The Duel Beneath Firelight
"Bastard or not, being a son of a lord is a to-die-for experience."
Tyberius mused to himself with a satisfied grin, lounging comfortably as the warmth of the bonfire kissed his skin.
The knights carried out his every word as if their lives hung in the balance. The respect he received… oh, he could certainly get used to this. It was intoxicating.
"Young master, they await your command," Edward announced, standing before the seated Tyberius with a slight bow.
"Oh, right. My order." Ty blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as he shifted his attention to the present.
He was seated among a loose ring of knights gathered around the blazing bonfire, the flames flickering against their armour and bronzed skin. All were at rest, save for two.
Those two stood apart from the seated formation, locked in a silent standoff, their gazes sharp, their postures upright, and the tension around them unmistakable.
Ty rose to his feet, brushing imaginary dust from his cloak as he stepped forward to address them.
"Before you begin," he called out, "state your names and where you stand in the hierarchy."
"Sir Harrison," one of the knights responded, his voice a low rumble. "Strongest under Captain Edward's command, Young master."
Ty thought he caught a grumble beneath Harrison's breath, a subtle note of dissatisfaction. His face, now visibly tightened in a frown, confirmed it. Perhaps annoyance at Tyberius's authority or the situation itself, Ty wasn't sure.
"Sir Oliver," the other announced clearly, though not without a trace of humility. "Weakest among the knights under Captain Edward's command, Young master."
As per Ty's request, the two introduced themselves formally, an etiquette expected of men who bore the title of 'knight.'
They were almost identical in stature, with matching builds and training-toned physiques. Yet despite the parity in appearance, one was the undisputed strongest and the other the weakest. A curious contrast. Ty made a mental note to unravel the reason behind that difference.
"Sir Harrison and Sir Oliver, is it?" Tyberius repeated. "Then begin. Fight."
A subtle click of the tongue escaped Harrison's lips, just loud enough for Ty to catch it. Disrespect? Perhaps. But he said nothing for now.
"Display the grace of knights," Edward added firmly, raising a hand to signal the duel's start.
Both men were armed with wooden training swords. Their chests were bare, revealing hardened bodies scarred from battles past. On their lower halves, they wore only short trousers, standard attire for practice bouts.
"I'll grant you the privilege of the first strike," Harrison said calmly, his expression unbothered.
His confidence was palpable, an arrogant air that suggested he knew precisely how this would end. Oliver, for his part, didn't decline. He accepted with a nod and readied his stance.
With both hands gripping his sword and feet light on the ground, Oliver lunged. His movement was swift, nearly a blur, his strike aimed directly at Harrison.
The senior knight didn't flinch. Relaxed, almost amused, he met the strike with a casual raise of his weapon, deflecting Oliver's blow with practised ease.
Oliver retreated, skimming along the edge of the ring before dashing in again from another angle. His second attempt, sharper, faster, was once more thwarted by Harrison who didn't even break a sweat.
A third attack seemed futile, but Oliver repositioned, hoping to find a new angle.
"Not happening," Harrison muttered.
He shifted. This time, he wasn't about to let Oliver dictate the rhythm.
With a sudden push, Harrison shoved forward from their locked blades. The sheer strength behind it made Oliver stumble. Harrison followed up immediately, landing a heavy kick into Oliver's stomach.
The impact echoed like a drumbeat. Oliver staggered back, winded but managing to stay upright, barely.
"Nice!" Tyberius exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement.
Despite Harrison's dominance, Ty found himself silently rooting for Oliver. Perhaps it was empathy, a kinship born from understanding what it felt like to be the underdog in a world of giants.
Harrison didn't relent. He advanced with ruthless precision, bringing his sword down in a heavy arc.
Oliver raised his guard in time, catching the blow, but the force drove him to one knee. His arms trembled as he fought to keep his guard intact, Harrison bearing down like a tidal wave of brute power.
If this continued, there was no doubt: Oliver would fall.
Then, something shifted. A flash of inspiration sparked in Oliver's eyes.
Instead of resisting, he let go.
He released his strength, letting Harrison's push carry him all the way down. But in that final moment, he twisted his body and slipped out from beneath the pressure.
Sliding his sword to the side, he executed a tight roll and twisted upward, his blade flashing across in a surprise counter.
It was sharp. Unorthodox. And close.
Harrison just barely managed to block it, his eyes widening at the sudden reversal.
"Damn! So close…" Tyberius muttered, heart pounding.
Harrison's face contorted. That near hit combined with Tyberius's amused commentary, it was too much.
The knight's composure snapped. His measured rhythm gave way to a storm of anger.
Fueled by frustration, Harrison charged. Oliver stood his ground, sword raised, ready to meet the oncoming fury.
But the difference between them was now glaringly obvious.
With a sudden step that seemed to ripple through the air itself, Harrison closed the gap, too fast, too fluid. It was as if space itself bowed to him.
He brought down his sword with crushing force. Oliver's arms buckled, his knees slamming into the ground from the sheer impact. Still, he tried to guard. He held on.
Then came the second strike.
It shattered his defence.
Oliver's sword flew from his hands as they trembled uncontrollably. His body was exposed, vulnerable, the fight beaten out of him.
Harrison raised his sword, the tip aimed straight down. His eyes locked onto Oliver, prepared to deliver a final, decisive blow.
Tyberius stepped forward.
"That's enough!" he called, his voice storming through the air like a whip.