Crafty

"Ser Kael," Garrick bellowed, his voice echoing around the silent training grounds. "Get your ass down here!" He then turned to Argon, his face serious as he leaned in closer. "He's number seven in the power rankings among the knights. Don't make a fool of my judgement, boy."

His words carried a strange mix of threat and encouragement, a reminder of what was at stake. With a final nod, Garrick turned on his heel and strode towards the stands, Brolan following silently in his wake.

Argon was left in the centre of the sparring circle, alone but for the sand beneath his feet and the weight of expectation pressing down on him. The crowd in the stands fell silent, their gazes fixated on him and the knight he was about to face.

Ser Kael descended from the stands, a large figure in his black Dayless armour. As he approached, Argon could feel the tension rise, the air around him becoming almost electric with anticipation. It was time to show them what he was capable of.

Baron Eldrige stood, his powerful voice carrying across the silent field. "Men," he began, commanding the attention of all present, "We gather here to measure the mettle of this young man, Argon. To see if he is worthy to join our ranks, to carry our standard."

He paused, glancing at Argon, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. "I wanted this matter settled before we turn our attention to quelling the peasant revolt. The realm does not rest, and neither should we."

There was a moment's pause as the Baron's words hung in the air. Then, with a decisive nod, he declared, "Begin."

The tension snapped like a taut string, and the air suddenly filled with a charged expectancy. Argon squared his shoulders, his focus now solely on the black armoured figure approaching him - Ser Kael, the seventh-ranked knight.

It was time to prove his worth.

As the Baron's voice echoed out, Argon took a deep breath, feeling a thrum of energy surge through him. His hand moved to activate the Attribute and Healing artefacts. A soft, ethereal light bathed his form, amplifying his strength and resilience. Across from him, Ser Kael reached for his own. The exact nature and number of his powers remained unknown to Argon, adding an element of surprise and uncertainty to the confrontation.

Ser Kael advanced first, his broadsword flashing in the midday sun as he brought it swinging towards Argon. Swift and agile, Argon sidestepped the attack, his own weapon parrying the blow with a jarring clang. The impact reverberated through his arms, but his increased strength absorbed it without faltering.

Argon retaliated swiftly, his weapon slicing through the air in a tight arc aimed towards Kael. The knight managed to raise his shield just in time, deflecting Argon's assault. But Argon did not let up, pressing his advantage with a barrage of swift, relentless attacks. Each strike was a blur of movement, his enhanced strength propelling his blade with terrifying velocity.

Kael found himself hard-pressed to keep up with Argon's aggressive offence. He could barely muster a counterattack as he struggled to parry and deflect each incoming strike. The strength behind Argon's attacks was overpowering, his black armour doing little to dampen the force of each hit.

Finally, Argon saw an opening. In a lightning-fast manoeuvre, he swept Kael's sword aside and landed a solid punch to the knight's chest plate. Kael staggered back, clearly winded. But Argon didn't stop there. Capitalizing on Kael's momentary disorientation, he lunged forward, his sword aimed straight at the knight.

Kael barely had time to react. His attempt to raise his shield was too slow, and Argon's blade connected. The impact sent Kael sprawling on the sandy floor, his weapon clattering out of his hand.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, the crowd erupted in surprised murmurs. Argon stood victorious over the fallen knight, his heavy breaths the only sound in the sparring circle. The display of power was over as quickly as it had begun, and its result was unequivocal - Argon had emerged as the superior warrior.

The silence was shattered by Baron Eldrige's booming voice. "Well, that was an embarrassing display, Kael," he said, a note of dry humour in his voice. His gaze fell upon Argon, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? We must ensure this wasn't mere luck. Ser Harold, I believe it's time for a lesson in humility."

Ser Harold, a grizzled veteran with scars to tell tales of countless battles, rose from his seat. His armour was as black as the rest, but it bore marks of time and combat, a testament to his experience. He descended from the stands, his movements sure and unhurried.

He bore no visible animosity towards Argon. Instead, there was a strange kind of respect in his gaze, as though he acknowledged the potential in the young man standing across from him. He stopped a fair distance away from Argon, his stance relaxed yet ready.

The crowd fell silent once more, the tension ratcheting up as they prepared for the second duel. Argon, his victory still fresh, turned to face his new opponent. He had toppled the seventh-ranked knight, but Ser Harold was in an entirely different league. It was time to prove that his victory against Kael was not a fluke. The real test was about to begin.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as Ser Harold activated his artefacts. Ethereal light enveloped him, the familiar glow of increased strength, healing, and protection echoing that of Argons. They stood on equal footing now, their powers evenly matched. This was to be a battle of skill, technique, and experience.

As the light faded, Ser Harold took his stance. He held his sword in front of him, the tip pointing towards Argon, his feet positioned with a perfect balance of flexibility and steadiness. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, locked onto Argon, a silent promise of the fierce duel to come.

The fight began with a sharp, explosive burst of energy. Argon moved first, rushing towards Harold with an overhead strike. But the veteran was quick, his movements fluid as he smoothly sidestepped the attack. His riposte was swift, a horizontal slash aimed at Argon's exposed side. However, Argon had already spun away, narrowly avoiding the blade.

Despite the initial aggression, the fight soon took on a different pace. Ser Harold's movements were measured and calculated, the years of combat experience evident in his precise footwork and swordplay. His attacks were never hurried, but each one was lethal, pushing Argon to his limits.

Argon, in turn, showed his adaptability, meeting the veteran's precise attacks with fierce determination. He parried and deflected each blow, his own counterattacks always just a heartbeat away. Yet, for all his speed and strength, he struggled to land a hit on the veteran knight. Harold's defences were airtight, his footwork slippery as he danced around Argon's attacks.

The fight became a whirlwind of flashing blades and shifting sands, and the two figures at the centre engaged in an intense dance of war. It was a mesmerizing spectacle of power and precision, each move a testament to the warriors' skills.

Harold's experience was clearly showing, but Argon wasn't backing down. Each attack from the veteran was met with an equally fierce counter, a silent testament to his determination. However, as the fight wore on, it was clear that the match was heavy, taxing on both combatants, but especially on Argon. The young fighter was giving his all, pitting his skills against the grizzled veteran in a battle of power and wits. But could it be enough?

The battle was raging on, with neither combatant backing down. Each attack met with a fierce counter, the spectacle a dance of deadly grace. In the heat of the fight, Argon decided to employ a tactic he had learned from Garrick, a technique known as Lifting. It was a risky move meant to expose the opponent's defence and create an opportunity for a strike.

Argon moved in, his blade aiming to hook under Harold's, the intention clear. But Harold, the experienced knight he was, saw through the manoeuvre. With a swift, deft movement of his wrist, he thwarted Argon's attempt, the clash of their swords echoing in the silent arena.

His attempt was thwarted, and Argon found himself in a predicament. Harold's experience was clearly showing the veteran knight's skills pushing Argon to his limits. Argon felt a sinking feeling. He was aware that as the fight continued to drag, his chances of victory were dwindling.

But he wasn't one to give up so easily. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Argon made a sudden decision, one that deviated from the honourable conduct of knights but had proven mildly successful against Garrick in the past.

In an unexpected move, Argon's boot kicked up a cloud of sand, aiming directly for Harold's face. The veteran knight instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes, but it served to block his line of sight as much as the sand.

In that brief moment of blindness, Argon seized his chance. He moved in swiftly, his blade whistling through the air as he aimed a precise Wrist Strike at the temporarily vulnerable knight. His aim was true, targeting Harold's leading arm. The strike was swift, almost too fast for the eye to follow. The sudden change in tactics had caught Harold off guard, the outcome of the duel hanging in the balance as the sands of the arena settled.