The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 158: Brawl in the river

Water hammered the channel before either man spoke or slowed. The river ran tight between stone walls, shouldering its way through polished rock and dragging loose gravel along the edges. Spray drifted low and cold, clinging to hair and cloth.

Moonlight shattered on the surface and reformed in broken lines that slipped and vanished as the current shifted. Footing changed with each step. Stone dipped, tilted, rolled under pressure. Balance came only after testing.

Vencian moved first through the river corridor, angled slightly upstream to keep the current from cutting his legs out. His breath pulled too hard through his chest, rough and audible over the water. Each step paused halfway, boot hovering while he searched for purchase by feel.

His calves locked when he straightened, heat trapped under skin that had already worked too long earlier in the night. He let weight settle only after the stone held. The river punished haste. He respected that.

Behind him, the other man entered the flow without hesitation. Boots struck shallow water and sent it flashing outward in brief fans. He took the stones as they came, stride unbroken, knees loose. Cold mist brushed his exposed skin, yet a faint warmth bled from him all the same, wrong against the chill. His remaining arm hung easy at his side. The long blade angled down with it, edge darkened, the metal carrying a scorched sheen that swallowed the moon rather than catching it.

They advanced in the same narrow run, separated by only a few lengths of water and stone. The river filled the space between them and spoke for both.

The One-Armed Man shifted his path and came in on the diagonal, boots breaking the surface as he closed. Water slapped his shins and slid away. His shoulders stayed loose. The blade rose only partway, edge traveling in a shallow arc aimed across space rather than flesh.

The cut skimmed low and wide, a reach meant to narrow ground and steer movement toward the deeper run.

Vencian's hand went to his hilt as he stepped. Steel cleared the scabbard halfway through the motion. The draw came clean, drilled into muscle, yet the timing cost him. His weight transferred onto a stone that dipped under pressure.

For a half beat his heel slid and his balance opened. He corrected and brought the blade up together, point angled to catch rather than chase.

His sword showed its limits at once. The metal held an even sheen from use and care, but the edge lacked depth. The spine ran thin.

This was a weapon meant to answer threats, then return to a sheath. His grip stayed careful, fingers set to guide instead of drive.

The blades met once.

The sound cracked through the corridor and leapt off. Steel rang too hard for the space. The jolt traveled straight through Vencian's wrists and into his elbows. The One-Armed Man leaned in on the bind, shoulder and hip following the pressure. His mass settled behind the edge with ease. The current dragged at both of them, but he stood as if the river worked around him.

Vencian broke contact at once. He rolled his wrists, let the edges slide, and stepped back out of reach. Water surged into the space he left. His retreat was measured. He gave ground and took air, blade kept clear of another clash.

The One-Armed Man did not hurry after him. He reset his stance and let the tip dip again, control unbroken.

"Good," he said, voice low and unstrained, carried flat across the water.

Vencian continued to back off along the stones, spacing preserved, sword held ready but untouched.

The One-Armed Man advanced again, closer this time, blade held flatter as he moved. Heat crept along the metal rather than bursting from it. The air near the edge bent and shivered. Water hissed where droplets brushed the steel and vanished.

The warmth pressed against skin without burning, raising a dry ache along Vencian's forearms as the distance closed.

He shifted his lead foot and let power bleed outward across the stones between them. The riverbed stayed where it was. The shapes stayed true. Yet the spacing lied. Depth stretched a fraction. Edges dulled. The slick rock looked sound but carried a false promise to the eye.

Pressure gathered behind his eyes as he held it. The colors along the riverbank thinned and washed pale at the margins. He kept moving.

The One-Armed Man stepped into range and came up short. His boot struck stone sooner than his stride expected and slid. He caught himself on the back foot and rolled the miss into motion, blade dropping low in the same breath. The cut drove toward Vencian's legs, sharp and direct, forcing a response instead of granting space.

Vencian brought his sword down to meet it.

Steel struck with weight behind it. The sound tore out of the corridor and bounced hard between the walls. The impact shuddered through his grip and into his shoulders.

Heat pressed close along the flat of the opposing blade, stinging the skin through leather where the guard failed to shield him.

The One-Armed Man leaned in again, pushing through the bind. Water surged around their boots and slapped at their calves. Vencian twisted his wrists and wrenched free before the pressure could settle.

His blade screamed as it cleared.

A fine crack ran from the edge toward the spine, a pale line racing partway down the length. He felt it before he saw it, a dull vibration in the hilt that did not belong. The sword flexed back into shape with a faint shiver, but the sound lingered.

He broke contact at once and slid back across the stones, keeping the river between them where he could. The illusion thinned as he let it go. The ache behind his eyes eased a fraction, leaving the world bleached at the edges.

The One-Armed Man reset his stance and lifted his weapon again, heat still bending the air along its length. He did not press forward yet. The gap remained, narrow and measured, the river roaring through it.

Something snapped out beneath the sword line.

It moved low and tight, faster than the blade that framed it, a straight reach aimed for where Vencian's weight would settle next. There was shape to it only in the way the water split and rushed aside. It carried purpose rather than mass and cut through space with a hunter's economy.

Vencian twisted his torso and shifted his lead foot. The strike passed through the space his leg had claimed a blink earlier and tore a wake through the spray. His turn came a fraction late. His heel clipped a rock hidden under the surface. He caught himself before the river could take him, but the jolt ran straight up his leg. Pain flared through the damaged knee and locked it hard for a breath.

The distortion across the stones thinned. Edges steadied. The river claimed another inch of footing and kept it.

The One-Armed Man closed at once. His posture tightened and the angle of his blade changed. The heat bled away from the metal, leaving something sharper behind. The air near the edge felt clean and biting. Contact here would finish matters fast.

Vencian gave ground toward the deeper run. The current pulled harder at his shins and dragged at his boots. He let the water take him a step at a time and used it to narrow approach. The illusion stayed shallow now, a constant bend rather than a push. Distance slid just enough to blur timing. Holding it drew his breath rough and uneven.

The One-Armed Man followed without pause. His advance cut straight through the faster water, each step placed with certainty earned rather than assumed. He lifted his weapon and drove it down the line Vencian guarded, forcing the sword up again.

Steel met steel. The crack along Vencian's blade sang under the strain. He rolled out of the bind before the pressure could settle and stumbled back another step, knee protesting with each plant.

"Stand," the One-Armed Man said, voice calm and final.

Vencian did not stop moving. He backed into the rush where the stones dropped away and the river tightened its grip. His guard stayed high and narrow, blade kept clear of full contact as he bled ground and breath together. The water roared louder around his legs and filled the corridor with force as the gap between them shrank.

The thrust came straight in.

No angle. No feint. The One-Armed Man drove the point through the narrow line Vencian held, weight carried cleanly behind it. The river surged around his legs and split without slowing the strike.

Vencian met it where the crack already lived. He turned the broken half of his blade into the path because there was nowhere else to put it.

Metal failed with a flat, ugly crack. The sound carried low and wrong through the corridor. The sword split at the fault and gave way.

Half the blade tore free and spun once before the river swallowed it. The current took it and erased it in the same breath.

The force tore Vencian's grip open. The remaining length ripped through his palm and slid free. His shoulder wrenched hard as his arm was dragged out of line. He staggered sideways to keep his feet as blood slicked his hand and ran into the water.

The river filled the space where the blade had been.

For a moment, there was only the rush of water and the echo of the break striking stone. Spray drifted and settled. The current dragged loose grit along the rock and kept moving.