The sentence decreed was solitary confinement a punishment cast upon the body like a curse of misery from which there is no escape. In the worst of scenarios, one's being would erode under the weight of hunger and thirst, with no more than a single meager meal a day and a pitiful cup of water that quenches neither thirst nor the wails of a starving gut.
At that moment, Kara surged forward, attempting to object to the unjust verdict passed upon Daniel. But a single sharp glance from his eyes was enough to seal her lips shut, as if her breath had been snatched away in a moment of dread. Daniel nodded with military discipline, then spoke in a steady voice:
"As the General commands... I am prepared to accept the punishment."
Faces slackened. Hearts clenched in the courtyard. Was he a fool, oblivious to the horror of the cell? Or was he reckless beyond measure? The latter was not even considered.
But what surpassed everyone's astonishment was the laugh loud and sudden from Darius. It pierced the sacred silence, tinged with a heavy mystery that stirred anxiety in all present. He stepped forward with the confidence of a predator and addressed Marcus in a mocking tone:
"Weren't you a bit too harsh? This punishment is nothing short of a death sentence. What say you we give him a chance? If he can survive ten minutes against me, we reduce or annul the punishment."
All whispers vanished. An eerie stillness took hold. Even Marcus was momentarily shaken by Darius's audacity. Everyone knew Darius was not just a knight he was the embodiment of brutal chivalry. A man who had mastered all forms of combat, said to have completed missions from which no one ever returned. As for Daniel… he had barely touched a sword until this very morning, not even yet bestowed the rank of novice knight. How could anyone expect him to last ten minutes against such a beast?
Marcus turned to Daniel, expecting a swift refusal. But what he saw defied all expectation. There was no fear, no hesitation only a profound stillness emanating from within. A sly grin crept onto Marcus's lips, and he proposed his trap with mock neutrality:
"What do you say, Daniel? Not a bad deal. If you last ten minutes, I'll reduce the sentence to just one week."
Everyone was stunned. "What in hell's name is happening?" asked the eyes of all present. Yet Daniel gave no sign of rejection. Instead, he cast a long gaze toward Darius, who welcomed it with a grin brimming with arrogance. He was certain the outcome would favor him either way, it was a death sentence.
But Daniel spoke at last, in a tone colder than steel:
"Very well... I'm ready. A week in hell is better than a month in a pit of filth."
The shock now was not in his acceptance, but in the way he spoke like one who sees what others cannot, like a man assured of survival.
He stepped into the arena, sword in hand, his stride steady, as if treading a path whose end he already knew. Meanwhile, Darius bore a double-edged smile a fusion of a predator's glee and a strange disquiet that gnawed at his instincts. His sharpened intuition, forged in blood and war, warned him: something was off.
But it was too late.
The spectators retreated to the edges of the arena, like witnesses to a sacred slaughter. Silence reigned. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Then Marcus shouted:
"Prepare!"
Darius raised his sword with flawless precision, a motion etched into muscle memory. Daniel mirrored the movement his left hand gripping the blade with a steadiness unbefitting a novice.
Then ...
"Begin!"
Time froze. They stood motionless, their breathing the only sound. A minute passed. Then suddenly, Darius lunged like a falling meteor, his sword aimed to cleave Daniel's head in one fatal blow.
But what happened next… defied comprehension.
In the blink of an eye, Daniel twisted like a serpent, evading the strike with inhuman grace. He transferred the sword to his other hand in a flash so swift it escaped the naked eye and with that unseen hand, he struck.
The blow landed. Violently. Precisely.
Darius never finished his attack. Blood gushed from his throat and mouth. His eyes widened, questioning: "What just happened?" Then he collapsed silent, lifeless, unaware of how he had died.
Daniel slowly withdrew his sword, now dripping with blood. He lifted his gaze to Marcus, demanding judgment.
Marcus… was speechless.
His eyes wide, his mouth agape, his body trembling. He hadn't even seen the strike. He couldn't understand. A cold chill crept down his spine. The truth whispered within him: What stood before him… was not entirely human.
Even Kara his loyal servant of many years stood stunned, unable to explain what she had witnessed. A single motion, swift as a viper's lunge, its venom injected before the prey could even flinch.
Silence prevailed. Shock gripped every heart.
Then Daniel spoke, with the detached tone of a predator whose blood still simmered, always ready to kill again:
"Marcus… why the silence? Are you waiting for the dead to rise again?"
His words shattered the trance. The crowd stirred. At last, in a shaky voice, Marcus declared:
"The victor… Prince Daniel Cryos."
He said it not from honor, but from fear.
Daniel dropped his sword. It hit the ground with a clang that echoed like a seal of fire. He turned and walked calmly toward his quarters, exuding a deadly serenity. Kara followed, her steps staggered, breath unsteady, as though she were the shadow of a man she no longer knew.
Yet the question lingered, suspended in the air:
How?
How had he done it? What had just occurred?
A mystery that now transformed into a curse haunting every mind…
Even Daniel himself did not yet realize the storm he had unleashed today nor how many shadows would soon creep into his life, chasing every dream he ever had of peace and rest.