Chapter 46 – A Duel Beneath the Heavens I

Shawn froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The sheer intensity of Prince Aerion’s outburst caught him off guard. The regal prince he had expected was now a seething force of raw emotion, completely unlike the cool and calculated figure Shawn had imagined. The disconnect between Prince Aerion’s reaction and what Prince Zhao had told them was staggering. Shawn, scrambling for control of the situation, quickly adopted a more deferential tone.

“I… I apologise, my prince,” Shawn stammered, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “If I’ve offended you, I’m deeply sorry. I had no idea about the… history between you and Prince Zhao.”

Prince Aerion exhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he slowly began to cool down. He stopped pacing for a moment, letting out a slow, steady breath. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said, his voice much calmer now, though still simmering with residual anger. “As a prince, I’m supposed to be calm and composed. I’m ashamed to have let my emotions get the better of me.”

He resumed his pacing, this time with more restraint. The atmosphere between them, however, was far from eased. The air remained thick with tension as Prince Aerion continued to circle Shawn like a predator evaluating its prey.

“Where were we?” Prince Aerion mused, his voice returning to its silky, dangerous tone. “Ah, yes… the fragment of my father’s sword.”

By now, Prince Aerion had closed the distance, standing just two arm’s lengths away from Shawn. His eyes gleamed with dangerous intent as he stopped circling and fixed his gaze on Shawn. The smirk returned to Prince Aerion’s lips, but this time it was darker, more predatory.

“I could give it to you,” Prince Aerion said, his voice laced with mockery. “But as I mentioned before, I hate that bastard brother of mine. And I certainly don’t have to follow his commands.”

Before Shawn said anything, there was a swift movement. In a flash, Prince Aerion’s hand darted to his back, pulling out a concealed weapon with lightning speed. The weapon—a short glaive with a blade shaped like a bird’s wing—gleamed in the dim light. Its blade was a brilliant, icy blue, almost like it was forged from the very air itself. Without hesitation, Prince Aerion swung the glaive in a deadly arc, its razor edge hurtling toward Shawn’s head with lethal speed and precision.

Shawn’s instincts kicked in just in time; he narrowly dodged the first deadly swing with a fluid dive and rolled to his feet, as Prince Aerion’s glaive sliced through the air, and the prince smirked.

“Impressive,” Prince Aerion remarked, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and surprise. “You move well… for a mere traveller.” Without wasting a moment, he launched another series of precise, swift strikes. The glaive moved in Prince Aerion’s hands like an extension of his body—every swing calculated, every thrust deliberate. Each movement was graceful yet deadly, like a lethal dance, one that Prince Aerion performed with the ease of someone who had mastered the art of combat.

Shawn’s heart raced, his muscles tensing as he dodged each strike. He could feel the air shift with the glaive’s passing, the blade barely missing him by inches. Prince Aerion wasn’t holding back. Every step Shawn took to evade the weapon, Prince Aerion was there, swinging with renewed precision, occasionally spinning with the glaive to try to catch him off guard. The prince’s movements were almost hypnotic—a dance of death that anyone unskilled would have already succumbed to. But Shawn, with his agility and sharp instincts, was able to stay just ahead of the deadly arcs.

“You’re quick,” Prince Aerion commented between strikes, his voice calm but determined. “But how long can you keep this up?”

Shawn had no time to respond. He was too busy slipping past each swing, each thrust. At one point, Prince Aerion spun with a vicious swipe, aiming to shove the glaive’s blade toward Shawn’s throat. But Shawn, twisting his body in a narrow escape, ducked under the glaive’s path, spinning away to safety, his heart pounding.

The attacks were relentless, but something about Prince Aerion’s technique felt familiar to Shawn. His movements had a rhythm—a pattern that, after a few minutes, Shawn began to read. It was as if Prince Aerion’s strikes were choreographed, like a dance that Shawn could counter, step by step. And though Prince Aerion was faster and more experienced, Shawn’s keen instincts allowed him to keep pace.

Just as Shawn thought he had a grip on Prince Aerion’s rhythm, a sudden rush of air from behind him broke his concentration. He felt it before he saw it—Prince Aerion’s massive eagle, the same bird he had descended from earlier, came diving from above in a surprise ambush, breaking the mirage around them for a brief moment, then resumed. Its talons gleamed as it aimed to strike at Shawn’s back, ready to rip him apart in one brutal move.

Shawn’s enhanced senses kicked into overdrive. He could feel the eagle’s sharp beak and claws approaching, but Prince Aerion was still on the offensive, giving him no room to breathe. With a split-second decision, Shawn took a daring risk. He launched himself into a backspin dive, soaring into the air just as the eagle’s talons grazed where his back had been moments before. The bird let out a screech as its attack missed, flying under Shawn as he spun above it, barely avoiding its deadly beak and the blade of Prince Aerion’s glaive at the same time.

Shawn twisted in mid-air, his body moving like liquid, narrowly escaping both threats at once. He landed in a crouch several feet away, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he maintained a safe distance between himself, Prince Aerion, and the eagle. The bird, frustrated by its failed ambush, flapped its massive wings and disappeared into the sky, its silhouette vanishing as swiftly as it had appeared.

Prince Aerion, now alone again, paused in his attack. His forward momentum halted, and he straightened from his offensive stance. With an almost casual grace, he planted the glaive firmly into the ground beside him. His eyes gleamed with admiration, but his smirk remained. Slowly, he reached up with one hand, pushing his hair back from his face as he regarded Shawn with a mix of intrigue and challenge.

“Not bad,” Prince Aerion said, his voice carrying a note of grudging respect. His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the chase.

Shawn’s breath was ragged as he landed, knees bent, feeling the aftermath of Prince Aerion’s relentless assault. He had managed to evade the worst of it—or so he thought—until a sharp, searing pain across his chest told him otherwise. He looked down to see a long, jagged cut running across his torso, just below his ribs. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to remind him how close he’d come to disaster. Prince Aerion’s glaive had connected, despite Shawn’s best efforts.

Shawn winced, his mind racing as he recalled Prince Aerion’s bird familiar and the mirages that shrouded this strange battleground. “The bird… the mirage…,” he muttered under his breath. The realisation struck him hard—Prince Aerion’s eagle could strike at any time and from anywhere, and he could only sense it when the bird emerges from the mirage. He was outmatched, and he knew it. But then, something stirred within him.

The wound across his chest began to close as a soft, dark-blue smoke seeped from the edges of the cut. It wasn’t too painful; it was almost soothing, like a cool breeze over a burn. Shawn could feel his strength returning as the smoke continued to curl around his torso, the gash healing slowly. His expression hardened, and his eyes flickered with resolve.

“Alright,” Shawn muttered, pushing himself up off the ground, “time to get serious.”

A thin smile crossed his lips as his power began to manifest, blue smoke swirling around his hands, coiling like serpents. From the smoke, a thin, elegant longsword materialised when he clutched his fist, the blade formed from the base of his palm, solidifying into a weapon. Shawn took a breath, feeling the energy surge through him.

Across the way, Prince Aerion, who had been watching with a faint smirk, cocked his head slightly. The sight of the smoke healing Shawn’s wound and the sudden appearance of the sword seemed to intrigue him. His smirk deepened.

“Well, well,” Prince Aerion mused, speaking more to himself than to Shawn, “it looks like this is about to get much more interesting.” He removed his glaive from the ground and rested it casually against his shoulder, though his eyes gleamed with renewed focus.

Shawn, fully healed now, shifted into an offensive stance. His body tensed like a coiled spring, his eyes narrowing as he studied Prince Aerion’s movements, and his ears were attuned to any shift in the air that might signal the eagle’s return. He knew this wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about outmatching Prince Aerion in every way possible.

For a long moment, the two warriors locked eyes. The air between them seemed to hum with anticipation, the tension palpable. And then, without warning, they both lunged forward.

The clash of steel on steel rang out, reverberating through the air like a thunderclap. Shawn’s longsword met Prince Aerion’s glaive with a force that sent a shockwave rippling through the surrounding space. The mirage around them wavered under the impact, the image of the forest flickering for a heartbeat, revealing brief glimpses of something else—massive stone pillars, towering windows, and an open ceiling above, stretching up into the sky. But just as quickly, the illusion snapped back into place, concealing the true nature of their surroundings.

The two combatants exchanged blow after blow, each strike more ferocious than the last. Shawn’s agility was his greatest weapon, dodging Prince Aerion’s sweeping glaive and retaliating with swift, precise strikes of his own.

Each time their weapons collided, the blows were so powerful that it sent both warriors skidding backwards, only to launch themselves at each other again in a furious blur of movement. Shawn’s sword clanged against Prince Aerion’s glaive in rapid succession—left, right, thrust, dodge—each movement choreographed in the heat of battle, their bodies moving almost on instinct now.

With each clash, the mirage flickered more violently, its hold on reality weakening. More of the grand hallway began to reveal itself in the moments between strikes—tall columns stretching to an open ceiling where the morning sky loomed above. But each time the illusion seemed ready to fully break, it reasserted itself. The forest returned, but the mirage was struggling to hold onto its fabricated reality.

As Shawn and Prince Aerion continued to battle, the prince’s expression grew more serious. He could sense that Shawn had some hidden power within him, something far beyond what Prince Aerion had initially expected. And that power was becoming more apparent with every strike Shawn landed, every manoeuvre he used to evade the glaive’s deadly edge.

“You’re not half bad,” Prince Aerion grunted, his voice tinged with grudging admiration as their weapons locked in a brief stalemate. “But let’s see if you can handle what comes next.”

With a sudden burst of strength, Prince Aerion shoved towards Shawn, while spinning his glaive in a wide arc, sending a shockwave through the air that shook the mirage even more violently. The forest wavered, the true hall once again flickering into view as the battle intensified.