My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 122: The Fight

Chapter 122: The Fight

Most people would never know the true struggle of having one eye unless they experienced it themselves.

The people Desmond saw after being injured often said "At least you still have one eye". Yet there was no ’at least’ for him.

No one considered his lack of depth perception in day-to-day tasks. He moved slowly most of the time to avoid mistakes. Many couldn’t ever understand having a large blind spot and lack of peripheral vision that made him paranoid constantly.

If someone watched him for only minutes, they would see his head dart around occasionally, hoping to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him.

The most paralyzing side effect of having one eye was the strain his remaining eye had on it constantly. If he read for too long, the headaches were excruciating. If it was dark, he felt practically blind.

Yet a man dared challenge him, insinuating that all he had lost to kill a dragon wasn’t enough to prove himself worthy of the title he held.

As he circled the ring with the warrior, he knew that no one considered his handicap in that match. The match was unbelievably unbalanced, but he hoped his Eirenguardian instinct was enough to save him.

He didn’t particularly want Leonor to watch him get stabbed if worse came to worst. Yet he knew his pride was guiding him and his anger was fueling his sword.

There weren’t enough opportunities to relieve his stress. It built up for moments like that.

All he could hope was that he wouldn’t react irrationally because of his heated emotions.

Desmond’s respect for the sword was shown when, even with tumultuous thoughts, he acknowledged the other man with a salute. It was received well and returned. He wouldn’t fault the man for volunteering.

The on-guard stances both men fell into once the match began showed how impenetrable and flawlessly trained they were. Desmond realized it was no wonder the man had made it so far in the matches.

The other swordsmen gleaned nothing from the duke’s stance and decided to take a risk by stepping forward. He thrust forth a feint, hoping to deceive the duke, but he was instantly parried and had to rethink his strategy.

With a grunt, Desmond counterattacked but the swordsman somehow avoided the attack by moving his blade out of the line of attack. Luckily, his body and any other part of his person wasn’t at risk of the duke’s blade.

"Unexpected," the swordsman leaped backward, away from the duke who was far more in tune with his sword than he originally expected. The duke with half vision and wearing inflexible clothing was adept enough to continue avoiding his attacks and almost strike him.

The man decided to take a direct approach without feints. He lunged forward, extending a direct attack towards the duke’s blind spot.

Desmond expected this and prepared a counter.

However, Desmond felt searing pain under his armpit and the lack of strength in his counter was enough for them to have a power struggle for a moment as their blades locked together. Neither one of them could break through for a few moments.

Leonor watched in horror. She gasped a few times throughout but it wasn’t until they struggled for control that she put her hands over her mouth as she watched the match unfold.

Admittedly, she was reminded so much of Valerio. His certainty with his sword made the blade seem like an extension of himself. Desmond used his sword the same way. If he wasn’t fighting to avoid getting hurt, she might consider it beautiful the way she thought mana spars were beautiful.

The grapple between the two fighters was broken and they both made it out unscathed.

Desmond and the other man had sweat gathering on their foreheads, realizing the other fighter was far more skilled than they expected.

Considering each of Desmond’s attacks was in defense rather than offense, he decided to be more direct. He stepped forward, pressing the other man with a feint to draw a reaction and find a weak spot.

The duke was feeling pressure and wanted to finish the match quickly. The amount of skill each thrust of the other man’s sword had behind it made him worried he wouldn’t come out unscathed as he hoped before.

Of course, he shouldn’t have expected to retain all of his skills. After all, he couldn’t use a sword nearly as much as he used to. It was unreasonable to expect his skill would be the same.

Deciding to risk a bit more, Desmond followed with a real lunge towards the swordsman. The swordsman was taken aback for a moment but came in at the last second, countering with a parry that saved him from losing the match and suffering an injury.

Immediately, the swordsman counter-attacked by ducking under the duke and thrusting his blade upward.

Desmond let out a cry of shock and frustration, but he managed to thrust his blade in response.

Again, they were in a bind with swords locked as both tried to overpower the other. Their jaws were clenched and the sweat gathering at their foreheads finally dripped down their heads. However, Desmond’s sweat and expressions were hidden by bandages.

At that moment, Desmond wished he thought to wear something more suitable for combat. It felt like he would tear the stitching out in his armpits the more he moved his arms.

In a last ditch effort, Desmond shoved the other man away and was grateful for the distance between them. They were both winded by that point but neither one wanted to give up.

For a moment, they searched each other for an in to make the fight finish much quicker.

The swordsman quickly lunged, deciding it would be best to seize the initiative, but Desmond saw it from a mile away. He parried easily even though his scarred arm felt like it was burning. He was always advised to use his non-dominant arm, but he needed the skill of his right arm for that match.

Immediately, Desmond sliced his sword from the left and pinned the man’s sword towards his right which turned out to be a bad decision because he couldn’t see it as well as he would have like to.

Again they pushed one another away.

For a moment, even the audience seemed silent as the two men circled one another.

The thrill of the fight rushed through each man and all either one of them could hear was their heartbeat.

At the perfect time, Desmond threw out his left arm but lunged right. His decisive thrust put his blade against the other man’s chest plate, but it was enough to be the deciding factor.

He threw the man backward and placed a foot clad in a leather boot on his stomach.

"Have you seen enough?" Desmond called to the audience, the roughness of his voice worse than normal.

He immediately regretted speaking that loud.

There was a beat before the audience started cheering for their duke. It was a legendary moment that would be passed around for ages.

However, the most memorable part was Desmond raising his sword to the sky to reveal crimson red blood covering his cream-colored shirt and falling into his grey vest.

Perhaps it wasn’t his shirt tearing but his skin, after all.