I Became an Ant Lord, So I Built a Hive Full of Beauties-Chapter 513: Battle of Blood

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The first clash rang through the circle like a struck gong.

Steel kissed steel; sand jumped; banners snapped as if flinching.

Kai felt the shock run through his arms and down into his legs. Vorak’s first thrust had not been a feint. It had punched in with the kind of confidence that assumed anything in front of it would either die or get out of the way.

Kai had done neither.

He slid his lower hand on the haft, angling the shaft so the force bled along his spear instead of straight into his shoulder. Apex Plus made his frame heavier, denser, his plates humming under the strain. His muscles burned in a good way, the way they did when they remembered what they were for.

Vorak’s eyes flicked once, noting the choice, then narrowed in approval.

Then they both moved, and there was no more room for appreciation.

The general’s second strike came in low and sideways, spear butt whipping toward Kai’s knee with vicious intent. Kai hopped just enough that the strike smashed into his shin plate instead of the joint. Pain flared; Adaptive Armor thickened under the impact, spreading it.

[Ding! System notification-

HP: 7000 → 5940.

Aura: 5880 → 5660.

Advisory: impact absorbed; structural integrity intact.]

Vorak did not pause to admire his work. His spear reversed, the point snapping up in a tight arc for Kai’s ribs.

Kai turned with it, letting the tip slide along the edge of a plate, sparks spitting, then batted the shaft aside with the middle of his own, using his superior mass to shove the point off-line. Sand ground under his boots as he took half a step in chest-to-chest range, trying to bring his mandibles and claws into play.

Vorak simply bent, flowing sideways like water, his spear a pivot.

The butt smacked down at Kai’s ankle.

Kai let his leg give way.

He dropped, letting gravity and Apex Plus combine, one knee slamming into the sand. The butt stroke passed where his ankle had been a fraction of a heartbeat before. As he fell, he turned the motion into his own strike, spear whipping around in a short, brutal arc aimed at Vorak’s leading foot.

Vorak hopped, the point slicing under his heel. Sand sprayed.

The circle’s edge blurred around them as they tested each other’s baselines, movement tight and vicious. There were no grand flourishes, no showy spins. Every motion was lean, every strike meant something.

Outside the ring, thousands watched.

Scarlet soldiers leaned unconsciously forward with each exchange. Ant drones on the ramp gripped their weapons so tightly their knuckles went pale under chitin. Yavri’s watchers scratched frantic shorthand, ink splattering as the first lines of legend took shape on the page.

On the mountain’s shoulder, Miryam balanced on the stone lip, fists clenched at her sides, golden eyes locked on the two small figures below. She did not breathe. She did not need to.

In the trees beyond the flats, Ikea crouched, cloak hood shadowing her face, gaze cold and intent.

The circle itself shrank around the duelists until there was nothing in the world but two men and two spears.

Vorak came in again, this time with a stuttering pattern that mimicked the ragged rhythm of a panicked line – a feint, a pause, a lunge that arrived half a beat after instinct said it should.

Kai almost bit.

Predator’s Instinct snarled at the back of his mind, a subtle tug at his shoulders.

There.

He shifted his weight an instant earlier than his brain thought wise, sliding his torso just out of line. The spearhead hissed past his ribs close enough that he felt the metal’s breath on his undersuit. In the same motion he brought his own spear across, not to parry, but to stab for Vorak’s extended forearm.

It hit.

Metal rang against the thin plate; Kai felt the jolt of contact travel up his arms.

Vorak twisted, letting the spearhead skitter along his bracer instead of biting deep. A shallow groove opened in the armor; a thin line of red welled in the gap.

For a heartbeat, Kai’s whole body sang with the satisfaction of first blood drawn.

Vorak smiled.

"Good," the general said under his breath, low enough that no one outside the ring would hear. "I was worried you only knew how to hit things on a ramp."

Kai did not waste breath on a reply.

He drove forward, trying to turn that small advantage into something bigger. His spear flowed into a series of short, vicious jabs, more like a giant sewing needle than a man-sized weapon. He targeted joints – wrist, elbow, the seam where Vorak’s breastplate met his stomach plates. Sparks flew with every near miss; sand puffed where strikes went wide by an inch.

Vorak gave ground, step by step, measured step.

He did not retreat tentatively. Each backward move was deliberate, controlled, part of a pattern Kai could not quite see yet. His spear rotated constantly, switching from line to line, catching Kai’s thrusts on its shaft or sliding them aside with irritating efficiency.

A few got through.

A nick here.

A scratch there.

Shallow cuts along armor seams, the sort of wounds that would barely justify a field bandage on most days. On this morning, there were ledger entries.

Kai’s side twinged with every twist.

His ribs had not magically forgotten yesterday. Every time he torqued his torso to add power to a strike, something in his left side sent up a quiet protest. Miryam’s small healing licks had taken the edge off, but the deeper damage still lurked.

Vorak noticed.

Of course he did.

On the third wince, the general’s eyes sharpened. His next attack swept wide and high, forcing Kai to block over his head. The movement pulled across the bruised ribs; pain flared.

Vorak’s spear reversed halfway through the arc, the point darting low and in for Kai’s injured side like a snake.

Kai jerked down his elbow, twisting his torso to present more plate and less seam. The spear scraped along armor instead of biting deep, but the impact still sent a hot shock through his side.