was only the cold, patient anticipation of a warrior who had waited long enough.
“Eric, please borrow me your blade,” Heka’s words sounded like an executioner’s, even onlookers were trembling from the implication.
The crowd held its breath, their eyes fixed on the Amazon who had just requested a weapon for the first time in the entire duel.
Eric hesitated a little, paying a sad glance at the trembling Octavius. He had known the man, had fought alongside him sometimes, and had considered him a fellow, if stupid, adventurer.
And now he was about to hand over the weapon that would end his life.
“Hm?” Heka raised a brow, puzzled as to why Eric hesitated, “Ah, are you worried that I may break it? Worry not, then… I know how to cut things. Your blade will only be stained with blood a little. I assure you, I will not even dent.”
Her words were casual and dismissive, as if she were discussing a minor inconvenience rather than the impending death of a man.
Eric soon caved and threw the sword at her, and she caught the handle of the katana. The blade gleamed in the light, its edge sharp and deadly, and Heka held it with the familiarity of someone who had wielded a hundred such weapons.
She looked at the artistic appearance and whispered praises to it for a minute, before casually turning to walk over to Octavius.
The walk was slow and excruciating, and when she reached, slightly taller than him, Octavius’ eyes began to shake, not able to focus on one point anymore.