The Cursed Extra-Chapter 98: [2.46] The Wolf-Girl Won’t Stop Screaming

"Nothing ruins a bully’s big moment like becoming the straight man in someone else’s comedy routine."

***

"FIGHT, YOU USELESS FODDER!"

The bellow sliced through the crowd’s amusement. Every head turned toward the House Onyx section, where Fen Grimhowl had erupted from her seat like a volcano going critical.

Her copper-red hair whipped around her shoulders as she leaned over the railing. Golden eyes blazed with fury that could have melted steel. The wolf-kin’s pointed ears were pressed flat against her skull. I could see the tips of her canines as she snarled down at me. Her tail lashed behind her, striking the stone bench with audible thumps.

"STOP DANCING LIKE A FRIGHTENED GOAT! HIT HIM!"

Two Onyx students grabbed her arms. Marcus Vellum and Thomlin Ashworth. They tried to pull her back into her seat. She shrugged them off like they were children. Marcus staggered back a full step from the force of her dismissal.

"I SWEAR TO THE ANCIENTS, LEONE, I WILL SKIN YOU MYSELF IF YOU DISHONOR US LIKE THIS!"

Oh, this is even better than I hoped.

Fen’s rage was real. Raw. Completely unfiltered. She wasn’t embarrassed by my performance. She was personally offended by it. Every stumble, every missed parry, every moment of apparent cowardice was a direct insult to her warrior’s pride.

To her, combat was sacred. The only honest language in a world full of lies.

And I was desecrating it with my pathetic display.

Sorry, wolf-girl. Nothing personal.

The contrast between her volcanic fury and my pathetic display made me look even more hopeless by comparison. The mighty wolf-kin screaming herself hoarse at a trembling failure who couldn’t hold his sword properly.

Comedy gold.

The crowd’s laughter took on a different quality now. Where before they’d been laughing with Vance at my expense, now they were laughing at the sheer absurdity of the spectacle.

Vance’s confident smirk flickered.

This wasn’t the glorious public execution he’d envisioned. The crowd wasn’t admiring his skill or cheering his dominance. They were treating the entire thing like a comedy performance.

And I was the star of the show.

He was supposed to be the hero of this story. The righteous noble putting an upstart in his place with elegant brutality. Instead, he was becoming a supporting character in a farce.

Sucks to be you, buddy.

"Focus on me, Leone," he snapped. Advanced with his sword raised. His voice had lost some of its theatrical projection. "Not the rabble in the stands."

I backed away. Raised my blade in what might charitably be called a guard position if you squinted and had never seen actual swordplay.

"I’m trying! She’s very loud!"

"VERY LOUD?" Fen’s voice cracked like thunder. "I’LL SHOW YOU VERY LOUD WHEN I—"

"Fen, please!" Thomlin’s voice was strained as he struggled to keep the wolf-kin from vaulting over the railing. His thin arms wrapped around her waist. His feet slid on the stone as she dragged him forward. "You’re making it worse!"

"WORSE? HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY BE WORSE? HE’S FIGHTING LIKE A WET KITTEN!"

Vance’s eye twitched.

He darted forward. His blade whistled through the air in a strike that would have opened my throat if it had been real steel instead of blunted practice metal. The attack was faster than his previous ones. Driven by frustration rather than showmanship.

I threw myself backward. Arms flailing for balance. My foot caught on the uneven sand and I went down again. This time in a spectacular backwards tumble that sent me rolling across the arena floor like a dropped sack of grain.

Sand flew everywhere. The borrowed leather armor twisted around my torso. Bound my arms against my sides.

The crowd lost what remained of its collective mind.

Even the faculty box wasn’t immune. I caught a glimpse of Professor Blackthorne rubbing his temples as if fighting a headache. Professor Delacroix had covered her mouth with one delicate hand. Her violet eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement.

I rolled to a stop near the arena’s edge. Covered in sand. Breathing hard. My borrowed practice armor had twisted around my torso. My hair stuck up at angles that defied both gravity and dignity.

I must look like a scarecrow that lost a fight with a windstorm.

"GET UP!" Fen roared from the stands. "STOP ROLLING AROUND LIKE A DYING FISH AND FIGHT!"

I struggled to my feet. Swayed dramatically as I tried to straighten my armor. My sword lay halfway across the arena. Abandoned during my strategic retreat that observers might charitably call "running away screaming."

Vance stood in the center of the ring. His blade hung loose at his side. Staring at me with the expression of someone who’d ordered a feast and been served something that died under the kitchen last week.

"Are you going to retrieve your weapon," he asked, his voice tight with frustration, "or shall I just declare victory now and spare us all this... whatever this is?"

"Right! Yes! The sword! Very important tool of combat!"

I stumbled toward where my blade lay gleaming in the sand. My gait resembled someone who’d not only forgotten how legs worked but was actively trying to invent new and incorrect ways to use them. I nearly tripped over nothing twice on the way there. The second time I caught myself on my hands and knees before pushing back upright.

The crowd’s mood had transformed entirely. What had started as bloodthirsty excitement had curdled into scornful amusement. They weren’t cheering for Vance anymore. They were just watching this slow-motion disaster unfold.

And the best part? This is exactly what Vance deserves.

I’d studied him for weeks. Watched him preen and posture in the dining hall. During training. In the corridors. Seen how he fed on admiration and respect like a vampire at a blood feast.

He needed to be seen as superior. Needed the validation of crushing those beneath him with elegant brutality. A quick, clean victory would have satisfied his ego and cemented his reputation. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

This? This was a humiliation that went both ways.

Yes, I looked pathetic. But what did that make him? The noble warrior reduced to chasing a stumbling, whimpering fool around the arena while a wolf-kin screamed increasingly creative insults from the stands?

The mighty hunter unable to catch the most pathetic prey imaginable.

I reached my sword and bent to pick it up. Made a show of nearly toppling face-first into the sand in the process. My fingers closed around the hilt on the third try.

When I straightened, Vance was stalking toward me. His jaw clenched tight enough to crack walnuts. His perfect composure crumbled with every step.

"Enough games, Leone." His voice had lost its theatrical projection. Dropped to something cold and personal. "Stand still and let me finish this."

I raised my sword in another terrible guard. Blade wavering like a reed in a strong wind.

"I’m not playing games! I’m doing my best!"

"YOUR BEST?" Fen’s voice carried clearly across the arena. "YOUR BEST IS AN INSULT TO SWORDS EVERYWHERE! MY GRANDMOTHER FOUGHT BETTER THAN THIS, AND SHE’S BEEN DEAD FOR TEN YEARS!"

Several students in the other sections had started laughing at Fen’s commentary as much as my performance. Even some of the Onyx students looked like they were fighting smiles.

Rhys Blackwood alone remained stone-faced. His green eyes tracked my movements with unsettling focus.

That one’s too smart for his own good.

Vance’s face had gone red beneath his perfectly tousled hair. This wasn’t the easy victory he’d been promised. This was a farce. And worse, a farce that made him look like a fool for participating in it.

That’s it. Get angry. Lose that careful control.

He came at me again. Faster this time. His blade carved sharp lines through the morning air. I backpedaled frantically. My sword waved wild patterns that occasionally intersected with his attacks more by accident than design.

Steel rang against steel in a series of clumsy collisions that bore no resemblance to actual swordplay. Each time our blades met, I staggered backward. My face a mask of desperate concentration.

"Stand and fight!" Vance snarled.

"I am standing! Mostly!"

"THAT’S NOT STANDING, THAT’S CONTROLLED FALLING!" Fen bellowed. "PLANT YOUR FEET AND SWING THE POINTY END AT THE BAD MAN!"

I’m keeping her, I decided. I don’t know how yet, but I’m definitely keeping her.