Chapter 3 - Athemar's Fight

As the crowd died down and Sylvia came back up, Athemar congratulated her with a high five and started down the stairs himself. The king's voice boomed across the stadium.

"This next fight is sure to entertain. We have our rising star using weapons custom-made by our finest smiths, versus the champion that was just crowned earlier today. Unplanned though it is, the victor of this fight will be decided as the new champion!" Athemar shuddered. He knew he'd picked an expensive fight, but he hadn't realised his opponent would be good enough to beat the champion. He was hoping to take that path a little more gradually. Despite this, a shiver of excitement ran through him at the thought of being equal to such a great fighter. He took a stance, bouncing on his toes. At this time, he was careful to avoid activating the mechanism on his gauntlets yet. This mechanism was relatively fast, so it could be used for a surprise attack, but the issue was that it was weak until it'd finished, so it couldn't be relied upon in an emergency. Athemar's general rule was if his opponent definitely knows about the shields, prepare them, but if it's unknown, hide them. Athemar could be described as a brawler in an RPG class system. His fighting style primarily used punches after all, but the shields added a defensive option and a bit more 'edge' to his strikes. He was a fairly straightforward person who was noble, protective and kind, yet boastful of his ability.

Athemar's opponent drew a rapier and assumed a light fencing stance. Stepping a little closer, Athemar tested the range with one hand. The rapier flashed up and stopped the probe. He began circling to test his opponent's movement. A little on the sluggish side, but serviceable. A possible opening. Also a possible trap. He jumped back to see what his opponent would do. Nothing followed, so he continued to circle. He tapped his opponent's sword a few times, which solicited an unnecessarily violent response. This was his opening. His opponent was wary of his Chronosteel gloves because he hadn't revealed their secret yet. He quickly formulated a plan and executed it. He tapped once more on the rapier, a little more violently this time, and prepared the mechanism on his other gauntlet. As predicted, his opponent slashed at the hand focused on the sword. At this point, Athemar fully released the mechanism on his free gauntlet and launched a punch at his opponent's head. Then his plan fell apart. The rapier flashed up once more and deflected the punch.

"With that, the advantage we both held is gone. I know you have the shields, and you know that I know. I should have expected a strong defence from someone who uses shields." They disengaged, and Athemar engaged the mechanism on his other gauntlet after pushing back a plate that had come loose when he deflected his opponent's sneaky slash. He then slipped into a low boxing stance and moved erratically towards to the fencer. He pressured him with quick punches but kept up his defence. Nothing landed, but his movement was heading in the direction of the arena wall, so he was confident. The fencer reached the wall, but span out of the way and landed a solid kick to Athemar's shield. It felt like every bone down from his shoulder had shattered, but he didn't have time to check because the kick was followed. By a lunge, a punch, another kick, a pommel bash and another punch. Athemar just barely managed to defend this crushing barrage of blows by using both arms, and they felt useless afterwards. Panting, with his arms hanging weak and battered at his sides, he nodded at his opponent.

"You're good." He observed reluctantly. The fencer chuckled and nodded back.

"Not good enough to scare you off."

"No... Well I guess I'd better get serious then." The fencer raised his eyes. The truth was, Athemar was already serious. He had been the whole fight. That was pretty clear, but his spirit was telling him not to give up. That he could win if he carried on. So of course, he was not only going to do so, but to put everything he had into it.

He darted in close, not trusting his arms to shield him from the sword, and headbutted his opponent. He followed this up with a kick to the legs, then a bicycle kick to the face. The man fell, but maintained his sword in front and returned to his feet. He drew the sword back in anger, about to unleash all his strength into a strike, but Athemar closed in again. This time, he was confident in his arms and drove the point of one shield into the fencer's throat. This strike morphed into a palm to the chin, then he dropped his weight down into a downwards strike to the collarbone. His right hand felt like it broke again, so he used his left for a falling strike to his opponent's face, who screamed in pain. Having spent everything, he rolled onto his back, ready to give up. However, the king's voice boomed once more.

"We have a new champion! Prince Jack has admitted defeat, making the winner Athemar!" Athemar had forgotten when the crowd had started their applause, it had just become a backing track to the music he was making on the battlefield, but at the King's voice, it doubled in volume.