thief of fate-Chapter 86: easy fight

The anticipation hung thick in the air, as if even silence itself had stepped two paces back to make room for the coming event.

Rain’s leisurely steps pierced the arena, unhurried, unserious, something closer to amusement. His chin was raised, a light smile drawn on his face, as if he were walking into a masquerade, not a duel. His relaxed eyes lazily scanned the crowd, and when they stopped on his opponent standing at the other end, there was no glint of fighting intent in them.

"Ah..." Rain murmured, raising his hand to yawn in front of everyone, not even attempting to lower his voice. "This is it?"

Whispers rose among the spectators, some laughed nervously, some cursed him under their breath, and others remained silent, watching, anticipating... like the three kings seated above.

Queen Elyria, arms crossed and gaze sharp as a blade, said: "What an arrogant fool. His walk alone reveals his ignorance of what he’s about to face."

King Yaram didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on Rain, before replying calmly: "Don’t underestimate him, Elyria. Arrogance is one thing... playing with blind confidence is something else."

King Taryll seemed about to speak, but Rain’s next movement drew all eyes.

He raised his arms high, then clasped his hands above his head and began stretching shamelessly, as if he had just woken from a nap. Then, with a broad smile, he called out across the arena:

"Dear fighter, please don’t take this too seriously, I beg you. I’ve decided to set some... rules."

His opponent pursed his lips and didn’t respond, his body tense like a drawn bowstring. His name was Drayx. A tall man, broad-shouldered, his eyes blazing with quiet rage from the moment Rain entered the arena.

Rain continued, placing his hands behind his back and spinning halfway: "No weapons. Only the right hand and the left foot allowed. And I grant myself only one strike. Is that fair?"

Some in the crowd laughed, while others choked on their shock.

Drayx shouted, rage bursting in his chest: "Are you mocking me?!"

"Not at all, not at all..." Rain said, shaking his head slowly, then smiled: "I just... enjoy a challenge."

The judge gave the starting signal, but even before the whistle hit the air, Drayx had already dashed forward like an arrow, leaving no room for mockery.

Strikes. A torrent of punches, kicks, lunges — a body erupting with violence, with anger, every movement speaking of the humiliation he felt. His speed was great, and every blow designed to crush, to pierce, to silence that face still holding its cold smile.

But...

Rain didn’t move.

He didn’t strike. He didn’t retreat. He didn’t respond.

Instead... he began to close his eyes.

Yes... he closed his eyes.

And at that moment, everything stopped for an instant. Shock mixed with astonishment, and the rage in Drayx’s chest burned hotter.

"Open your eyes!" he screamed as he struck again, but Rain opened nothing. He simply tilted his body slightly and dodged the punch as if he had seen it before.

Above, Elyria said, her tone sharper: "He’s mocking him."

But Yaram said, in a low voice without looking away:

"No... he’s just bored."

And that was true.

Inside Rain’s mind, everything was quiet, as if the world had slowed slightly to suit his mood.

Left shoulder. Overextension. Weakness when changing angles. Repetition of right foot pattern.

Boring.

Rain thought about yawning again, but feared it would anger the man more, so he postponed it.

Drayx kept attacking. Striking. Roaring. As if he carried the burden of a hundred men’s battle on his shoulders. While the crowd screamed and clapped, and the ground beneath his feet trembled, Rain was still standing there, dodging everything with the smallest possible movement.

"Is that all you’ve got?" Rain finally spoke, in a tone closer to pity than mockery.

"I’ll crush you!" Drayx roared, launching a final attack — a high leap, a decisive blow toward Rain’s head.

Rain opened his eyes.

One moment.

The air recoiled.

Then Rain moved.

One strike.

His right hand extended — with an unseen lightness — met Drayx’s blow, then deflected it, no... stopped it, then reversed it.

Drayx fell.

No words, no screams, no courtesy.

He just fell.

Stunned silence.

Then the arena exploded with shouting.

King Taryll finally smiled and said: "That boy... is not arrogant. He just knows exactly who he is."

As for Rain, he raised his hand to his mouth and finally yawned, audibly, before saying: "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Valerian didn’t understand what had happened... not right away, at least.

His body was still standing, hands at his sides, breathing slow, but inside... he was a storm.

He looked at Drayx’s body stretched on the ground, then at Rain who leaned slightly to brush something imaginary off his sleeve like it was mere dust. One strike. Just one strike. And he had chosen to fight with only one hand and one foot, without a weapon, and with his eyes closed most of the time.

Is this even possible? His mind asked — once, twice, ten times — but all the repetition changed nothing about the truth. He had won... with terrifying ease.

Kyle approached him, eyes wide with a mix of awe and amazement. He whispered, as if afraid someone might hear: "Did you see what I saw?"

Valerian didn’t respond.

He was looking at Rain like he was seeing him for the first time. He knew Rain was strong... of course, everyone knew. But this? This agility, confidence, an ability that could only be described as beyond human... wasn’t at all what he expected.

Kyle spoke again, his voice more of a sigh: "I once heard that Rain might surpass Edgar himself in battle... I didn’t believe it. But now?"

Valerian slowly turned his head and looked at Kyle.

"You mean... he’s stronger than my father?"

"Maybe... not quite yet, but..." Kyle paused, then exhaled: "He’s different. Something in his style says no one can touch him."

Valerian wasn’t the only one struck by awe.

The arena, the moment Drayx fell, seemed to choke. Then it began to erupt gradually: screaming, shouting, clapping, shock, debate. Some laughed without reason, others yelled in outrage: "Impossible!" "What kind of joke is this?!"

Among the crowd, many eyes didn’t know how to understand what they’d seen. It wasn’t just a victory... but total domination. As if Rain hadn’t been in a duel — but on a stroll.

As for Edgar, his gaze was fixed on his son, unmoving. His cold eyes, which rarely revealed emotions, held something... unknown.

Leona Seraphina asked him: "Did you know your son could do that?"

Edgar didn’t respond immediately. Then, in a low voice, he said: "I’ve never seen Rain fight seriously."

"And this is what he does without seriousness?" she asked, as if not believing her ears.

"This is what he does when he’s bored," Edgar replied, then added, with a tone that held something mysterious: "And the question now is... what happens if he decides to truly fight?"

Rain himself didn’t seem to care about the uproar. He walked out of the arena, his steps slow, as if he’d finished a boring chore. And with every step he took, something inside Valerian tightened. A strange feeling — a mix of jealousy, awe, and exhausting admiration.

How can a human... be this superior? And... why? Why doesn’t Rain even seem to care?

He saw his back growing more distant, and heard his heart pounding hard.

He wished what he had seen was a lie.

But he knew... it was the truth.

Rain left the arena slowly, without looking back, the amused smile still lingering on his lips. The voices behind him began to fade little by little, as if dissolving into the void.

All he felt... was disappointment.

Disappointment at the lack of anyone who stirred the fight within him.

He muttered as he walked through one of the stone corridors: "If only there was someone... just a bit stronger."

He raised his eyes upward, toward the sky, as if searching it for an answer, then whispered with a half-serious smile: "Maybe... I should fight Father next time."

As Rain moved away from the arena, he stretched lazily again and said without looking back: "Thomas... prepare me a bath with mountain ice, and I want three birds that can play music."

Behind him, Thomas sighed deeply and wiped his face: "Oh Lord, take me... what kind of life is this..."

Thomas followed behind Rain, his jaw clenched and fists tight at his sides. Arrogant bastard. Thinks he can just bark orders and everyone will listen. The echo of Rain’s boots was steady ahead of him, unbothered, confident too confident.

One day, someone’s going to shut that smug mouth of yours. Hopefully, it’ll be me.

Still, Thomas didn’t stop. He followed. Because deep down, he knew Rain wasn’t wrong. Not this time.

Thomas followed Rain, cursing him silently. Arrogant or not, orders were orders and for now, he had no choice.