"Hey! Get your hands off her." The Melrick knight's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding as he seized the wrist of the man crowding the maid.
The Fenwick knight clicked his tongue out of annoyance.
"Are all the knights of Baron Melrick," he continued," so eager to test boundaries beyond their capabilities?"
"This is an insult to our Lord," another Melrick knight snapped.
Steel rasped against leather as pressure bled into the air.
"Draw your blade," one hissed.
The maid collapsed backward onto the stone, breath caught in her chest as swords cleared their sheaths. Sunlight flashed along sharpened edges, burning across her vision.
"Know your place," the Fenwick knight warned, aura bleeding through his stance.
The clash of steel rang out and in an instance, knights from both houses surged forward, hands tightening on hilts, discipline fraying under the rising Ryu pressure.
The maid could only watch as sparks danced before her eyes, knees trembling beneath the weight of men rushing to the edge of violence.
The surging emotions could be felt from within the meeting hall, heads turning instinctively.
"Shall we move to the guest house, my Lord?" Alistair asked, remaining composed.
"Indeed," sighed Melrick, his hand covering his face.
"Melrick," Baron Fenwick thought, "is this all your bravado amounts to?"
He smiled at the chance to take the upper hand–quietly following the host to investigate the scene.
The appearance of both barons segregated the crowd, their discipline returning.
"Is this how we treat our guests?"
"Is this how we behave representing our house?"
The air trembled as both barons' voices thundered, the weight of their word crashing down on their subordinates.
"My apologies," the respective commanders kneeled, the others following suit.
Fenwick then approached the maid, still on the ground, holding his hand out to her.
"I apologize on behalf of my knights for the trouble they have caused, I promise to discipline them properly," he whispered, sliding a gold coin into her top pocket. The maid nodded and ran off along with her equipment.
"I have a proposal," he said standing back up.
"Since energy levels are so high, why not have a bit of friendly exchange to calm ourselves."
"After all, we're about to establish relations, so why not have a bit of camaraderie."
Baron Fenwick spoke, receiving raised eyebrows from House Melrick.
"Preposterous!" Liliana jested, her fan snapping open, "Are your men even worthy enough to face Melrick's blade?"
It should be fine," replied Melrick, brushing his beard.
The bout commenced as knights smiled, a silent acknowledgement to settle their disagreements. The time to prove which is truly superior was at hand, what was supposed to be friendly sparring became a measure of honor. The knights circled an area, which became the center of the battlefield.
"I am Isha Bolden, Vice-Commander of The Fenwick Knights." A female knight stepped into the circle, shouting, a clenched fist placed over her heart.
"Leon Grimsbane, Knight Captain of House Melrick," he answered in kind, lowering his blade and returning the salute.
The two knights stood opposite one another, training swords resting low, bodies readying with restrained intent. The spectators leaned inward unconsciously, drawn by the tension radiating from the circle.
Leon moved first. Not a strike–just a step.
His foot slid forward, heel barely lifting from the stone as if testing the distance and his opponent. Isha's gaze sharpened, stance shifted subtly as her weight was redistributed through her core and legs. A faint shimmer rippled along her arms–barely visible, but unmistakable to trained eyes. Ryu manifested into a tinge aura.
"Physical reinforcement," Leon noted silently.
He exhaled and struck. The wooden swords collide with a sharp crack, the impact reverberating through the courtyard. He pressed immediately in a flow of strikes, his movement clean and efficient. Isha parried each blow, her blade snapping into position with precision as sparks of chipped wood flicking into the air.
Their footwork quickened.
What began as measured exchanges escalated rapidly, each clash louder than the last, each movement tighter and faster. The wooden swords groaned under the mounting force.
Leon's Ryu surged, bled out from his core. Reinforced muscle and bone–lent unnatural weight to his strikes. The air around him thickened, pressing against spectators like a rising tide.
Isha's tongue clicked.
"So you won't hold back," she muttered.
Her Ryu ignited, a controlled but aggressive aura began wrapping her arms and shoulders. She met Leon's next strike head-on.
Crack.
The sound rang out like thunder.
The crowd gasped as fissures spiderwebbed along both wooden blades. Leon twisted, redirecting his momentum into a low sweep. Isha leapt back, but the stone beneath her feet fractured slightly under the pressure of her landing.
This was no longer a conventional spar.
"Vice-Commander!"
"Captain!" shouted among the crowd.
Both fighters roared, drawing deeper strength from their core. Rushing towards each other as a violent surge of Ryu erupted from them–blades carrying force meant for steel.
The swords collided and shattered. Fragments burst outwards and a raw pulse of energy that distorted the air and sent nearby knights stumbling back. Both combatants skidded across the stone, boots carving shallow grooves as they fought to regain balance.
When the energy settled, Leon and Isha stood frozen, their chest heaving and the splintered wooden hilts clutched in their hands.
Silence loomed over the crowd once more.
"A draw," Melrick said at last, his voice firm.
A wave of murmurs rolled through the crowd, some cheered, others scowled. The unresolved ending only fueled the tension further, leftover Ryu still hanging thick in the air.
"Well," Fenwick said pleasantly, clapping. "That was… enlightening."
He turned slightly. "However, it seems wooden swords are insufficient for knights of this caliber."
"You suggest steel?" Melrick snorted.
"I do," Fenwick replied. "Veterans such as yours would find no satisfaction otherwise. Of course–" his gaze sharpened "–aura usage will be limited to the middle stage. No collateral damage. Agreed?"
A pause.
Then Melrick nodded. "Agreed."
The crowd parted once more. Two figures stepped forward.
The Fenwick Commander rolled his shoulders, real steel sliding free from its sheath.
"I am Roland Ashwick, Commander of House Fenwick," he said confidently.
Across from him, Alistair advanced into the circle, sword already in hand.
"I am Alistair Belmont, Butler of House Melrick," announced calmly.
Alistair revealing his title shocked the crowd, a butler facing their commander. However, those aware of his recent interactions, only felt chills running down their spines.
"Begin," Melrick ordered, dropping his raised hand.
The commander lunged the moment the baron's hand was lowered, blade flashing in a wide arc and a visible coating of aura flaring along its edge. Alistair met his strike with minimal movement, deflecting just enough to redirect the force past his shoulder.
Untrained eyes could barely lock on the movements of the two, the sheer acceleration left afterimages as their swords met. The commander pressed, chaining his strikes together–fast, aggressive, each one fueled by decades of battlefield experience. Alistair visibly began to get pushed back by the unending attacks, however he remained calculative, parrying and stepping back to reduce wasteful movements.
The crowd started cheering louder, fueling the flames of the battle exponentially.
The commander growled and his Ryu surged. He leapt back, then forward, executing a brilliant sweeping technique, aura spiraling along his blades like a coiled serpent. Once more he held his sword, preparing a thrust, a column of aura building up at the tip. Thrusting his sword, a screeching sound and a sword-shaped column of energy barreled towards Alistair.
Alistair's eyes narrowed.
In a blink, he closed the distance–not retreating, but advancing towards the attack.
A bright light flashed, catalyzing off the noon sun.
A blade rested at Roland's throat.
The silence fell so suddenly it was deafening,
Alistair withdrew his sword and stepped back, exhaling slowly. "You aimed slightly left," he said.
"Upward. Had you committed fully… we both would have suffered severe injuries."
The commander stiffened then laughed softly.
"...You noticed."
"I did." Alistair inclined his head. "Therefore, this bout ends in a draw."
The tension broke and laughter followed, then applause. Fenwick smiled broadly. "Excellent. Truly excellent."
The knights bonded over the fights, leisurely laughing and sharing beer until the sun started setting. The main group back inside the castle, finishing what conversation they were having or putting it on hold.
"That took quite some time. So back to the topic at hand." commented Fenwick.
"How about you stay the night and we continue where we left off tomorrow?" Baron Melrick said.
"...Yes, it appears that travelling back at this time would be unwise," Fenwick replied, inclining his head slightly. "We shall rest here and resume our discussions on the morrow."
Turning to his knights, receiving nods.
The group was led to a guest house within the castle grounds.
Both houses had tested each other today. Tomorrow, the games of diplomacy would continue–once the dust settled.