The midday sun beat down on the training arena, turning the packed earth into a golden haze. The air, already thick with anticipation, grew heavy with the unspoken weight of expectation. Knights, squires, and even some servants had gathered around the perimeter, their chatter a low hum that gradually faded into silence as Commander Fredrick stepped into the center.
He looked at the crowd, then at me, and finally at Rosad. Rosad, the soldier who'd confronted me in the mess hall, stood across from me. His build was solid, his arms thick with muscle, and the scar above his brow stood out starkly against his tanned skin. His eyes, though still holding that simmering resentment from before, now carried a focused intensity. He wasn't sneering. He was ready.
"You both understand the terms," Commander Fredrick's voice cut through the stillness, resonant and clear.
"Tier 1. No tricks. No excuses. Fight until one yields, or cannot continue." He surveyed the crowd, his gaze lingering on the younger squires.
"Observe. This is how a true warrior proves his worth."
He stepped back, leaving us alone in the sun-drenched circle. Rosad and I took our places, facing each other across the twenty feet of dusty ground. My heart hammered against my ribs, not from fear, but from a strange, fierce exhilaration. This wasn't just a duel. It was a chance.
"Ready?" Fredrick called out.
Rosad nodded, his stance wide, fists clenched. His breath came out in a slow, heavy gust.
I took a deep breath, settling my feet, trying to recall thousands of battle from before. My muscles already screamed with the memory, but my mind cleared, focusing solely on the fight ahead.
"Ready," I replied, the word a slight rasp in my throat.
With a sharp, decisive gesture, Fredrick raised both hands. A vibrant blue light erupted from his palms, flowing outward and upward. It shimmered, solidified, and in moments, formed a transparent dome of crackling energy that enveloped the entire dueling arena. The air inside the dome hummed with a subtle, contained power, sealing us in.
"Begin!"
Rosad charged first, a blur of muscle and aggression. He didn't bother with finesse, relying on brute force and a lifetime of brawling. His right fist shot out, aimed directly for my face.
It was the same move that had knocked me out during the assassination attempt. My old self, the drunken fool, wouldn't have stood a chance. But this was different.
My body moved.
Not with the grace of a master, but with an instinct sharpened by a lifetime of combat. I dipped, twisting to the side, letting his fist whistle past my ear. The wind of his punch ruffled my hair. I felt the surge of his momentum, off-balance for a split second.
Now.
I spun, throwing a quick, low kick at his lead leg. It wasn't powerful enough to fell him, but it caught him off guard, forcing him to shift his weight and momentarily break his charge. He grunted, a short, sharp sound of surprise and pain.
Before he could fully recover, I pressed the attack. My fists were still weak, barely more than a child's, but they were precise. I aimed for the soft spots, the pressure points, the areas he wouldn't expect from a noble's son. A jab to the solar plexus, then a quick, sharp elbow to the side of his jaw.
He staggered back, eyes widening. "You...!" he spat, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His chest heaved, his face already slick with sweat. The resentment in his eyes flared, fueled by shock and the dawning realization that this wouldn't be easy. He hadn't expected me to fight back, let alone land a hit.
He roared, a sound of raw, unbridled fury, abandoning all pretense of controlled combat, and lunged. A wild flurry of blows, each aimed to crush. I moved, weaving, ducking, the Rolling Dodge skill activating almost instinctively. It wasn't perfect, I still took a glancing blow to the ribs that sent a searing jolt of pain through me, stealing the air from my lungs. I stumbled, tasting blood, but I didn't fall. My muscles screamed in protest, each dodge an agony.
This wasn't about power. It was about survival. And endurance.
We circled each other, a ragged dance of exhaustion. Rosad's punches, once quick and brutal, became slower, more telegraphed. His breaths came in harsh gasps, his chest visibly rising and falling. His face was flushed crimson, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He was strong, yes, but he wasn't used to this kind of prolonged, desperate struggle against a relentless opponent. My own body felt like lead, my lungs burned, and my vision blurred at the edges, but I clung to every last shred of my will. Every ounce of training, every slash and thrust from the morning, echoed in my aching limbs.
I waited for an opening, for his rage to finally consume his judgment. He threw a wide, sweeping hook, his arm heavy and slow. My chance. I slipped inside his guard, closer, so close I could smell the sweat and anger on him, hear the ragged wheeze of his breath. With every ounce of my meager strength, the last reserve I had, I drove my fist into the soft spot under his chin.
Rosad's head snapped back with a sickening crack. His eyes glazed over. He stumbled, a clumsy, uncontrolled movement, then dropped to one knee, shaking his head violently, trying to clear the fog. He looked up at me, breathless, defeated, the fury in his eyes replaced by a dull, aching exhaustion.
He glared, then slowly, grudgingly, he forced the words out, each one a struggle. "I... yield."
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Then, an eruption of shouts, a mix of surprise, disbelief, and a few scattered cheers. The tension that had held the arena captive burst like a dam.
I stood there, chest heaving, every muscle screaming in protest, knuckles aching, but my stance firm. Rosad, the hardened knight, had yielded. To me. A Tier 1 noble's son, barely able to stand.
Fredrick stepped forward, his eyes fixed on me, a rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval on his face. He extended a hand, and the blue energy dome shimmered, then dissolved into nothingness, releasing the contained hum.
"Duel is over. Demure wins."
The words echoed in the arena, sealing my victory. I felt a subtle chime in my mind, a confirmation from the system.
[Quest Objective: Win in a spar (1/10]
Quest Completed
[Quest: Training Spar]
Objectives Achieved:
* 1. Survive 5 minutes — Completed!
* 2. Survive 10 minutes — Completed!
* 3. Survive 30 minutes — Completed!
* 4. Win — Completed!
Rewards Received:
* Skill: Learning
* Skill: Observe
* Title: Hardheaded
* Skill: Training
A flicker of satisfaction, fleeting but profound, stirred in my chest, a small ember in the overwhelming fatigue. This was the first step. One spar down, nine to go.