What Once Was Lost - Percy De Rolo x Fem!Reader

Chapter 8: Doubts

|| Hey ya'll! Sorry this chapter took so long! I caught a bad chest infection that knocked me out for a while but I'm back in action! Enjoy! ||

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(Y/n) stood silently, her arms tight behind her back. The room was cold, even with the torchlight on the walls, but she said nothing. Dark splatters marked the stone walls around her. Previous slaughters on display. Sylas Briarwood walked behind her, swinging a dark sword in his hands, a familiar one. (Y/n) had seen in in action before, quite literally stealing the blood from the enemies it faced. They both stood in a small, arena like structure under Whitestone, just a little ways away from the prison cells. It was probably used as sparring practice for the De Rolo royal guard. Now it was used for a darker form of training.

"Lets see what I've taught you put to use..." Sylas sneered, looking up. He nodded to a pair of Pale Guard, who silently obeyed the wordless command. They took each side of a wooden wheel, spinning it slowly. It was connected to a set of iron bars, that lifted as the wheels turned. From the shadows of the cell came a rather large man. Built, with shaggy hair and past burn marks on his arms. A Blacksmith most likely. He was given a rather crude, dull sword to defend himself with.

(Y/n) took a breath, her hands moving to her serrated weapons at her sides. She took them, holding them tight as she faced her opponent. A bead of sweat slid down the blacksmith's temple. He didn't want to be here.

Then he should never have supplied weapons to the rebellion to begin with.

(Y/n) wasted no time, dashing forward. The Blacksmith gritted his teeth and yelled out, raising his sword. His stance was correct, his foot placement steady. He knew how to fight.

(Y/n) slid across the floor as the blade nearly beheaded her. She remembered well Lord Briarwood's lessons. Tendons were weak points on anything that moves. (Y/n) darted out of the Blacksmith's range as he changed his stance, the sword echoing harshly as it stabbed into the stone where the rogue's body was a second ago. (Y/n) tensed at the sound of metal on stone and the sparks left behind. She rolled away as the Blacksmith swung his sword wildly. It was brash. Even with such a well-known attack stance, his true state was forming the more (Y/n) moved. He was tired, getting desperate as she dodged and studied.

(Y/n) felt her brow tense. She took chances, took risks as she got close. Shallow cuts from her axes made marks on his blackened arms, shoulders, back. It was similar to a cat toying with a mouse. The Blacksmith couldn't hit her. Sylas watched on, tapping his sword with impatience.

(Y/n) growled. The Blacksmith was sweating, his movements sluggish as blood dripped from the cuts. Now.

(Y/n) dashed behind him as the Blacksmith made another missed swing. Her axes found purchase in the backs of his legs, slicing through the tendons behind his knees. The blacksmith cried out as he was forced to his knees, blood running down his legs. He tried to twist back, swinging his sword. It nearly caught (Y/n)'s cheek, cutting a few loose strands of hair. Curious, how a wounded animal continued to fight.

(Y/n) quickly ducked, taking both her axes and twisting the handles around the blacksmith's outstretched wrist, twisting it painfully. The Blacksmith hollered as the sword was forced out of his hand. (Y/n) kicked it away fast before using the butt of her axe handle to bash into the back of the man's head. He groaned, forced to his hands and knees. (Y/n) slowed, watching the wounded beast pant and gasp out in pain and exhaustion. Something in her tugged.

"Why do you hesitate?"

Sylas walked up to his apprentice, placing a strong grip on her shoulder.