47. Reclaiming Hope (V)

Meeting the gaze of the man before him, Mephiston slowly straightened, but did not raise his blade. The long sword he had found in haste hung harmlessly toward the ground, its edge even facing his own body.

"My lord," Mephiston said after careful consideration. "Are you certain?"

"Certain of what?" Kael asked.

He stood empty-handed in the dueling pit. His coat and shirt had vanished, leaving his bare upper body like an unmarked cold stone in a graveyard. At first glance, he was merely an ordinary man, if somewhat lean.

But Mephiston could now see more than he once had. And he could feel more, too.

He felt that Kael Lohars was dissecting him with nothing but his eyes.

And it was not an illusion. He could truly feel the pain.

He felt a blade as light as a feather travel upward from the end of the hand gripping his sword, beginning at his little finger and carving a beautiful, precise line.

It extended all the way to his shoulder, then returned beneath it, repeating the process four times. Thus, his skin quietly slid away on its own, revealing the quivering flesh beneath.

And this did not even count as the beginning. Mephiston knew that perfectly well, so he endured and waited.

He kept waiting, waiting for the blade to turn his flesh bit by bit into blooming petals, until the fascia and nerves upon his arm bones became scattered leaves upon that [flower]. Only then did the beginning truly arrive.

A soft sound came from beneath his feet. Mephiston lowered his head and discovered that the long sword had slipped from his hand.

His opponent walked toward him and reached out to seize his right forearm. Five fingers plunged into it like blades, piercing skin and flesh in the