The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 747: A Knight’s Pride (Part One)

As soon as Sir Carwyn gave the word, Rain charged in, rushing forward in a display of strength and power as he sought to overwhelm the younger, less experienced Ollie with powerful punches to the head.

To the average onlooker, Sir Rain moved like an experienced brawler, throwing two rapid punches almost directly at Ollie’s nose before following up with a powerful hook to his temple. It was a lightning quick move filled with explosive power that had likely ended a number of bar fights in a single exchange.

To Ollie’s eyes, however, Sir Rain’s punches felt ordinary and slow. Compared to practicing with Sir Thane or learning how to move his hands quickly with knives from Sir Marcel, Sir Rain’s punches could, at best, be called a little quick.

But even though his punches looked fast and strong, his movements held no guile or subterfuge. From the moment he raised his shoulder to punch, Ollie could see the movement and quickly stepped out of the way, slapping the burly knight’s punches aside before they could come close to hitting him.

"Coward," Rain spat as Ollie ducked out of the way of another heavy punch. "Sissy. Are you here to fight or are you here to dance?" he taunted.

At this point, however, Ollie felt like he had a good understanding of his opponent’s movements. Just as Marcel had taught him, a knife fighter had to get in close and exploit openings and weaknesses if he was going to cut or stab something vital. Until he was sure he could land a blow, he wouldn’t make a move.

Sir Thane had taught him differently, including teaching Ollie how to take a blow in order to land one of his own. A knight should trust his armor, Thane had said, and use it to gain advantages in attack as well as defense. Now that he had become the Cypress Witch and his body had become more durable, Ollie took Thane’s lesson to heart, stepping forward the next time Sir Rain punched instead of retreating.

-SMACK-

A thick, meaty slapping sound filled the air as Ollie used his left hand to catch Sir Rain’s next punch. His palm stung from the move but his fingers closed on the other man’s hand like a vice, trapping it long enough for his right hand to deliver a powerful blow to the inside of Rain’s forearm.

The crowd exploded in cheers but Ollie barely noticed them as he shoved Rain’s hand away, stepping back and opening up the range between them again.

"Sone of a whore!" Sir Rain shouted, shaking his suddenly numb hand and desperately trying to force his fingers to curl back into a fist after they’d gone numb. Tingling pain shot up and down his arm, all the way from his elbow to the tips of his fingers, and for a moment, he couldn’t do anything but move away from the young knight in the hopes there wouldn’t be a follow up blow.

Ollie, however, stood there calmly, allowing the rain to soak his hair and tunic while he waited for Sir Rain to regain use of his arm.

He should have advanced on the other man. He should have put an end to it now. Marcel insisted that fights should end quickly and decisively because the longer they lasted, the more likely something would go wrong. Thane agreed with Marcel, adding that a knight should fight efficiently, winning the battle in front of himself before moving on to the next one and that ’toying’ with an opponent was a sure fire way to arrive at the next battle winded and unable to fight.

But Ollie couldn’t do it. Even as his mind screamed at him to end things now, even after his body had executed the technique that Thane told him would be like ripping a fang from a serpent’s mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to exploit his advantage after Sir Rain had pulled back.

This was a duel, a battle of honor between knights and he wanted to beat Rain fairly... he wanted to show him that he didn’t have to resort to cheap and underhanded tricks in order to win.

"You really are a delusional fool, aren’t you, boy?" Rain said, clenching his hand back into a fist and raising his arms to charge again. "I’ll make you regret looking down on me!"

This time, Rain didn’t bother with feints or anything fancy. Every punch he threw contained the full power of all of his muscles and half of his body weight as he flung himself forward like a charging, maddened bull.

Instantly, Ollie raised his forearms in front of his head and torso, crouching low as if he was hiding behind a shield, just the way Thane had taught him.

Pain flared in his forearms as they took the brunt of Sir Rain’s assault, and each blow that landed sent a tingle through his arms followed by a dull ache only for the pain to flare more intensely when the next blow landed.

Opposite him, a dark grin appeared on Sir Rain’s face as he finally felt himself gathering momentum. The flame haired youth may have landed a lucky blow but his refusal to follow up on his advantage would cost him everything as Rain ground him down, slowly trampling the youth the same way he would have trampled over footmen from the back of his warhorse.

The young witch might have started off with an advantage, but clearly he was far too young and far too naive to win in a real fight!

At the edge of the training yard, Hugo watched the fight with deeply conflicted feelings. He’d been Sir Rain’s punching bag, and Lord Owain’s, for so long now that part of him wanted to shout in joy when the young knight landed the first real blow of the duel. Finally, someone other than Lord Owain would put Rain in his place!

At the same time, the notion of rooting for his captor, a traitor to humanity and a witch no less, felt like a step too far. The lines should have been as bright and clear as day, scribed in gold polished so brightly that the Holy Lord of Light could see them from the heavens above. Sir Ollie, whatever he had once been, and whatever he might have become had he stayed in Lothian March, was a witch and a demon. He was a creature of pure evil with the power to plunge the world into darkness and chaos.

And yet, when he looked at the flame haired youth who had turtled up defensively under the fury of Sir Rain’s assault, he couldn’t help but wonder which of the men was the real knight, and which had become the villain of the story. Who had extended a hand and who had slapped it away?

But no matter how obvious it appeared, a pang of doubt held Hugo back. There were still too many missing pieces of the puzzle and still too much he didn’t understand. On the surface, these demons appeared upright and honorable, but if half a year at Lord Owain’s side had taught him anything it was that appearing upright and honorable and actually living a virtuous life were too very different things.

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