The Final Duel (Part 2)

Her two weeks were up.

The only thing left to feel was apprehension. Neve had long let go of her anger. She did not know if death awaited her at Hell's Gate. The thought of Prince Claris and Queen Elise seemed insignificant now.

Neve shook her head, willing away her negativity.

She had one last event to look forward to at Ironhold: her duel with Sir Oliver. It was a chance for Neve to seek redemption. Even if she couldn't defeat the knight, she could at least win back her honour after her first defeat.

Their first duel felt like it happened months ago. Indeed, Neve had changed in the last two weeks. Her body had grown stronger, but her mind had grown even more resolute. Neve was confident in her sense of discipline.

"Lady Neve?" a voice called, interrupting Neve's thoughts.

Vale's page, a young noble boy named Clyde, slipped into Neve's small tent. He carried a large coffer, which looked heavier than him.

"I'll be dressing you in your armour, My Lady," Clyde informed her politely.

He was quite a timid boy, Neve noted. She wondered how much her brother pushed him around.

"Very well," Neve replied.

She peered over the page's shoulder as he opened the coffer. Neve was eager to see her armour, which she had been fitted for many days ago.

Oliver had warned her, many times, that her armour would not be remarkable given the short time period the armourers had to assemble it. Neve recalled the few occasions she saw her father in armour. The Duke's plate armour was a work of beauty, created with delicately engraved and refined steel.

Of course, the Duke's armour had taken many months to make.

Clyde lifted the breastplate first. It was already polished, refracting light throughout the small tent. The steel was modestly decorated with simple linework. Still, Neve thought it was impressive.

"It's quite nice, isn't it?" Clyde remarked, eyeing the armour enviously.

"You'll have your own armour one day," Neve replied indulgently, reminded suddenly of Blanche and Wren.

"Of course!" Clyde boasted, puffing his chest. "I'll be a knight just like you soon."

'Just like me,' Neve repeated wordlessly, unsure of how that sentiment made her feel. 'Proud? Unworthy? I am both.'

–––

Neve emerged from her tent, dressed fully in her new set of armour. It was heavy and foreign on her body. She wondered if it would affect her performance.

The founder's sword was hastened at her side. This would be a real duel, with real weapons instead of her usual wooden waster.

Neve was nervous to wield Estarius again, afraid she might accidentally trigger her magic. But she had to become accustomed to the mighty sword, as wooden wasters wouldn't do much damage at Hell's Gate.

Oliver stood at the side of the field, leaning on his sheathed longsword. His visor was propped up as he chatted idly with Vale.

'Of course Vale is here,' Neve thought. 'He wouldn't miss an opportunity to see me lose.'

Though, looking at how her brother and Oliver bantered, she wouldn't be surprised if Vale secretly wanted to see Oliver lose instead. However unlikely that was.

"You took your sweet time, Lady Neve!" Oliver called out once he noticed Neve approaching.

"The page didn't have much experience handling armour," Neve replied pointedly, looking at her brother. "I wonder why."

"He's young!" Vale spluttered. "My previous squire usually handled my armour, not Clyde."

Oliver laughed, pushing himself upright. He unsheathed his sword, the blade catching the light of the midday sun.

"How does the armour feel?" the knight asked.

"Strange," Neve replied honestly. She shrugged, listening to the plates of her armour sliding against each other. Strange.

"But I'll get used to it," she added hastily, scowling at Oliver. "Don't think this will give you the advantage."

Oliver smirked. "Give me the advantage? I already have it, My Lady."

Neve's scowl deepened. She unsheathed Estarius, her reservations disappearing. "Let's see about that."

"Alright, children," Vale interrupted, clapping his hands together. "The rules are the same. No strikes to the head. The winner disarms their opponent or finds a fatal opening."

Neve nodded, reaching up to lower her visor.

"Are you sticking around to watch, big brother?" Oliver teased.

"I'm sure my brother has work he must attend to," Neve said meaningfully. Vale ignored this.

"My schedule is clear this afternoon," Vale shared. "Besides, I should witness your efforts, lest they be wasted."

"I hate when you speak that way," Oliver mumbled, pulling down his visor. He turned to Neve. "Well, My Lady. When you're ready."

Neve fell into the Seventh Guard–the Short Guard. "Let's duel, Sir Oliver."

They circled each other slowly. It felt more natural than their previous duel. Neve found herself moving with more fluidity. She had begun transitioning between the Guards more naturally during practice, too.

Oliver struck first, without warning. He lunged forward, his arms raised in the Third Guard–the Window Guard.

'It will be a feint,' Neve realized, noticing the knight shift his weight as he moved.

She kept her movement light as she moved to counter Oliver's strike. He moved as if he was going to thrust his blade forward, but he suddenly swung down, aiming to disarm her.

But Neve was ready. She moved her longsword in a broad, upward arc. Their blades collided, sending a few sparks flying.

Oliver's strike was deflected, his sword ricocheting backward momentarily. Neve found herself in the Lady's Left Guard position, poised to attack. She took advantage of the knight's unstable position and struck.

But the experienced knight would not be overtaken so easily. Their swords met midway through Neve's swing. The loud clack rang through the training grounds, drawing the attention of the other knights.

Neve and Oliver remained locked with their swords crossed. They met each other's eyes, being in such close proximity. Oliver's eyes glinted dangerously. At that moment, they both jumped back. Neve stayed light on her feet as she moved, carefully watching her opponent.

She waited for the perfect time to strike. A second of hesitation. A tiny, unsure movement.

It came when Oliver adjusted his stance, seemingly unsure of what position to take. Neve lunged forward, paying little mind to her form. She just had a single thought, replaying in her mind repeatedly. Attack.

Neve thrust her sword forward, aiming for an area of Oliver's midsection his sword could not reach.

Time moved slowly as her blade neared his armour. This would be a fatal opening. The taste of victory barely graced Neve's lips before it was ripped away from her.

Oliver pivoted his body, parrying Neve's blow with the flat of his sword. More sparks flew.

He swung his sword again, forcing Neve back. She jumped back, staying nimble, as she watched the knight unblinkingly. The knight's body was turned oddly, his weight distributed unevenly.

Belatedly, Neve realized her small victory. She had finally broken Oliver's perfect form. Underneath her helmet, Neve wore a wild smile. Her veins were pumped with adrenaline, she had never felt more alive.

Finally, Neve had proven herself a worthy opponent.

But the duel was not over yet.