The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 22: Winter's Unyielding Shield

In the northern forest, silence reigned beneath the eternal shroud of winter, where spring dared not tread. The stillness was shattered by the clash of steel, echoing through frost-covered trees.

Shards of ice scattered with each collision, a testament to the ferocity of the duel. Darvok's movements were unnervingly fluid, shadow-like tendrils coiling and writhing around him as he pressed the attack. His agility was inhuman, but Lucien stood firm, deflecting each strike with precision.

Darvok's lips curled into a dark grin, his crimson eyes glinting with malice. "I wonder how long you can last, Lucien. Even your wife's spell has its limits."

Lucien's calm expression betrayed no hint of weariness, though his swings were slowing, his defenses growing shallower. He said nothing, focusing instead on the rhythmic clash of blades.

Darvok's grin widened as he danced back, avoiding Lucien's next strike with ease. "No matter what you try, it's pointless. Any wound I take will heal, and any effort you make will be in vain." He let out a cold, amused chuckle. "Oh, but it's not just your death I'm looking forward to. Think of your niece—Eric's only daughter. Imagine his disappointment. He gave his life to protect you, and yet here you are, failing to protect the only light he left behind."

Lucien's grip on his sword tightened, but his expression remained composed. "Do not presume too much," he said, his voice steady despite the strain in his movements.

Darvok's grin widened further at the response. "Ehehe, looks like the cat didn't really get your tongue," he teased, his voice dripping with mockery.

Their movements quickened, the clash of steel ringing through the forest like a storm. It was a battle no stranger could dare interrupt—anyone foolish enough to try would be crushed by the sheer force of their exchange.

Yet no matter how much effort Lucien poured into the fight, it felt as though he were facing an immovable wall. The man before him, who had long since abandoned his humanity, seemed untouchable.

Darvok's soulless eyes glimmered with cruel amusement as he parried Lucien's every strike with ease, as if toying with him.

Lucien's breaths came in short, ragged bursts, his body drenched in sweat. The ground beneath him felt unsteady, and his grip on his sword faltered ever so slightly. He clenched his jaw, forcing his failing muscles to obey. Every ounce of ability he had poured into this battle seemed to dissipate into the air, leaving him exposed.

He lunged forward, his blade aimed for Darvok's side, but his swing lacked precision. Darvok sidestepped effortlessly and, with terrifying speed, a heavy kick connected with Lucien's torso before he could react. The force of the blow sent him flying backward, his body crashing into a massive tree with a sickening thud.

A jagged crack split the air as his spine slammed against the splintering bark, a pain gasped escape from his lips. For a moment, the world spun. His vision blurred, and his limbs felt like lead. The sword slipped from his grasp, embedding itself into the snow-covered earth beside him as he slumped against the tree.

Darvok's footsteps echoed ominously as he approached, his voice a low, mocking growl. "I admire of how long you've lasted."

Lucien struggled to push himself upright, his body screaming in protest. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, like chains dragging him down. He coughed harshly, tasting blood in his mouth, feeling the sharp sting of failure. Yet deep within him, a spark refused to die.

As Darvok drew closer, his vision blurred further. A part of him begged for rest, the exhaustion gripping him tighter. But somewhere, in the depths of his will, he knew he couldn't give up—not yet.