Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 304 - 299: Sparring With a Landslide

Chapter 299: Sparring With a Landslide

The first strike came fast—too fast for an Emperor, too fast for a spar.

Max barely blocked it, their wrists clashing with a resonant crack that echoed through the hall like a gunshot. The wards shimmered for a breath, then absorbed the surge of ether like water soaking into stone.

Damian didn’t pause. He moved like water cutting through silk—clean, unrelenting, precise. His footwork was honed through years of battlefield instinct, not showy or elegant, just lethal. He threw another strike, low and sweeping, and Max pivoted just in time, catching the blow on the outside of his forearm and countering with a sharp elbow toward Damian’s ribs.

The Emperor sidestepped.

Max blinked.

A faint smile curved Damian’s mouth. "Slower than I remember."

Max’s hand flared with violet light, launching a narrow arc of ether at Damian’s head. "Go to hell." freёweɓnovel.com

Damian ducked beneath it, pivoting low with a smoothness that should’ve been impossible after everything he’d burned through. His fist connected with Max’s side—not full force, but enough to bruise—and Max grunted as he stumbled back, boots skidding slightly on the stone.

He recovered quickly.

"Still fast," Max muttered. "But your hands are shaking."

It wasn’t obvious. Not to anyone else. But Max had been dragged through enough training rotations with Damian to notice the half-second delay in his grip, the twitch before a punch landed, and the way his ether flared unevenly now and then, like it was bleeding through cracks.

He blocked the next strike cleanly, braced, and countered without flair.

"You know," Max said between breaths, "I don’t understand something."

Damian raised a brow.

"You have Gabriel," Max continued, catching his wrist and twisting just enough to deflect the next blow. "Why don’t you train with him?"

Damian’s knee nearly clipped Max’s thigh before stopping short. Just short. Enough to say: be careful.

Max smirked. "What? Afraid he’ll win?"

The gold in Damian’s eyes didn’t flare with amusement. It simmered. Low. Controlled. And something more dangerous than temper flickered beneath.

"I do train with him," Damian said, voice quiet. "But not in fighting."

"Because you’re scared of hurting him?" Max asked, stepping back into stance.

"Because if I sparred with him the way I do with you," Damian said, circling now, "we’d end up fucking or setting something on fire."

Max blinked. "Well. That’s—graphic."

"I’ve heard that," said Gabriel, deadpan.

Max nearly tripped mid-step.

Damian didn’t flinch, but his next strike missed by a hair. Not because he was caught off guard—no, his control never slipped. But there was a distinct twitch at the corner of his mouth that might’ve been a smirk. Or a threat.

Gabriel stood just outside the warded boundary now, one brow arched, arms still crossed. "If you’re going to discuss me like a court rumor, at least be accurate."

Alexandra choked on her tea. Irina looked like she wanted to disappear into her scarf.

Max groaned. "He’s right there, Damian. Do you not have shame?"

"None," Gabriel said before Damian could. "And I’m flattered. Though, if you are going to spar with me, I’d appreciate it if you did it after the pregnancy, as Marin banned me from spells."

"Banned you—?" Max looked scandalized. "What kind of sparring were you doing?"

Gabriel didn’t answer immediately. He just raised his cup of tea and took a sip like the picture of polite destruction. "Well, an ether poisoning and Olivier’s shard were drawing enough ether from me to be considered a constant fight."

Max stared at him a beat too long. Then he said, flatly, "You’re terrifying."

Gabriel tilted his head. "Thank you."

Damian’s elbow missed Max’s jaw by inches.

"Focus," he said, voice low.

Max barely ducked, the hum of ether crackling too close to his ear. "Right, sorry, I forgot this was my beating."

"It’s my first time moving in days," Damian said, voice cool. "What’s your excuse?"

"Emotional trauma."

Damian’s palm glowed faintly as he stepped into Max’s guard. "You’ll survive."

"Says the man who almost died this month."

"Still outranking you."

Max parried, boots sliding across the warded stone, breath coming faster now. He wasn’t bad. He never had been. But fighting Damian Lyon felt like sparring with a landslide—controlled, lethal, and absolutely impersonal.

"You know," Max said between strikes, "you’re more tolerable when unconscious."

Gabriel’s laugh broke through from the sideline—short, sharp, and amused. "He says that, but last time he almost cried at your bedside. Damian’s right is the place to attack."

Damian didn’t break form, but his eyebrow twitched.

"Gabriel," he said, deadly calm, "stop giving him advice."

He moved before the warning had fully settled into the air—pivoting sharp on his heel, shoulder low, his next strike heavier, aimed with brutal precision. Max barely had time to react before the impact crashed into his guard and sent him flying backward, boots skidding across the stone. He slammed into the ring wall with a solid thud, the force rippling through the reinforced wards.

"Ow," Max wheezed, sliding down halfway before catching himself on one arm. "Okay. Noted."

"I changed my strategy," Damian said mildly, already stepping forward. "Seems effective."

Gabriel, still sipping tea, looked entirely unbothered. "I did warn him."

Irina leaned toward Alexandra. "This is the Emperor people talk about like he is a legend?"

Alexandra didn’t even blink. "This is the Emperor people talk about like he’s a legend."

She took a slow sip of tea, matching Gabriel’s elegance with practiced ease. "What they don’t mention is that he’s worse when he’s in love."

Irina’s image of Damian as a godly hero had been shattered just a week after entering the palace, but she still couldn’t believe how monstrous the Emperor was. She was glad that Gabriel was his mate.

There was a sharp crash—Max’s back hitting the ring wall again.

Gabriel sighed.

"Edward," he said, without raising his voice, "hold this."

The teacup passed hands like a ceremonial relic, and before Irina could blink again, Gabriel had stepped into the ring.

Even the wards pulsed once beneath their feet.

Damian stilled, golden eyes narrowing as Gabriel crossed the circle’s edge. "You’re not supposed to—"