thief of fate-Chapter 83: Alistair vs vildar
Alistair stepped into the arena with steady strides, neither hesitant nor slow. His back was straight, his face calm.
He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone not to the crowd that erupted in cheers at his appearance, nor to the opponent waiting on the opposite side. But even so... he had no intention of holding back.
"Alistair! Alistair!"
His name echoed like crashing waves in a stadium filled with watching eyes and pounding hearts.
His opponent stood across from him a man called Vildar.
He flicked his wrist lightly, and a sharp metallic scrape came from his sword, as if the air itself had been split.
"Looks like we use the same weapon..."
Vildar said, his voice carrying a blend of excitement and alertness.
"But let’s see if we share the same skill as well."
Alistair didn’t respond, only lowered his head slightly and closed his eyes for a second.
There was a faint light inside him, pulsing every time he breathed in, pulsing every time he remembered something no, someone.
"This isn’t for you all,"
he thought silently as he opened his eyes again.
"This is just for me."
The sword moved in his grip smoothly, as if it were an extension of his body. He raised his head to meet his opponent’s gaze with unwavering focus.
"Let’s begin."
Alistair said, in a tone free of arrogance, yet it filled the arena with an invisible weight.
The audience fell into a sudden silence, as if something in the boy’s tone made them quiet without realizing it.
Then came the explosion.
Both launched forward like arrows from tightly drawn bows. Their swords clashed with thunderous force.
It wasn’t a single strike, but a series a flurry of attacks too fast to follow, each one carrying the intent to bring down the other.
Alistair lunged at an angle, twisting his body to deliver a horizontal strike toward the side.
Vildar blocked it and stepped half a pace back, then thrust his sword toward Alistair’s neck.
Alistair raised his sword at a precise angle and deflected it, but this time, he felt the pressure.
"Strong..."
The word crept into his mind against his will.
"But not enough."
He didn’t retreat. Instead, he circled his opponent in a half arc and delivered a sudden downward strike.
Sparks flew from the stone floor as the sword buried into the ground, barely dodged by Vildar.
The crowd erupted in applause, and shouts rose from various corners:
"This is the fight we want!"
Up above, Valerian sat, arms crossed, eyes unblinking as he watched the battle.
He didn’t know Alistair well... but he understood him.
"Alistair’s aura is strange..."
He thought as he analyzed every move.
Then he smiled.
"This fight... I like it."
Alistair advanced again, but this time not recklessly. It was as if he were dancing with his opponent.
A step, a spin, a light slide across the floor, a subtle sword lift, then a feint followed by a counterattack.
Vildar barely blocked the last strike, and with every step back, Alistair’s eyes grew colder and more confident.
"You really are strong, aren’t you?"
Vildar said, breathing heavily, his sword trembling in his grip.
Alistair answered in a barely audible voice:
"If you think so... then wait to see it."
Then he launched a compound attack: a horizontal slash followed instantly by an upward strike.
This time, Vildar wasn’t fast enough.
A shallow cut tore across his shoulder, and a sudden cry rose from the crowd.
But instead of retreating, he laughed.
"Well done... real blood at last."
Alistair didn’t smile. He didn’t show satisfaction.
But inside, something was igniting... a forgotten feeling of precision, of competence...
"My sword... is beginning to remember."
Vildar lunged again, this time with greater ferocity.
His attacks carried recklessness, yet beneath that — incredible focus.
His sword seemed determined to break through Alistair’s defenses at any cost.
Their blades clashed again and again, each strike leaving sparks in the air.
Alistair’s shoulder quivered with each collision.
"Not an easy opponent... but he’s tiring."
Suddenly, Alistair changed his rhythm entirely.
It was like he switched the melody of the battle without warning.
He feinted with a double move, dodged a heavy blow, circled behind, and struck Vildar’s side with the hilt of his sword.
Vildar groaned and fell to one knee but Alistair didn’t attack.
He stood close, sword pointed downward, his voice calm:
"Get up. That’s not enough."
Cheers and shouts of admiration rose. Some called out Alistair’s name, while others urged Vildar to rise again.
Among the crowd, a young boy raised his hand and shouted:
"Alistair! Finish him!"
But Alistair didn’t move.
His eyes watched, not without respect.
"Not yet."
Alistair thought.
Vildar lifted his head, sweat mixing with a thin line of blood on his face.
"You... you’re not like the others."
He said in a strained voice.
Then he stood, despite the pain, despite the confusion.
He gripped his sword with both hands, planted his feet, then smiled.
"For you... I’ll bring out my best."
Alistair shifted his stance slightly, sword poised to strike.
Vildar raised his blade before his face, dragging a finger along its edge slowly as if drawing something.
His eyes never left Alistair, as if weighing what he’d do next.
"Let’s take this fight beyond the limit."
He said in a breathy tone, then whispered words no one else could hear... except his sword.
The blade glowed with a pale blue light, then split in a flash into three swords, each one moving smoothly with the original.
"The Triple Split."
Alistair didn’t back down, but the pressure grew heavier.
"This isn’t an illusion... his sword really split into three distinct blades."
The thought flashed through his mind as he watched the swords hover around Vildar.
In a split second, the three swords charged alongside Vildar in a coordinated assault.
At least four blades attacked at once from clashing angles.
Alistair blocked one head-on, dodged two, but the fourth nicked his arm.
He felt the heat of blood, and the cold of steel.
He retreated lightly, gritting his teeth.
"This won’t end unless I show everything I have."
He ran his hand along his sword and took a deep breath.
His father’s voice echoed in memory.
"The ’Sharpness’ skill this is what I give you, to become the family’s next blade."
Alistair opened his eyes and said quietly:
"Sharpness."
The air around him trembled briefly. No light, no visible effect... but the crowd felt it.
A short silence filled the stands... then one observer cried out:
"His sword is cutting the ground!"
Indeed, every step Alistair took afterward left a faint crack behind, as if the ground had turned to paper beneath an unseen blade.
He raised his sword slowly, extending it to the side. Even the air around the edge seemed to peel, as though something invisible was slicing it.
Vildar frowned, the swords circling him drawing closer in both offense and defense.
"What is this skill...?"
He asked, adjusting his stance.
Alistair replied:
"No need for me to tell you what it is."
He charged.
His speed didn’t change much, but every strike now threatened more than just contact.
A horizontal slash one sword cleaved completely.
Another, a downward blow tore the second as if it never existed.
The third tried to block, but split from the center, falling like burning paper.
Vildar backed away, sweat pouring, eyes wide.
"You’re tearing through my energy... without even striking me directly."
Alistair paused for a moment, looking at his sword, which now shimmered as if drinking from some hidden light.
"Everything I touch... becomes as sharp as I will it."
He said in a quiet tone, void of pride.
"My sword now... doesn’t just cut steel."
From his seat, Valerian placed a hand under his chin, watching with a half-closed gaze.
"His sword is insanely strong... its sharpness is unreal. Looks like you’re taking it to the next level to win."
Then he whispered, almost to himself:
A skill only used when you want to slice your opponent in two.
The battle resumed.
Vildar didn’t give up he shouted and raised his sword, pouring all his energy into a straight thrust.
His blade shattered into dozens of copies, flying like shards toward Alistair.
Alistair didn’t retreat.
He simply raised his sword... and cut through the air. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂
All the shards scattered like glass under a rain blade.
The stadium erupted in cheers. Some didn’t fully grasp what had happened, but they saw something break before them.
"A fight like this... we don’t see every day."
"This boy... Alistair... who the hell is he?!"
Vildar stood with difficulty. His chest rose and fell, arm trembling.
"You..."
He said, looking at Alistair.
"You didn’t choose victory from the start... you chose the harder path."
Alistair didn’t respond, but inside, something shifted.
"I’ve started to understand... why my father gave me this skill."
"To teach me how to become a sword... a sword that cuts through everything."
