After lifting his sword into stance and finishing his speech, Zarik glanced at my sword.
A small chuckle escaped him.
"As it seems, you don't even know how to properly hold a sword. But don't despair yet. I will show you what true swordsmanship looks like."
Then, tilting his head in thought, he added.
"I will give you the first strike, slave. Make something of it."
Seeing this as the signal for the fight to begin, I stepped forward.
Step.
Slowly, one step after another, I approached Zarik with my sword raised.
Landing the first strike didn't matter to me.
My goal today wasn't to win.
It was to survive.
As Rash had said, I likely wasn't allowed to hurt him. So I chose a defensive strategy—one where I could tire him out. Maybe once he became exhausted, they would end the duel.
With that in mind, and after stepping into reach, I attacked.
Shing.
A diagonal strike aimed at his shoulder. I didn't put much strength behind it. The goal was simply to deliver the strike.
Clang.
Zarik blocked it head-on, and I stepped back.
After I retreated, he spoke again in a voice filled with arrogance.
"That was all? Giving you the first strike was pointless. Perhaps giving you ten more would change the outcome… though I doubt you're worth the time."
He chuckled briefly before stepping forward.
"Brace yourself, slave."
He hadn't even finished speaking when his sword came down.
Shing.
A vertical strike.
I shifted my blade horizontally and blocked it.
Clang.
There was weight behind his attack, and he was clearly strong, but it wasn't enough to overpower me.
My sword held firm.
After a moment, he pulled back.
Looking at his face, I saw a flicker of irritation. But it disappeared immediately as he attacked again. His grip shifted, and he delivered a diagonal slash toward my left side.
Shing.
I rotated my blade to the left, lowered the tip, and supported it with my off-hand. My right foot slid back for stability.
Clang.
His sword crashed into mine, but I stood firmly, not moving an inch. As the strength behind his strike faded, I stepped back, and our swords separated.
Seeing me retreat, he attacked again.
Pulling his blade back, he stepped in and drove it forward again, stabbing at my chest.
Step.
I saw it coming from the change in his grip, and just made a step to my left, evading it.
The irritation on his face deepened.
I thought he might say something. But he stayed silent and attacked again.
The pattern continued.
Nothing changed.
No matter where his slashes came from, I blocked them all.
Sometimes I supported my blade with my off-hand. But none of his attacks posed a real threat. His stabs struck empty air as I evaded them with light footwork.
By the time I had blocked his twentieth attack, I had already changed my defense.
Shing.
His diagonal strike toward my throat was avoided with a step back.
Shing.
A horizontal slash passed above my head as I ducked.
My feet shifted through the sand. I even lowered my sword slightly for better mobility.
Like that, the duel had turned into something else entirely.
A dance.
I evaded most of his attacks with footwork. Anything I couldn't evade was blocked or parried.
There was no threat in his blade.
If I had to describe the duel in one word, it would be—
Boring.
There was no thrill.
No threat of his sword.
It sounded absurd for someone who fought life-and-death battles regularly.
But it was true.
I was bored.
Everything he did was predictable.
His movements looked like they came straight out of a textbook on swordsmanship. He even paused between attacks. One beat. Then he reset his stance before attacking again.
His posture revealed whether he would slash or stab.
His grip told me the direction.
His footwork told me whether he would attack or not.
Right foot for closing the distance. Left foot for attacks.
It was always the same.
The only thing I could praise was his technique.
Even though he didn't have real combat experience like me, he was still the son of a Highblood family. The best instructors must have trained him. His techniques were polished to perfection.
But that was all.
Technique.
It meant nothing without experience.
Throughout the duel, his irritation became more visible. A frown appeared across his face. Slowly, anger began to build inside him.
His strikes grew wider.
Stronger.
As if he wanted to overpower me and end the duel.
But wider strikes only gave me more time to evade.
Another thing that changed was the crowd.
At first, they had cheered loudly. But as the duel continued, they grew quieter.
Like that, his duel and my dance continued.
Silence slowly settled over the arena, broken only by the occasional clash of metal.
Until—
"Is that it?"
A low voice came from somewhere in the crowd. It wasn't even meant to be heard. But the arena had become so quiet that the words echoed.
Then another voice.
"How boring."
No one knew who had spoken. But it was clear that the entire crowd felt the same.
They watched deadly battles every day. Their expectations for this duel had been high. Much higher than for the regular battles.
Now they were bored.
Disappointed even.
But there was one person who didn't feel the same.
Zarik.
His face twitched. The words clearly hurt his pride. For a moment, anger flashed across his face. But he forced his expression to calm and attacked again with renewed vigor.
Faster and stronger.
But changing his speed or force wouldn't matter.
Not against me.
Shing.
I stepped back and avoided his slash by a hair's length.
My experience in real combat was simply far beyond his. And it was already too late.
Like a stone thrown into still water, the entire crowd's mood began to crumble.
"Come on!"
"Hit him!"
The silence broke, and the crowd shouted again.
They grew louder and louder with each passing moment.
Zarik's expression twisted further as the crowd grew more frustrated. His attacks became even stronger but also sloppier.
After enough time had passed with no change, the crowd shifted its focus.
Their anger moved from Zarik…
"Fight back!"
"Stop dodging!"
"Do something!"
…to me.
They didn't like that I was only dodging and blocking.
The only strike I had made was the first one at the beginning of the duel. By now, they must have understood.
I wasn't refusing to attack because I couldn't.
I simply didn't want to.
Zarik's mood sank further, and his anger grew.
When he entered the arena, he must have believed the duel would end in seconds. His arrogance had been high. And that only fueled his rage now that things weren't going his way.
Finally, he muttered a curse while swinging again.
"Shut up."
It was barely louder than a whisper.
Shing.
His sword drew a wide arc as he swung blindly at me. I crouched and let it pass over my head.
The constant misses only worsened his mood, and his attacks became even more flawed.
Desperate even.
"Just once."
Shing.
"One hit."
He whispered to himself as he tried again and again. But I dodged every strike.
Until—
Shish.
He made a mistake.
His foot slipped away as he stepped forward for an overhead slash. He lost his balance, nearly falling forward.
Shing.
But even as he stumbled, his sword was still coming toward me. The slip of his foot had changed his strike's trajectory, and my step back wasn't enough to avoid it.
Seeing the blade approaching my head, I moved.
Or rather—
My body moved.
After so many battles, my body no longer waited for me, and sometimes moved on its own.
Instinct.
Intuition.
Reflex.
Whatever it was called.
My left arm rose, guiding his blade away with the shackle on my wrist. At the same time, I stepped sideways, bending my knees, and drove my sword forward.
Swoosh.
A parry and counter.
A combination I had done so many times, I could do it with my eyes closed now.
But—
This wasn't the right moment to do it.
Realizing what I was about to do, I tried to stop it.
But I was too late.
The tip of my sword was already rushing toward his throat. At the last moment, I barely twisted my wrist, shifting the trajectory.
Swoosh.
Instead of piercing his throat, my blade passed his cheek, grazing it.
A sigh of relief escaped me.
'I did it.'
Killing him here would mean my own death.
Nothing could save me if I killed a Highblood dragonkin.
With the situation settled, I took a step back, creating distance, and went into stance again. But Zarik´s reaction confused me.
He stood frozen in the same position.
His sword was still embedded in the sand from the previous strike, and his body leaned forward from losing balance.
Everything was the same.
Everything...
Except his expression.
The anger was gone now. Instead, surprise had taken its place.
Then I saw it.
A thin red line appeared on his cheek.
Slowly.
A single drop of blood slid down his face.
And—
Drip.