The next opponent was scheduled for an hour later. His name was Heinrich. No further information on him at all was provided. His sponsor was anonymous, but there was one, otherwise, he could not participate. One did not need to have their sponsor revealed at the preliminaries.

At the same arena, with some of the same judges, Lucian took his stand. He awaited Heinrich.

When Heinrich finally entered the arena, Lucian felt a surge of apprehension. Heinrich was massive, towering over Lucian with a build that spoke of brute strength. He carried a large shield and a formidable axe, both of which looked capable of delivering devastating blows. Lucian swallowed hard, his earlier confidence wavering.

“Remember, use your speed,” Aric’s voice echoed in his mind. “Don’t try to match his strength.”

The judges signaled the start of the match, and Heinrich wasted no time. He advanced quickly, his shield up and axe ready. Lucian circled, looking for an opening, but Heinrich’s shield provided an almost impenetrable defense.

Heinrich swung his axe in a powerful arc, aiming to cleave Lucian in two. Lucian dodged to the side, feeling the rush of air as the axe missed him by inches. He moved quickly, striking at Heinrich’s exposed side, but his sword glanced off the heavy armor with little effect.

Heinrich turned, his shield bashing forward. Lucian leaped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. He needed to find a way to get past that shield. He tried feints, darting in and out, but Heinrich didn’t fall for them. Each time, the shield was there, blocking his attacks.

Lucian decided to change his approach. He began to move in erratic patterns, forcing Heinrich to keep turning and adjusting his stance. He was quicker, more agile, and he used that to his advantage. Heinrich’s large frame made him slower to react, and Lucian exploited this, constantly moving, never staying in one place for long.

Heinrich swung his axe again, this time in a horizontal sweep. Lucian ducked, rolling under the swing, and struck at Heinrich’s legs. The blow landed, but the armor absorbed most of the impact. Heinrich grunted, a look of frustration crossing his face.

Lucian kept up the pressure, striking at Heinrich from different angles, never giving him a chance to settle. He aimed for the gaps in the armor, small as they were, trying to wear Heinrich down. Heinrich’s swings grew more desperate and more forceful, but they also became slower.

Lucian saw his chance. He waited for Heinrich to overcommit on a swing, and when the axe came down, he sidestepped and lunged forward, striking at Heinrich’s arm. The blow wasn’t powerful, but it was well-placed, hitting a joint. Heinrich roared, dropping his shield slightly.

Seizing the moment, Lucian pressed the attack. He aimed for the exposed areas, moving in a blur. Heinrich tried to raise his shield again, but Lucian was already behind him, landing a solid strike to the back of his knee. Heinrich stumbled, his balance compromised.

With Heinrich off-balance, Lucian circled quickly, striking at his unprotected back. The judges leaned in, watching intently as Lucian’s relentless assault began to take its toll. Heinrich’s movements grew sluggish, his defense faltering.

Finally, with a decisive move, Lucian knocked the axe from Heinrich’s hand. The massive weapon clattered to the ground, and Heinrich, struggling to maintain his balance, dropped to one knee. Lucian stood over him, his sword pointed at Heinrich’s throat.

The judges stepped forward, declaring Lucian the winner.

Haymond was there, surprisingly for this match. He heard that Lucian beat the captain of Baron O’Seanelly.

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Haymond approached, his expression hard to read.

“Not too bad.”

Lucian nodded, his chest heaving with exertion. “Thank you, lord Haymond.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Haymond grumbled. “You’ve still got more fights ahead.”

Lucian allowed himself a brief smile. He had survived another round, and with each victory, his confidence grew.

----------------------------------------

“Keep it going.”

Lucian had no problems continuing. It felt like cheating, using his longblade. He had almost unlimited energy as far as he knew.

The third match was against Galil, the representative of Duke Mariot of Jormays, a giant city in the central riverbeds of the continent. Galil was like Lucian in many ways. He wore armor that was fitted like his, wielded a longblade, and had a similar build. He had short, black hair. His face was of someone in their late twenties or early thirties.

The judges signaled the start, and both combatants moved with cautious precision. Lucian and Galil mirrored each other’s movements, each testing the other’s defenses with quick, probing strikes. The clang of metal echoed through the arena as their blades met in rapid succession.

Galil was skilled, his movements without any waste. Lucian used the basics he knew, and what he had learned from Aric. Galil matched Lucian’s speed and agility, parrying and countering with expert precision. The early exchanges revealed no clear advantage for either side. They danced around each other, neither willing to give ground.

Lucian focused on maintaining his energy, knowing that his unique advantage lay in his endurance. He dodged and weaved, deflecting Galil’s strikes. Every time Galil pressed the attack, Lucian responded with equal vigor, matching his opponent blow for blow.

Minutes turned into an hour. The sun began its slow descent, giving way to a dull gold sky. The spectators, few as they were, watched in hushed anticipation. The judges exchanged glances, knowing that this was going on for far too long.

Galil showed no signs of tiring initially. His strikes remained sharp, his defense impenetrable. But Lucian was patient. He maintained a relentless pace, forcing Galil to exert himself continuously. Their blades clashed again and again, the sound ringing out like a symphony of steel.

Lucian could see the first signs of fatigue in Galil’s movements. A slight hesitation in his parry, a momentary lag in his footwork. Lucian pressed harder, not with increased aggression, but with unyielding consistency. He knew he couldn’t afford to make a mistake; he had to outlast Galil.

Two hours passed, and Galil’s exhaustion became more apparent. His breathing grew labored, and his strikes, while still powerful, began to lose their earlier sharpness. Lucian’s own movements remained steady, his energy seemingly boundless.

Galil launched a desperate attack, swinging his blade with all his remaining strength. Lucian dodged, his reflexes sharp. He could see the fatigue in Galil’s eyes, the slow unraveling of his stamina. Lucian kept up the pressure.

Galil’s movements grew sluggish. His defense faltered, and Lucian seized the moment. With a swift, decisive strike, he disarmed Galil, sending his longblade skittering across the ground. Galil staggered, his energy spent.

But then, with a burst of determination, Galil reached out and grabbed Lucian’s arm. They grappled, struggling for dominance. Lucian felt the strength in Galil’s grip, but he also felt the desperation. He twisted free, using his agility to slip out of Galil’s hold.

The struggle continued, both fighters pushing themselves to the limit. Galil’s attacks grew wild, his form breaking down as exhaustion set in. Lucian stayed focused, his mind clear despite the hours of combat. He saw an opening and struck, landing a blow to Galil’s leg. Galil stumbled, his balance compromised.

Lucian pressed the advantage, delivering a series of rapid strikes. Galil’s defense crumbled, and with one final, powerful blow, Lucian knocked him to the ground. Galil lay there, breathing heavily, unable to continue.

Fatigue makes cowards of us all, Lucian recalled the saying of George Patton, a general in the US Army stationed in France and Germany during World War 2.

Galil gave in, disappointed.

The judges stepped forward, declaring Lucian the winner. Galil, breathing heavily, nodded in acknowledgment. He laughed, and said, “ ‘twas a good fight.”

Lucian stood victorious, his own breathing steady.

Three wins. Two more to go.

He had to go quickly, otherwise he might risk others reaching the five wins before him. He already wasted too much time here.

“Next.”