The courtyard outside the crimson hall had become a battlefield that felt strangely detached from the rest of the war raging across the settlement, as though the moment I crossed blades with Gallow the world had quietly stepped aside to watch something far more intimate unfold. The fires scattered across the ruined camp burned low and unevenly now, their orange light flickering through drifting clouds of black smoke that crawled across the ground like wounded animals searching for somewhere to die. The faint glow of night insects floated above the devastation in slow wandering clusters, their pale blue and yellow lights casting long trembling shadows across broken weapons and bodies that littered the ground. The mist rolled constantly between the fallen tents and shattered barricades, rising and falling in slow breaths that made the entire valley seem alive, and somewhere beyond the smoke I could still hear the distant clash of steel where my companions battled the remaining red-armoured warriors inside the hall. Above all of it the whispers had grown louder again, their voices smooth and coaxing as they slid through the cracks in my thoughts, murmuring promises of surrender that sounded almost compassionate after the violence of the night. Yet none of those sounds held my attention as fully as the man standing across from me, because the moment Gallow raised his blade and stepped forward the battlefield narrowed until it contained only the two of us and the slow tightening rhythm of the fight about to begin.
He moved first, and the speed of his attack came with the suddenness of lightning splitting open a quiet sky. His katana flashed through the air in a tight arc aimed toward my throat, the blade glimmering briefly in the firelight before I pivoted sideways and brought my own sword upward to intercept the strike. The collision rang through the courtyard like a bell struck at full force, sparks bursting outward where steel met steel before scattering across the dirt like dying stars. I flowed immediately into the next motion the way my systema training had drilled into my muscles a thousand times before, letting the momentum of the block carry my blade into a downward sweep aimed at his ribs, yet Gallow twisted away with a grace that made the motion seem almost lazy. His own weapon flickered back toward me in a blur of silver that forced me to lean backward just enough for the edge to whistle past the front of my armour. The exchange continued in that relentless rhythm, one arc flowing into the next like water slipping through the cracks in stone, our weapons clashing again and again in bursts of light that briefly illuminated the dark courtyard around us. Every movement carried the weight of lethal intention, yet beneath that violence there was something strangely playful in the way Gallow fought, as though the duel existed less as a struggle for survival and more as a performance meant to entertain an unseen audience.
The longer we fought the more unsettling that realization became, because no matter how aggressively I pressed forward I could feel the subtle restraint in his responses. When my blade lunged toward his chest he redirected it with the lightest flick of his wrist rather than countering with the killing thrust that his position allowed, and when I stepped inside his guard to drive the pommel of my sword toward his jaw he twisted aside with a dancer's elegance that turned the strike into nothing more than a passing breeze. The precision of his technique was undeniable, yet there was an absence of urgency in every motion he made, as though he were testing the boundaries of my skill rather than attempting to end the fight quickly. I leapt backward after the sixth failed attempt to land a meaningful strike, my boots sliding across the gravel as I tried to create space between us, and the moment my blade dropped slightly from guard Gallow's laughter rolled through the smoke-filled courtyard like a note of mocking applause.
"Come now, young prince," he called out, his voice echoing with theatrical disappointment as he lowered his katana slightly and studied me with bright curiosity. "Surely the heir to such a storied house possesses more to offer than this."
The arrogance in his tone burned through my chest like acid, yet before I could answer he did something so unexpected that it shattered the tension of the duel entirely. With a flourish that belonged more to a theatre stage than a battlefield he plunged his katana point-first into the ground beside him, the blade standing upright in the dirt like a planted flag. Then he reached back and unfastened the clasp of his cloak, letting the heavy fabric fall away from his shoulders before methodically removing the layered plates of armour covering his chest and arms. One by one the gauntlets and breastplate pieces clattered to the ground around his feet until he stood bare-armed in the cold night air, his muscular frame marked by old scars that ran across his skin like pale rivers carved by forgotten wars.
"Look upon me, young lord," he declared with a broad grin, spreading his arms slightly as though presenting himself to a crowd. "I have graciously made it easier for you to strike."
The absurdity of the gesture left me staring at him for a heartbeat longer than I should have. He tilted his head and gave a small theatrical bow. "Shall we begin again," he added lightly, "but this time with our best efforts."
He stooped to retrieve one of his discarded gauntlets and turned it over in his hands as though examining the craftsmanship, then dropped it again with a faint shrug. That was when the music began.
At first it was barely audible, a distant murmur rising from somewhere within the enemy settlement below, yet within seconds the sound swelled into something unmistakable: a classical opera accompanied by a full orchestral arrangement, the deep resonance of strings and horns drifting across the battlefield like an invisible tide. The melody climbed slowly through the air until it filled the entire courtyard with a strange grandeur that made the fires flicker in time with its rhythm, transforming the ruined camp into something that felt disturbingly like a theatre stage prepared for a final act.
Gallow's smile widened as he beat one fist lightly against his chest in appreciation. "The perfect accompaniment for a duel of consequence," he said warmly, glancing toward the unseen speakers that must have been hidden somewhere within the settlement's walls. "Surely you agree, young prince."
The insanity of the situation was almost overwhelming, yet the music itself carried an eerie beauty that mingled with the crackling of distant flames and the whispering wind until the battlefield truly did begin to resemble some grotesque opera house. I could feel the rhythm of the orchestra echoing through my chest as I tightened my grip around the hilt of my sword and stepped forward again, letting the motion of the music guide the flow of my next attack.
I launched into a series of sweeping arcs that cut through the air with fluid precision, each strike flowing naturally into the next as the systema techniques shaped my movement into something almost graceful. Our blades met again in rapid succession, sparks spraying across the ground every time steel collided with steel while the opera's crescendo swelled around us. Gallow began humming along with the melody even as he fought, his voice slipping between the notes in a bizarre duet with the orchestra while his katana danced through my attacks with effortless control. The sight was so surreal that for a moment it left me almost bewildered, the contrast between the brutal reality of the fight and the theatrical elegance of his singing creating a tension that felt impossible to reconcile.
I shifted tactics abruptly, triggering my gravity boots to reduce the pull of the ground beneath my feet before launching upward in a sudden leap. The maneuver carried me high above his guard, my sword rising over my head before I cut downward in a heavy strike aimed at his shoulder. At the apex of the motion I restored the gravity field, letting the weight of the enhanced armour drive the blade toward him with crushing force. Yet even then he slipped aside with impossible grace, the strike carving a deep groove through the dirt where he had stood only a moment earlier.
His counterattack came immediately. A brutal kick slammed into the side of my torso with enough force to throw me several paces across the courtyard, the impact rattling my armour and driving the breath from my lungs in a sharp gasp. I rolled with the fall and surged forward again before he could capitalize on the opening, swinging my sword low to the ground so that the blade scraped through the gravel and broken branches scattered across the courtyard. The motion flung a spray of dirt and splinters toward his face, and as he turned his head instinctively to avoid the debris I pivoted around his flank and drove my blade forward with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The steel slid into his lower back with a wet resistance that told me the strike had landed deep. For the first time since the duel began Gallow's body stiffened slightly.
Yet even with the sword buried in his flesh he did not panic. Instead he twisted his torso sharply, the motion dragging the blade sideways through the wound while his fist whipped backward toward my helmet. The blow landed with terrifying force, the impact ringing through my skull like a struck bell and sending a burst of dizziness flooding through my vision. I staggered back several steps as the sword slipped from my grip, warm blood beginning to trickle down my temple beneath the cracked edge of the helmet. The music reached a furious crescendo.
Gallow stood motionless for a moment with the blade still protruding from his back, his silhouette framed by the burning campfires behind him like a figure from some ancient myth carved in shadow and flame. Slowly he reached over his shoulder and gripped the hilt of the sword before pulling it free in one smooth motion. Blood ran down the blade in thin dark lines that glimmered briefly in the firelight before dripping to the ground.
"Do you see the peril in which we stand, young prince," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine frustration that had been absent until now.
He examined the wound in his back with mild curiosity before tossing the sword toward me. It landed point-down in the dirt at my feet.
"I am merely a man who enjoys the pleasure of being tested," he continued, shaking his head slowly. "Yet you are proving to be a rather disappointing dream of ruin." He paced away from me again, his posture relaxed despite the blood still staining his side.
"Safety and comfort have softened your bloodline," he went on thoughtfully. "Once your house carved legends across the stars. Now you offer me nothing but scratches that a farmyard piglet could deliver with equal enthusiasm." His words struck deeper than the punch had.
"I do not know what you expected," I replied hoarsely, forcing myself upright despite the dizziness lingering in my skull. "But this is not a tournament of glory. I fight for life, not applause." He frowned slightly at that. For a moment neither of us spoke as the opera reached its final soaring movement.
Then Gallow turned away from me and began collecting the pieces of armour he had discarded earlier. "This world is a perpetual hell," he said quietly while fastening the plates back into place. "I simply choose to transform it into my heaven."
He glanced back over his shoulder. "I dissect the minds of enemies and allies alike. Yet this encounter…" he sighed faintly. "This is a crime against music itself." I stared at him in disbelief. "Expectations are difficult things to satisfy," I said slowly. His laughter echoed across the courtyard.
"Indeed they are, young lamb," he replied with a slight bow. He stepped away from me then and leapt upward with a motion that seemed to defy gravity entirely, his body rising into the smoke-filled air like a departing specter. "Count yourself fortunate," he called down softly. "I do not slaughter children."
Then he vanished into the darkness above the battlefield. I stood there for several long seconds, breathing hard while the final notes of the opera faded into silence. Only then did I realize Athena was nowhere in sight, and that the sounds of battle inside the crimson hall had grown terrifyingly quiet.