ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 362: Two Sides Of The Same Coin

After learning from Mystica and Queen Lucy that his theory about Sylvathar hiding in the Land of Ruins had been incorrect—and that Sheila remained untraceable—Liam grew noticeably restless. Though subtle to most, the change was visible to one person alone: Mabel, his assigned protector and constant shadow.

In the five days that followed, Liam channeled that restlessness into frequent sparring sessions with Mabel. She never refused him, always ready to engage him with the same quiet resolve she wore like armor. Even if he never openly admitted it, Mabel could tell that the news had thrown him off-balance in a way few things could. His mind had gone silent, but his movements had grown sharper—faster, more precise, as if he were trying to strike away the thoughts he couldn’t verbalize.

With time, something shifted between them. It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t loud, but it was real. Liam began speaking to her more often, and while their conversations never dipped into deeply personal territory—no mention of families, old wounds, or childhoods—there was a new ease between them. A mutual understanding. Like they were walking the same lonely path, two sides of the same coin.

That trust became even more apparent when Liam introduced Mabel to Nyxie. The adolescent Nyxarion was curious the moment she laid eyes on her, though her initial reaction was suspicion—Nyxie thought Liam had summoned some kind of clone or double, given how much Mabel’s energy resembled his own at first glance. But that hesitancy dissolved quickly. Nyxie, ever intuitive, saw through the surface and warmed up to Mabel faster than expected.

Though Nyxie still couldn’t speak since Liam’s Ascension, her thoughts and emotions were easier for Liam to interpret now, their bond having grown stronger. Surprisingly, Mabel seemed just as attuned to Nyxie—sometimes even more so. She understood Nyxie’s silent gestures and expressions as if they’d shared a language since birth. Nyxie began spending more and more time outside the Shadow Realm, choosing to curl beside Mabel or shadow her movements across the palace halls.

As for Liam, the growing ease with Mabel brought with it an unfamiliar feeling—one he couldn’t quite name. At first, he assumed it was a sense of care, similar to what he felt for the Silverharts. But it wasn’t the same. There was something else underneath. Something quieter... but deeper. He tried to analyze it, to break it down logically the way he did everything else. But the more he examined it, the less it made sense.

He found himself watching her when she wasn’t looking. Not obsessively, just... curiously. As if hoping to find an answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet. Mabel, often preoccupied with Nyxie or her duties, rarely noticed his gaze.

Yet, Liam didn’t dwell on that feeling. It remained somewhere in the background—present, but not consuming.

What occupied his thoughts more, strangely enough, was a realization Mabel had pointed out to him just days ago—something that shifted his perspective more than he liked to admit. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

And this... was his growing reliance on the fire–shadow javelin.

Liam, who had once been a die-hard fan of his dual daggers since his days in the Dark Forest, rarely wielded anything else. Occasionally, he’d draw a sword when the need arose, but never had he shown interest in polearms—much less a javelin. Yet, ever since waking from his slumber after the Aesmirius incident, something had changed.

He found himself drawn to the javelin, not by decision, but by instinct. It wasn’t a weapon he’d ever trained with—he had no formal technique, no learned finesse—yet wielding it felt... right. Natural. Familiar, in a way that unsettled him. A suspicion had started to form in the back of his mind: was this some residue of Aesmirius? Had the ancient being, who once took over his body, been a javelin wielder in life?

These questions might’ve remained buried had it not been for Mabel. It was she who pointed it out one day after another sparring match. She’d studied Liam’s use of the javelin, noting how unlike it was from any javelin-wielding fighter she’d seen before—ally or enemy.

Most javelin users, she explained, relied on just one of three standard techniques:

First was the classic throw—clean, calculated, and lethal from a distance, aimed at organs, magical cores, or weak points. It prioritized precision over brute strength.

Second was the charge—using the javelin like a short lance, the wielder driving forward with momentum and body weight to deliver a single devastating strike.

Third was pressure—short jabs, feints, and unpredictable movements. It was often treated like a longer dagger or a makeshift spear, used to keep enemies at bay and control space.

Experienced fighters typically mastered one of these techniques, maybe two if they were skilled. But Liam?

Liam used all three.

With no training and no foundation, he somehow blended these methods together with uncanny fluidity. He threw his javelin with deadly accuracy. He lunged with brutal momentum. He pressured with elegant control, each jab precise and calculated. And beyond that, he adapted the weapon on the fly—wielding it like a sword when needed, flipping it into a spear stance when the fight demanded reach, or slashing as though it were a dagger.

Mabel’s analysis went deeper when she examined the weapon itself. The javelin, conjured from Liam’s fire-shadow blend, was a hybrid—something between a javelin and a spear. Always around 5’5" in length, its balance was perfect for multi-functional combat. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was a manifestation of Liam’s instinct, his reflexes, and perhaps even a piece of the entity that once shared his body.

And in their sparring sessions, it showed. Liam’s movements with the javelin weren’t just efficient—they were artful. At times, it looked like he was performing a graceful, deadly dance. His footwork was light, yet grounded. His grip shifted fluidly. His momentum rose and fell like rhythm in a song. Mabel, an elite agent of the Royal Corps, often found herself pushed to adapt mid-fight, struggling to predict his ever-changing rhythm.

And yet, Liam himself didn’t fully understand how he used it.

He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t plan his moves. He simply moved, letting the javelin flow through his hands as if it were an extension of his will. There was no thought. No over-analysis. It just felt right.

And so, he kept using it—because, even if he couldn’t explain it, the fire–shadow javelin had become an inseparable part of him.

***

Just like the many days before, the last known wielder of dark magic and the ever-enigmatic elite agent of the Royal Corps found themselves locked in yet another heated weapon duel. Mabel had suggested these spars remain magic-free—a deliberate choice meant to help Liam hone his physical skill with his newly favored weapon, rather than relying purely on instinct and mystic advantage.

The idea was simple: strip the fight of spells, and force Liam to master the weapon itself.

Of course, the javelin had to be conjured from myst each time—it was, after all, his own creation—but beyond that, Liam refrained from activating its elemental abilities. The only exception was the recall effect, a practical necessity. The explosive detonation, however, was strictly off-limits unless Mabel explicitly allowed for magic-based sparring, which was rare.

Now, in the heart of the training hall, the two blurred through motion—Liam with his fire–shadow javelin, and Mabel with her midnight-forged blade. Their weapons clashed in rapid succession, the ring of steel echoing through the chamber as they danced across the floor with flawless footwork and deadly precision.

This was no one-sided exchange. Each move was a test. A challenge. A sharpened edge against another, trying to predict, overwhelm, or bait the other into the smallest mistake.

Liam, despite his lack of formal javelin training, fought with an unpredictable and adaptive rhythm. His attacks curved at odd angles, feinted mid-motion, and used the javelin’s range and balance in fluid transitions between thrusts, slashes, and jabs. But even with his uncanny improvisation, Mabel remained a step ahead.

Her blade—sleek, one-edged, long and elegant—was unlike anything Liam had ever trained against. Forged in shadowed steel with refined curvature, it demanded control and punished recklessness. And in her hands, it was an extension of something deeper. Something calm. Cold. Calculated.

Mabel’s fighting style was effortless in its fluidity, like flowing water weaving between rocks. Every parry, every pivot, every angle of her counterattacks came with a grace so refined it almost looked choreographed. Her affinity for water didn’t just reflect in her magic—it lived in her movements.

And just like how Liam’s footwork carried the weight and burn of fire, Mabel moved with the rhythm of a stream: smooth, adaptable, and devastating when crashing through a weak point.

They weren’t just sparring.

They were studying one another.

Pushing each other.

Sharpening the blades of skill, instinct, and their own unspoken trust.

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