>>Ariston
The courtyard stank of iron and wet stone. My lungs burned, my grip ached, but I wasn't slowing down—Rael was.
I could see it in his steps. The sure-footed precision he had at the start was slipping, his blade just a fraction slower to rise, his parries a fraction weaker. Every clash now drove him a step further back.
I kept pressing.
The sharp clang of our swords rang through the empty air. My strikes came heavier now, more deliberate—hammer blows meant to break him down. He blocked the first. The second. The third. But each deflection cost him.
He tried to hook his sword low again, but I saw it coming, knocked his blade away, and brought my own down in a brutal arc. He barely caught it with his cross-guard, the force sending him staggering to his knees.
He looked up at me, rainwater and sweat streaking down his face.
"If you win this," he panted, "you'll never have your answer."
I didn't reply.
