The clang of steel and the roar of men filled the battlefield. Blood soaked the earth as Elian Ashrin squared off against a towering Forger clad in blackened steel. The air around them seemed to ripple with tension as soldiers on both sides instinctively drew back, creating a makeshift arena for the two warriors.

The Forger’s weapon, a long spear forged from dark, gleaming metal, radiated an eerie crimson light. He twirled it with practiced ease, the edges of the spearhead emitting a faint hum that spoke of unnatural power. “This spear,” the Forger boomed, his voice a low, resonant growl that carried over the chaos, “has ended countless lives. Its name is Hellraiser, Bringer of Chaos. And it will end you too.”

Elian’s gray eyes remained steady, unflinching. He tightened his grip on his longblade, its simple, unadorned steel a stark contrast to the Forger’s weapon. “We’ll see about that” Elian replied, his voice calm, carrying an edge that sliced through the Forger’s bravado.

The Forger lunged forward with blinding speed, the spear’s tip slicing through the air. Elian sidestepped the attack, his movements precise and deliberate. He brought his blade up in a counterstrike, aiming for the Forger’s exposed flank. The hulking warrior twisted his body, deflecting the blow with the shaft of Hellraiser. Sparks flew as the two weapons collided, the force of the impact reverberating through the ground.

The duel escalated into a storm of relentless attacks and deft parries. Elian’s longblade flashed in tight, controlled arcs, each strike aimed to exploit a weakness in the Forger’s defense. Yet the Forger proved a formidable opponent. Hellraiser moved like an extension of his body, its reach and speed keeping Elian on his toes. Each clash of their weapons sent shockwaves through the air, drawing the attention of nearby soldiers who paused mid-battle to witness the spectacle.

“You fight well for a man with no Forgecraft,” the Forger growled, his spear whirling in a deadly arc that Elian barely dodged. “But it won’t be enough. What’s your name, young warrior? Tell me who I’ll be sending to the grave.”

Elian stepped back, his breath heavy but steady despite the intensity of the fight. He leveled his blade at the Forger, his voice ringing out with unwavering strength. “I am Elian Ashrin,” he declared, his tone rising to match the crescendo of the battle.

The proclamation echoed across the battlefield, carried by the wind and the murmurs of onlookers. For a moment, the Forger hesitated, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Well met, Crow” he said, his lips curling into a grim smile. “My name is Symm Nycolas. Remember it well, for it’s the last name you’ll ever hear.”

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With that, Symm’s attacks grew more ferocious, Hellraiser blurring as it struck out in rapid succession. Elian’s movements became a dance of precision and agility, his blade intercepting the spear at the last possible moment. The ground beneath them bore the scars of their clash—gouges and scorch marks from the Forger’s weapon mingled with the blood of the fallen.

Elian pushed himself harder, but not without cost. A glancing blow from Hellraiser opened a deep gash along his side, blood staining his tunic. Symm’s spear found its mark again, grazing his shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling. Pain lanced through Elian’s body, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to falter.

“You’re slowing, Crow!” Symm taunted, thrusting Hellraiser in a brutal downward strike. Elian rolled away, barely avoiding the blow as the spearhead cracked the ground where he’d stood. Summoning his remaining strength, Elian countered with a powerful upward slash, his blade catching Symm across the chest. The Forger staggered, blood seeping from the gash in his armor.

Symm roared in defiance, raising Hellraiser for one final, desperate strike. But Elian was faster. He sidestepped the thrust and brought his blade down in a powerful overhead swing. The longblade sliced cleanly through Symm’s neck, the Forger’s head separating from his body in a spray of crimson.

Elian caught the severed head by its hair, it's long blonde hair, holding it high for all to see. His voice thundered across the battlefield as he shouted, “I AM VICTORIOUS!”

The sight of their captain’s triumph sent a surge of energy through Kaelen’s forces. The soldiers roared in unison, their cries of victory echoing like a tidal wave. They surged forward with renewed vigor, driving back Lord Aurelian’s troops. The tide of the battle shifted in an instant, transforming a desperate struggle into a decisive rout.

Kaelen’s forces swept over the battlefield, their enemies scattering in disarray. Those who survived retreated toward the Crown Prince’s domain, their defeat a bitter pill to swallow. The battlefield grew quiet as the last of Aurelian’s forces fled, leaving behind only the dead and the dying.

In the aftermath, the camp buzzed with the aftermath of the bout between Symm Nycolas and Elian Ashrin. Soldiers spoke in hushed tones of Elian’s victory. But as Elian sat by a makeshift infirmary, the pain of his wounds catching up to him, a messenger approached. The soldier saluted sharply before delivering his message.

“Captain Ashrin,” the messenger said. “General Kaelen requests your presence in his command tent. Immediately.”

Elian nodded, forcing himself to stand despite the protest of his injuries. As he made his way through the camp, the murmurs of soldiers followed him like a shadow.

For Elian Ashrin, the Crow of Kaelen, the battle was but one chapter in a larger story. Yet on that day, his legend was forged in blood and steel, a testament to the unyielding spirit of a man who refused to bow.