Monarch Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The ranking bouts continued throughout the day. The circle buzzed with excitement, shouts, sneers, and everything else as names were called out one after another. Soldiers walked in with confident expressions, but only some left with the glee of winning.

The defeated were left with sneers and bloodied faces. One man even got his leg crushed and went back with a limp. The bouts ended when the victor drew blood three times. But it was easy to see that some soldiers were going far beyond that.

Rayne watched it all, waiting for his turn. With so many soldiers participating, it took hours before his name was called. He used the time to study each and every victor. He had no idea which men he was going to fight since the lots were drawn at random.

But knowing his rotten luck, he figured it would be someone close to the rankers, if not one of them.

It turned out his intuition was spot on.

“Up next in the bouts, we have the ranked twenty-fourth Dean and forsaken Rayne Frayser, who will be participating in his first match. Please come to the centre of the circle,” the referee shouted, reading the two names he had pulled from a box.

The murmurs and whispering shifted in an instant. Dozens of eyes looked straight at Rayne, and all the names he had gotten over the past month started to be called out.

“The filthborn traitor is finally gonna get a beating.”

“Dean should fucking crush him.”

“He looks so frail. Is it true he killed a lot of trolls?”

Even if anyone had something positive to say about him, their voices were buried under the noise. He ignored the chatter and simply took out his sword, checking his shield one last time. Armour wasn’t allowed in the bout, making it a much fiercer competition.

Kesh and Nate patted his back.

“Dean’s a good fighter, but I know you can beat him,” Kesh said.

“Just think of him as a troll. He looks like a halfling anyway. I’m going to make a large bet on you,” Nate added in a whisper.

Rayne gave them both a nod before moving towards the circle. The crowd parted around him as he reached it.

His opponent already stood there.

A broad-shouldered man with short-cropped hair and a scar dragging down his chin twirled a spear lazily in his hands. Signs of a beard dotted his face, and he looked old and young at the same time. His grin stretched wide, almost mocking.

“Well, well, the bastard finally shows his ugly face,” Dean said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. Laughter rippled around the ring. “I was wondering when I’d get the chance to knock you flat. I was hoping the trolls would end your filthy bloodline.”

Rayne didn’t rise to the mockery. Half of it didn’t even make sense. If anyone looked ugly, it was Dean himself. The laughter and shouts only lingered in his mind for seconds before fading into background noise.

They might be louder than the times he had sparred, but in the end, they didn’t matter. Only the man in front of him did.

Unfortunately, Dean didn’t take his silence well. “Lost your words, gravewalker? I’m going to send you crawling back to the grave.”

Rayne spoke this time. “You can try.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but the referee stepped forward, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. He gave them both a sharp look.

“You two know the rules. No cheating. No killing. No crippling. The victor is the one who draws blood thrice. Remember, you are soldiers of the mighty Valerian army!”

Rayne doubted Dean was listening. The man was one of the few who had done more than simply draw blood from his opponents. Even now, he looked at him with a bloodthirsty grin.

He twirled his spear, the sunlight glinting off the tip.

The referee raised his hands again. “Begin!!”

Dean lunged first, spear thrusting at him like a tiger’s claw—faster than expected. Rayne managed to sidestep, the tip whistling past his ribcage. He swung his sword downward to cut at it, but Dean yanked it back.

His strike missed, and Dean gave him a mocking grin.

Another stab came, and Rayne ducked, the spear passing over his shoulders. He charged, but Dean swung the weapon sideways like a staff, forcing him back and keeping control of the distance.

The crowd erupted in cheers and mocking noises.

Rayne kept his face neutral. He hadn’t practiced much against spears, and Dean knew how to control the fight. If he wanted to win, he needed to be far more strategic.

They circled each other until Dean charged again, thrusting at his ribs. This time Rayne blocked with his shield, sweeping the tip aside to unbalance him.

Dean staggered three steps back, and Rayne charged. His sword came down at his shoulder, but Dean twisted his spear just in time, the wooden shaft catching the strike.

They locked eyes, teeth gritted as they pushed against each other.

“Bloody traitor!” Dean muttered, shoving him. Rayne didn’t keep pressing, pulling back just as another thrust came.

He twisted aside, but the spear grazed his side. Blood streaked down his flesh. Cheers erupted all around.

“First blood goes to Dean!”

Dean raised his left hand, basking in the cheers before charging again. Rayne kept his distance this time, blocking thrust after thrust.

Dean was relentless. One failed strike was followed by a sweeping swing that Rayne had to duck under, each attack pushing him closer to the edge of the circle.

Rayne didn’t fall for the trap.

As Dean thrust again, Rayne ducked and rolled sideways before charging. Predictably, Dean angled his shaft for defense.

Rayne swept it away with his shield, surprising him, then slammed into his shoulder. Dean staggered, off balance, and Rayne’s blade cut his thigh.

The burly man crashed to the ground, crying out. Rayne pressed forward, his boot kicking at his chest, forcing him to dodge back.

“Rayne has his first blood!”

Dean scrambled upright, but Rayne charged again. His sword met the shaft, both men straining. Cheers rose, then Dean lashed a kick at him. Rayne sidestepped, shield slamming into his head. His blade slashed down, drawing a splash of blood across his arm.

“Rayne has his second blood!”

Shouts of his name filled the air. He even caught Nate’s voice before focusing again.

Dean didn’t hesitate, thrusting the spear the moment his feet settled. Rayne blocked, both circling once more.

Each miss made Dean angrier, his face reddening as he attacked. Rayne stayed calm, eyes sharp, waiting.

Finally, Dean overextended—another thrust met only air, and he swung wide, charging recklessly to close the gap.

Rayne had expected it. He ducked under the strike and hurled his shield into Dean’s chest. The blow drove the air from his lungs, dropping him to one knee.

Rayne rushed, blade cutting his shoulder. Blood welled.

But instead of stopping, Dean leapt at him, dropping the spear. His fist smashed toward Rayne’s chin.

Rayne jerked back, the punch grazing him. He countered instantly, landing a point-blank strike to Dean’s face.

The man flew backward into two bystanders, nose shattered, blood streaming.

“Guess that’s the fourth blood drawn,” Rayne muttered as the crowd erupted like a volcano.

Some chanted his name, others cursed over lost coin.

The referee seized his hand, raising it high. “Rayne Frayer has drawn third blood first. He’s the winner and takes Dean’s rank in the bouts!!”

The cheer this time was deafening. Shouts of “Gravewalker!” rang through the air.

Dean sneered from the side, beaten. Rayne ignored him.

He stepped out of the circle, soldiers patting his shoulders and thanking him for winning their bets. He walked until he was out of the crowd.

“Rayne, bloody gravewalker, my hero!” Nate’s voice cut through first, and he jumped on him, almost tackling him. “First bout and you’re already on the main board. Do you even realise how much I won trusting you? I’m bribing the mess manager for ale tonight.”

“Don’t forget my share,” Rayne replied. “I need it for my armour.”

Nate grinned. “Of course not. A few more fights, and you’ll have the best armour a recruit’s ever seen.”

Kesh walked up then, grinning. “That was bloody brilliant. I should have bet on you.”

Rayne raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t bet on anyone.” His smile faltered. “I don’t want to lose the few coins I’ve got.”

Nate patted him. “You need to learn to take risks. A good soldier knows that.”

“A good soldier is also often broke.” Rayne smirked.

Before Nate could reply, another wave of noise rippled through the crowd. Rayne tilted his head, expecting new names drawn out, but this felt different. There were no shouts of names and bets.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

His friends looked just as confused. They pushed through, and halfway to the front Rayne heard a voice he had almost forgotten.

He winced, quickening his steps until he saw him.

Fredrick stood in the centre, flanked by two burly soldiers glaring at everyone.

“Where’s the traitor? I heard he was fighting here. Bring him out, for I have come to put him on the noose for the crimes he has committed against me and my house,” Fredrick shouted, each word making Rayne more confused.

Rayne had always known Fredrick would try something, especially after Bran’s warning, but it had been a while since their last encounter. He had almost forgotten the noble brat.

“What crimes did you commit against him and his house?” Kesh asked.

“I don’t know,” Rayne replied. “But I guess it’s time to find out.”

Nate gave him a wary look, but Rayne was already moving. Hiding would only delay the inevitable.

Fredrick smiled when he saw him, arms spread like a stage actor in theatrics. “You have finally come out to face justice.”

Rayne frowned. “What justice? I’ve done nothing to you or your house. Stop making things up for attention.”

One of his guards stepped forward, but Rayne didn’t stir. They were intimidating, but not past the first bottleneck. He was sure of it, and confident he could handle them.

“Attention?” Fredrick sneered. “You dare disrespect me again when you are nothing more than a traitor, and now a thief pretending to be righteous.”

“A thief? What are you talking about?”

Fredrick’s smile widened as if he’d been waiting for that. It didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at the gathering crowd, then pointed at Rayne.

“You stole a hundred gold coins from my room. I know it, and today I’m here to arrest you for theft and bring your head to the noose, ending your filthy bloodline!”