Royal Bastard’s Bloodstained Regression
Chapter 114: Sparring with Shadows of the Past

Dameon didn't bother to press Nyxtriel further. His attention had already shifted—focused squarely on the man waiting ahead of them: Veyne, Commander of the Veryndor Army.

He gave a respectful nod. "Thanks for waiting. Let's begin."

Veyne smiled as he stepped forward. "You've really grown... taller. And that hair of yours—when did it turn white?"

"It just changed during training," Dameon replied casually.

"I see." Veyne nodded, then turned his eyes toward Nyxtriel. "And who might this be?"

"Oh, right," Dameon said. "This is Nyxtriel. She's my companion."

He glanced at her. "Nyxtriel, this is Veyne—the commander of Veryndor's army."

Nyxtriel gave a slight bow. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, my lady," Veyne replied with a warm smile.

Nyxtriel smiled back, but her expression stayed guarded. The kind of smile that stopped at the lips—not the eyes.

"Oh, right," Veyne said, almost forgetting. "I was planning to head out later—there's something I need to pick up outside the castle."

"What is it?" Dameon asked.

Veyne scratched his head, sheepishly. "Just a medicine... for someone important."

Dameon immediately knew. His daughter. In his past life, Veyne's daughter had died of a terminal illness before the Great War. That loss had hardened him, made him bitter. The man who once smiled like this would later betray him. But even knowing that, Dameon didn't ask more.

"I get it," he said with a calm smile. "It's personal."

Veyne gave a quiet nod. "Thank you, your highness. Let's head inside."

He led them into the large training grounds. A few soldiers trained in pairs while others rested along the edges, but most of the area had been cleared in anticipation of Dameon's arrival.

"Isn't that Prince Gabriel?" one whispered.

"No, idiot. That's Prince Dameon. Heard he came back 'cause of his brother's coronation."

"Damn... what happened to his hair?"

"SHUT UP AND SHOW SOME RESPECT!" Veyne barked across the field. Then he turned back to Dameon. "Apologies, your highness."

"It's fine. I'm used to it." Dameon chuckled.

"No, it's my mistake." Veyne spun toward the soldiers. "Forty laps! Now!"

The men groaned in frustration but obeyed, running the perimeter of the training field without another word.

"You didn't have to do that," Dameon said, though part of him was satisfied that Veyne still stood up for him—just like he used to.

As the soldiers ran, Dameon spotted three familiar faces among them. Kiel, Rowan, and Darius. They were knights he'd trained with and trusted in his past life. So even after changing the course of my fate... they still ended up here.

"I didn't know you were recruiting fresh blood."

"I brought them in myself," Veyne said proudly. "Promising ones. You'll see."

Dameon nodded, though inside, his thoughts were already shifting. They were loyal once... until they weren't.

"Since you're here, let's begin, my prince," Veyne said with a grin. "Show this old man what you learned during those two years you vanished."

Dameon smiled. This was the first time he and Veyne had spoken so casually, but it reminded him just how close they'd once been in his past life.

"Alright. Don't blink."

Nyxtriel stepped away with a shrug. "Since you two are about to clash blades, I'll be over there watching. I'll make a great witness."

"Suit yourself," Dameon said, chuckling lightly.

She moved to the edge of the field, crossing her arms as her eyes locked onto Dameon with quiet confidence.

Veyne handed Dameon a wooden sword. "You want this, or would you rather go unarmed?"

Dameon took it, spinning it once in his hand, testing the weight. "Sword's fine. Let's find out if the royal captain still lives up to the legends."

Veyne laughed, drawing his own blade. "Try not to embarrass me too badly."

Dameon didn't respond. He lunged without warning, his strike coming so fast that Veyne barely raised his blade in time.

Clang!

The sound of wood striking wood echoed across the training field.

A few nearby soldiers slowed their running, turning toward the clash.

"Wait— is the prince sparring with Captain Veyne?"

"No way. I give the prince ten seconds."

"Silence, you worms," Nyxtriel snapped, her voice cold as steel. The soldiers shut up instantly.

Meanwhile...

Veyne backed away, readjusting his stance. "Hah! You've really sharpened up. You weren't like this before."

"I've had... intense practice."

"Oh? Let's see how you handle a speed boost."

Veyne darted forward, aiming a sharp jab toward Dameon's ribs to test his reaction time. But before the tip could even land—

Dameon dropped low, sidestepping cleanly, then countered with a swift slash aimed at Veyne's side.

Veyne jumped back, barely dodging it.

Their blades clashed again in a blur of motion—speed against experience. Every strike Dameon threw looked effortless, like muscle memory from a thousand battles.

But Veyne's seasoned reflexes kept him in the fight, matching the younger man's speed with veteran timing.

Another flurry of strikes followed—fast, sharp, almost too precise to follow. Dameon moved like someone who had danced this pattern in his dreams a hundred times. But Veyne, weathered and experienced, stayed in the fight with grit alone.

"I've never seen you train with a sword," Veyne muttered between parries. "But right now, you fight like a seasoned veteran. Who trained you?"

Dameon's eyes narrowed. "I trained myself."

He dropped low and swept Veyne's legs. The older man stumbled but recovered with a clean backward roll, rising back into stance.

From the sidelines, Nyxtriel smirked faintly. That's my lord. Even without his true power, he's already too much.

But Dameon didn't slow down.

He pressed forward, unleashing a brutal downward strike. Veyne caught it—but the impact drove him to one knee, his guard shaking.

"Still standing?" Dameon asked, voice steady.

"Hah... barely." Veyne panted. "You've already surpassed most of the knights here."

Dameon lowered his blade. "Then I expect more from you next time."

The match ended.

Around them, a few soldiers watching started whispering among themselves, wide-eyed at what they'd just witnessed.

Veyne straightened, chuckling as he patted his chest. "If you ever lead an army, I'll gladly stand behind you."

Dameon said nothing.

But his gaze drifted—distant, cold.

Stand behind me? The words echoed bitterly. You already did... right before you watched them execute me. You were supposed to be different. I saved you. Trusted you. You were the closest thing I had to a father.

And yet, the moment my blood showed its truth, you turned. Like everyone else.

What Dameon never understood about humans was how they could smile at you with warmth—and still twist the blade in your back. That wasn't weakness. That was evil.

"Prince Dameon..."

"Prince..."

Who's calling me...?

"Dameon!"

He snapped out of it.

Veyne was standing in front of him, gripping the wooden sword Dameon had unknowingly raised—his knuckles white from holding it back.

The soldiers looked stunned.

Dameon blinked, slowly lowering the weapon.

He didn't even realize he'd moved.

One thing was clear: he had messed up. Badly.

Nyxtriel stepped in quickly, grabbing Dameon by the arm and tossing the wooden sword aside. His hands were bleeding from how tightly he'd been gripping the hilt.

Veyne adjusted his posture, trying to compose himself. "Ahem... did I say something wrong?"

Dameon looked around. The soldiers nearby were visibly shaken—eyes wide, posture tense.

Why did it bother him? He'd made stronger men tremble before. He'd killed without blinking. But this was different. These were his people... and they feared him.

"My lord has been traveling through dangerous cities and cursed forests," Nyxtriel said suddenly, stepping forward with a calm, protective voice. "He's seen things that would break most men. He hasn't even had time to properly heal. And yet, the moment he arrived, he came here... for his brother."

Veyne looked surprised. "I... didn't know it was that bad."

Nyxtriel nodded, lying smoothly. "He didn't even sleep last night. He's been worried sick over the king."

Dameon glanced at her. The way she stood by him—defending him without hesitation—it stirred something in his chest. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said enough: Thank you.

"I see," Veyne said, nodding slowly. "No wonder you looked so exhausted yesterday. That must've taken a toll."

"I guess we'll call it a day," he added gently. "You should rest, Your Highness."

Dameon gave a small nod. "Tomorrow, I'll be better."

He cast one last glance toward the soldiers. Some still watched him with fear... but a few looked reassured now. Maybe that was enough—for now.

"Rest well, Your Highness," Veyne said.

Without another word, Dameon turned and walked away beside Nyxtriel.

As they walked, Dameon glanced at Nyxtriel. He didn't even know what to say. Something was off—deeply off. Had he really just attacked someone without realizing it?

Was the fragment taking over? Was he losing control?

Nyxtriel broke the silence. "My lord, if you're still stuck in the past... you should try to let go. At least a little."

"I know," he muttered. "I act like I'm fine, like I've got everything figured out. But it's not easy."

She paused, then reached out and gently took his hand. "You're not alone. We're in this together."

He looked at her—really looked—and the quiet strength in her eyes steadied him. Still, part of him wondered... why hadn't she asked what happened back there? Had he done this before? Was this who he was becoming?

His thoughts tangled. His emotions were a mess.

"I get it, Nyxtriel," he said quietly. "Let's go back inside. I think I've had enough for today."

She nodded and gave him a soft smile. "Then I'll stay by your side. Until you're ready."