The two knights strode toward the center—not in haste, but with deliberate steps, armored boots thudding against the contrasting ground beneath them. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, the atmosphere thick with that same electric tension last felt during Zeva and Edluar's clash.
"Looks like we're in for another honorable fight, everyone!" Quincy called out, circling slowly overhead.
Calvinel took his place on the side paved in smooth white tiles—each square perfectly aligned, surrounded by low arches and marble-trimmed walls that gleamed in the sun. It resembled a royal training courtyard, pristine and immaculate, a place where future knights were honed in skill and ideals. Bryanard stood opposite on ground that told a different story—cracked stone beneath his boots, fragments of broken pillars scattered about, and worn cobblestones half-sunk in packed earth. It was a battlefield of the past, weathered by age, resembling the ruined yards of a forgotten stronghold. Between them, the strip of neutral, untouched dirt remained—the unclaimed middle, waiting to be marked.
They stood just a few paces apart now.
"So here we are," Calvinel said, greatsword slung over his shoulder. "The whole reason you joined this tournament." He gestured around them lazily. "Kind of insulting, really. Not to me—I'm flattered—but to Quincy and the rest of the fighters. They've poured themselves into this. But you?" He exhaled with a crooked smile. "You just came to correct me."
Bryanard's grip on his warhammer tightened. He raised it slightly as he rolled his shoulders.
"You at least enjoyed yourself this past week?" Calvinel asked.
"That's none of your concern," Bryanard replied, his eyes narrowing as he sank into his stance. "We're knights having a duel. Focus on that."
Calvinel lowered his blade, angling it forward as he took his stance. "We're not just knights having a duel. We're competitors in a tournament—and we're here to win and entertain. I'm going to show you there's more to life than just being a knight!"
Then he charged.
Bryanard met him with a thundering step.
"And we're off! The fight between The Victorious and The Warhammer begins!" Quincy shouted.
Their weapons collided with a crash—but it wasn't even. Calvinel's greatsword was flung aside in the first impact, batted away effortlessly as Bryanard twisted and brought his hammer down in a heavy arc toward Calvinel's shoulder. But the younger knight turned his stumble into a slide, freezing the tiled floor beneath him and letting his body glide away from the strike. Stone shattered as the hammer crushed the ground beside him.
Calvinel twisted mid-slide and slashed toward Bryanard's exposed flank. The steel rang out against steel, the blade crashing into Bryanard's armor with a loud metallic clang—but there was no damage. The old knight grunted and immediately surged forward, ramming Calvinel with his shoulder and sending him flying backward into one of the jagged stone pillars at Bryanard's side of the arena.
The pillar cracked and collapsed as Calvinel crashed through it, a sharp grunt tearing from his throat. But he didn't have time to breathe—Bryanard was already closing in, hammer raised again for a brutal strike.
Calvinel rolled aside just as the warhammer came down, blowing apart the floor where he'd just been. "You're really trying to prove your way of knighthood is best, huh?" he coughed out, staggering to his feet.
Bryanard said nothing. His warhammer lifted again.
"Not this time!" Calvinel shouted.
He thrust his free hand forward and ice bloomed from his palm—spreading across Bryanard's armor in a jagged, shimmering crust. The old knight froze in place for half a second—just long enough for Calvinel to dash forward and bring the flat of his blade slamming into Bryanard's head. The blow rang out like a bell. The ice shattered as Bryanard's weight was knocked off-balance, and he went rolling across the smooth white tiles.
Calvinel snapped his fingers, and the ground under Bryanard's path froze—slick and treacherous. The old knight slid uncontrollably across the tiles, crashing shoulder-first into a low marble wall. The sound echoed across the arena.
Bryanard let out a frustrated grunt as he stood up, eyes locked on the younger knight.
Calvinel smirked. "There. We're even now."
"What a fantastic first clash! And The Victorious is being flashy once again! While The Warhammer stays as practical as his last fight!" Quincy shouted as the crowd erupted around him. But Calvinel didn't acknowledge the praise—his eyes never left Bryanard, breath steady, grip firm.
"Hey, we can talk about it, you know?" he called out as he sprinted forward again.
Bryanard didn't answer—he just met Calvinel's charge with a sudden upward swing, forcing the younger knight to duck low and pivot past the blow. Calvinel retaliated with a quick upward slash, but Bryanard deflected it effortlessly with the shaft of his warhammer and stepped in, slamming a heavy boot toward Calvinel's knee. The younger knight backpedaled, parrying another quick strike and barely avoiding a downward swing that cracked the ground beneath them.
"S-Sir Ameer told me what happened," Calvinel forced out between sharp breaths, struggling to stay balanced with each impact, "I—I might not fully get what you feel, but I get it… I'm sure if I had that happen to me I'd be—devastated too, but—"
Another clash. Calvinel's words faltered as Bryanard twisted his hammer in a low arc, knocking the greatsword aside. He surged forward, slamming into Calvinel with his shoulder once again and nearly toppling him, only for Calvinel to catch himself on the smooth tiles and swing upward in a wide arc to keep distance.
"You can't stay like this forever!" Calvinel shouted, struggling to press the advantage, "What happened—it wasn't your fault!"
Bryanard's face twisted with rage. He caught Calvinel's blade with the side of his hammer, locking them together before bearing down, forcing the younger knight's arms to tremble beneath the pressure.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!" Bryanard barked.
With a stomp of his foot, a crack of thunder burst from beneath them. A concussive wave blasted outward, launching Calvinel back through the air. He gritted his teeth, conjuring a frozen platform midair to slow his fall and rebound to his feet—but Bryanard was already coming again.
"If you know about it," Bryanard bellowed as he charged, "then why the hell are you still like this!?"
He raised his warhammer high.
"Why won't you learn!? Why won't you behave!? Just shut up! Stop dragging it back up! Fight me!"
But even as the words left him, Bryanard's focus slipped. Somewhere beneath the fury and magic and clashing steel, his mind strayed—back to a time long gone, to a face he hadn't remembered in years. Before the accolades. Before the battles. Before he became The Warhammer.