(KBTCM) Ch 33: The End Of The Battle, The True Strongest

The air shimmered around Theron as he shot forward, the crimson aura trailing behind him like a comet's tail. His body was a blur — pure motion, instinct, and raw willpower.

Sylara barely had time to react. Her eyes widened in surprise as her little brother darted between her legs and charged straight toward her towering frame.

"What—?" she gasped, shifting her weight backward.

But Theron didn't slow down. He planted his foot, pushed off with all his strength, and leapt. The wooden sword came alive in his hands, blazing faintly with that molten-red light. In one clean arc, he brought it upward — a perfect strike.

Crack!

The tip of the blade connected squarely with the bottom of Sylara's chin. Her head snapped back, golden hair flying as the impact echoed across the courtyard.

"Ah!" She staggered, rubbing her chin with a grimace — not crying out in pain, but in sheer disbelief. "Did you just—?"

She looked down at him, her massive blue eyes narrowing, a spark of irritation flashing through them.

"Oh, you did not just hit me in the face."

"Looked like I did," Theron said between breaths, a smirk tugging at his lips. His shoulders heaved, his chest rising and falling with heat still rolling off him.

Sylara's expression hardened. Her grin was gone. What replaced it was the gleam of a giantess who'd just been challenged.

"Why you little—" she growled, slamming her fist toward him.

The ground exploded as her knuckles struck the dirt, sending dust and debris into the air. Theron barely managed to roll out of the way, the shockwave lifting him slightly before he landed hard on his side. He scrambled up, boots skidding as Sylara raised her arm again.

"You're not getting away this time!" she said, stomping down with her massive boot.

Theron darted backward, his every dodge just a breath away from being crushed. Each impact rattled the yard, cracks spreading beneath her feet.

"Hold still!" Sylara shouted, frustration clear in her voice as she swung again.

Theron dove to the side, feeling the rush of wind as her foot slammed down where he'd been a heartbeat before. He rolled, came up in a crouch, and charged again — slashing at her ankle.

The blade struck true, sparks flying as it hit against the hardened surface of her armored greaves. But she didn't even flinch.

He gritted his teeth. "Damn it."

Sylara smirked through her anger, lifting her leg and stepping aside. "You're going to have to do better than tickling my ankles, little brother!"

She kicked out suddenly — faster than before.

The blow caught Theron in the ribs mid-dodge, launching him across the dirt. He tumbled, rolling several meters before slamming to a stop on his stomach. His sword lay half-buried in the dust beside him.

The knights who'd been watching from a distance screamed and scattered. Most had fled already — they'd learned quickly not to get caught between royal siblings.

The ground trembled as Sylara marched toward him, her shadow stretching long across the courtyard.

"Come on, Theron!" she shouted down, frustration laced with something else — thrill. "Stop dodging and fight me!"

Theron spat dirt from his mouth and pushed himself up to his knees. He grabbed his sword, flames flickering faintly around his hands again. "You're not giving me much of a chance to not dodge!"

Sylara huffed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Excuses already?"

The two locked eyes. And then they moved.

The clash that followed was chaos — the rhythmic boom of her footsteps shaking the castle walls, the flash of Theron's crimson aura carving streaks through the air. Her fists slammed into the ground like thunder, his sword meeting them in flashes of heat and light.

The longer it went, the more it stopped looking like a spar and more like a war.

Dust rose in thick clouds, stone cracked beneath their feet, and the courtyard's banners flapped violently with every shockwave.

Minutes passed — maybe more. Both siblings were breathing heavily now.

Sylara stood hunched slightly, sweat glistening on her neck. Her chest rose and fell, her hair clinging to her temples. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered between breaths. "I haven't felt like this since fighting our older sister."

She looked down at him — her little brother, still standing, sword drawn, panting but unbroken. And for the first time, she felt something she never expected to feel in a sparring match with him: pressure.

It was embarrassing.

Her lips pulled back into a grin again — half out of frustration, half out of pride. "Fine, then. Let's end this."

Theron raised his sword, crimson light pulsing along the blade. "Agreed."

Sylara drew her arm back, muscles flexing, forming a fist that could have crushed a carriage.

Both siblings lunged forward—

BOOM!

The impact never came.

A blinding flash erupted between them, followed by a shockwave that silenced everything. When the dust cleared, both stood frozen — their strikes halted mid-swing.

Between them stood a towering figure, hand wrapped around Theron's glowing sword, the other catching Sylara's fist as if it were nothing.

His voice cut through the silence like a blade through iron.

"Enough!"

The force behind the word made the air itself tremble.

King Allaric stood tall, his cloak stirring in the heat, his eyes sharp as cold steel. Even Sylara's massive fist — caught effortlessly in his hand — looked small compared to the weight of his presence.

"This is not the time for family to be fighting one another," he said sternly, his gaze flicking between his two children. "Not when war stands at our gates."

Sylara's head bowed instantly. "Father, I—"

"Room. Now." His tone left no room for argument.

Her shoulders slumped. "Yes, Father."

Allaric released her fist, and she turned away, still breathing heavily, her cheeks red with embarrassment and adrenaline. She gave Theron one last look — something between admiration and a promise for a rematch — before striding off toward the palace.

Allaric turned to his son. "You. With me."

Theron, still trembling slightly from the sudden stop, straightened and nodded. "Yes, Father."

The king turned, walking toward the castle with measured, unhurried steps. Each one radiated power that made even the stones beneath his boots seem to quiet.

Theron glanced at his sword — the blade still faintly glowing in the sunlight — then back at his father's broad back.

He couldn't help but whisper under his breath, a grin forming despite the exhaustion pulling at him.

"...Amazing."

He followed without hesitation, the air still buzzing faintly from the echo of their clash.