The Do-Over System:My Beloved is the Villain! - Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Jealousy, Jealousy

Aeliana swung her sword with all her might, the clang of steel against steel echoing through the dimly lit training hall. Sweat dripped from her brow, her arms trembling with the weight of the blade. Lucian stood before her, effortlessly parrying her strikes with a calculated precision that only deepened her frustration.

Her mind, however, wasn’t entirely on the fight.

“Who the hell is she?” The question burned in her thoughts, louder than the clash of their blades. “Sylvara. She’s supposed to be this perfect warrior, right? Stronger, faster, more skilled than me. Probably more experienced too… in every way.”

The thought made her grit her teeth, and she threw herself into another swing, only for Lucian to deflect it effortlessly, causing her to stumble back.

“Focus, Aeliana,” Lucian said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “If you keep letting your emotions control you, you’ll lose before the fight even begins.”

She straightened, glaring at him. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one about to duel some goddess of war who’s probably better than you too!”

Lucian’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he held it back. “Sylvara is skilled, yes, but she’s not invincible. And no, she’s not better than me.” His tone carried a calm confidence that only frustrated her further.

“She was supposed to be yours,” Aeliana said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “What if she’s still better suited to you? Stronger, more graceful, more… everything.”

Lucian’s expression softened, though his stance remained firm. He stepped closer, lowering his sword. “Aeliana, stop comparing yourself to her. You’re different, and that’s not a weakness. Sylvara was a part of my past, but you are my future. Don’t let the thought of her cloud your focus.”

But the words did little to soothe the storm in her mind. “If I lose to her… does that mean he chose wrong? That she’s the one who should stand by his side?” The doubts weighed heavy on her, dragging her strikes down and sapping her energy.

Lucian stepped forward suddenly, disarming her with a quick movement. Her sword clattered to the ground, and she dropped to her knees, panting heavily.

“You’re tired,” he said, his tone less sharp now. “Let’s stop here for today.”

Aeliana shook her head, her breathing ragged. “No… I can do more.”

Lucian crouched before her, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “Pushing yourself to the brink won’t help. Rest is just as important as training.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What if I’m not enough?”

Lucian’s golden eyes softened, and for a moment, the harshness of his warrior persona melted away. “Aeliana,” he said gently, “you’re more than enough. I don’t want Sylvara. I don’t care how skilled she is or what she was supposed to mean to me. I chose you, and I’ll choose you again and again. But you have to believe in yourself, or this fight is already lost.”

His words struck something deep within her, and she felt the weight of her doubts lift, even if just slightly. With a small nod, she let him pull her to her feet.

“Fine,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’ll rest. But only because I need to prove you right—and prove her wrong.”

Lucian smirked. “That’s the spirit. And don’t worry, Aeliana. You’re going to show Sylvara—and everyone else—exactly why you’re the one who deserves to stand by my side.”

The training hall was tense, the air thick with Aeliana’s mounting frustration. Every swing of her blade came with an edge of anger, her strikes sharper and more unpredictable than before. Lucian, ever the calm observer, parried each blow with precision, but he couldn’t ignore the fire in her eyes.

Her gaze kept drifting to his arm—the faint glow of the imprint mark that tied him to Sylvara. It was a reminder of everything she hated: the idea of not being enough, of someone else having a claim to him, of being second to a connection she could never understand.

Her grip on the sword tightened as the anger surged in her chest. She swung harder, faster, with a ferocity that made Lucian raise an eyebrow.

“Careful, Aeliana,” he warned, deflecting her latest strike. “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you again.”

But she wasn’t listening. Her focus was solely on the mark on his arm, and without realizing it, she lashed out.

The blade grazed Lucian’s forearm.

He hissed, stepping back as blood seeped through the cut. Aeliana froze, her eyes wide with shock.

“Lucian!” she gasped, dropping her sword. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

Lucian inspected the wound briefly, his expression calm despite the sting. “You’re improving,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Your strikes are faster and more precise. But…” He glanced up at her, his eyes sharp. “That was reckless.”

“I wasn’t—” she stammered, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“You were,” he said firmly. “Your frustration is making you dangerous—to yourself and to me. That’s exactly the kind of thing Sylvara will exploit if you don’t learn to control it.”

His calm tone only made her anger flare again. She picked up her sword, her hands trembling. “Don’t bring her up,” she snapped. “I’m not her, and I don’t want to be her!”

“I never said you should be,” Lucian replied, stepping back into position. “But if you want to win, you need to focus.”

Her jaw tightened. The frustration, the doubts, the image of that cursed mark—it was all too much. With a cry, she swung her sword again, putting everything she had into the strike.

Lucian dodged, his movements swift and fluid, but this time she anticipated his step. Her blade came dangerously close, slicing the air where his neck had been moments before.

He immediately halted, raising his hands. “Aeliana!”

She stopped, her chest heaving, her face pale as she realized what she had done.

“I… I almost—” she whispered, stepping back. The sword slipped from her grip again, clattering to the floor. “Lucian, I—”

Lucian took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of concern and approval. “That was good,” he said, surprising her. “Too good, actually. For a moment, I thought you might actually land a killing blow.”

“Don’t say that!” she cried, her voice shaking.

He approached her slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re improving, Aeliana,” he said gently. “But you need to control this anger of yours. If you don’t, it’ll control you—and that’s when you’ll lose.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she looked at him. “I’m scared, Lucian. What if I hurt you? What if I can’t do this?”

He gave her a small smile, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You won’t hurt me. And you can do this. But only if you trust yourself—and trust me.”

She nodded weakly, the weight of the moment settling over her. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” he said, stepping back. “For now, let’s call it a day. You’ve done enough.”

As he turned to leave, Aeliana glanced down at her trembling hands, a mixture of fear and determination swirling within her. I won’t let this anger control me, she vowed silently. I’ll prove to him—and to myself—that I’m worthy of standing by his side.

“Aeliana! Stop!” Lucian’s sharp voice echoed through the training hall, jolting her out of her thoughts. His tone was uncharacteristically harsh, a rare break in his calm demeanor.

Her blade halted mid-swing, the tip just inches from his chest. Her eyes were wide with a mix of shock and defiance, her breath ragged as adrenaline coursed through her.

“What are you doing?” Lucian demanded, his expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You almost hit me!”

“Isn’t that the point?” Aeliana snapped, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “Isn’t this what you’ve been training me for? To kill my opponent?”

Lucian’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, gently pushing her sword aside. “Killing your opponent is one thing,” he said firmly, his golden eyes locking onto hers. “But killing your fiancé is another.”

The weight of his words hit her like a physical blow. She staggered back a step, her grip on the sword loosening. “I—I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she stammered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“But you would have,” Lucian said, his voice softening but still carrying a hint of reproach. “You were so lost in your frustration that you didn’t even realize what you were doing.”

Aeliana looked down, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I feel so helpless sometimes. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to win this duel, and it’s eating me alive.”

Lucian sighed, stepping closer and tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “You are strong, Aeliana. Stronger than you think. But strength isn’t just about swinging a sword or landing a blow. It’s about control, strategy, and knowing when to hold back.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. “I’m trying, Lucian. I really am. But every time I think about Sylvara, about that mark on your arm, I just… I lose myself.”

Lucian’s expression softened further, and he cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t need to compare yourself to her,” he said gently. “You’re not Sylvara, and I don’t want you to be. You’re Aeliana, and that’s more than enough for me.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded, her grip on the sword finally releasing. “I’ll do better,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know you will,” Lucian said with a small smile. “But for now, let’s take a break. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and it’s clouding your judgment.”

She nodded again, and as Lucian turned to put away his training gear, Aeliana took a deep breath, silently vowing to regain her focus. I can do this. I will do this—for him and for myself.