Those are only just wooden swords! I wish that those two behemoths only think that this is just a friendly duel, not trial-by-combat. Though this ship might be one of the most prized possessions that the Arancians have. I believe Condemna won’t hold this impact any longer. Yeah, these lads get my praise for them. All of the crowd are enjoying the scene - or am I just overpressing something? Why do I look so anxious despite the fever coming from the audience watching the match? Should I stand up against this exhilarating moment and be the buzz killer? I am aware that the ship can’t carry the weight any time soon.

Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd taps me on my shoulder: “Quexajo really is one of your best warrior, isn’t he? Albeit, he practices maritime warfare and I can’t bear to imagine he is also adept on this part.” praising my brother while his eyes glue on the match.

A short burst of smirk marking on Akialom’s face, signifying that he is enjoying way too much of this game. Akialom and Quexajo are staring at each other with rather excitement on their faces - I can tell it. Both of them are struggling to get the upper hand over the other during the sword clash. Akialom kicks Quexajo but it fends off by his knee to break off the tension of the struggle. Among the viewers, they are an insurmountable series of exchanges in which both of the competitors haven’t managed to land a hit on each other - and yes, Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd and I notice this but I don’t know the analysis of the crowd. Perhaps, they are just enjoying the show.

“Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd, how about we bet for now?”

“Oh, you make this fun more interesting! I thought you were against this?” he replies, as he turns around for my attention. Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd really is a definite gambler, indeed.

“But…” I exhale for a bit then Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd interjects me saying: “But?” with a resonating hum.

“But… aside from the fifty (50) silvers, there is an additional demand for it.” I conclude my explanation.

“Oh,... !” he seems amused by the sound of it. “So, what is it? Where is the catch?” exploring once more what is behind all of this façade.

“Nothing, in particular.” I say.

“I now pick my boyo - Quexajo. Are you playing the game or not?”

“Sure…” as Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd accepts the challenge where he places the bet on the railing, where I do the same - there are a hundred (100) silver coins on the table at stake.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

On the other side of the scene, both of the warriors have left unscathed and have not sustained any damage to each other. The mages who have been supporting the platform of the deck of the ship and bolstering the integrity and the retention of each wooden sword of the competitors seem to be having a hard time maintaining their composure. They are sweating buckets! There are four (4) camps in this situation: The crowd who are just giving vigor to the duelists, Akialom and Quexajo who are performing such rendition before our eyes, the arcane specialists who are dealing the excruciating unplanned job for them; and Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd and myself - toe-to-toe, whose wager is going to win. My man, Quexajo or his lad, Akialom.

Quexajo and Akialom then meet again in the center of the deck. This time, my man hacks in a downward motion while the other camp deflects the attack with it - kneeling on the pavement as he undertakes to intercept the assault. Each backward stride of these warriors have been staggered because of the recoil they have made earlier. The audience goes nuts by it then they have just witnessed that the two warriors are beginning to get sluggish and groggy, even though Quexajo and Akialom have remained untouched. The cry remains in toil. The respiration of both men are catching up to them. Akialom is nearly one knee down to the floor making his wooden sword as his support. On the other hand, Quexajo maintains his head tilted upward albeit I know he is really exhausted deriving from the fact that his breath coming from his mouth exudes steam.

This time, Akialom is on the offense after he recollects his respiration and on the other side, Quexajo is keen to recognize the threat where he blocks it down to the direction. Akialom rushes towards Quexajo where he scrapes his wooden sword to the ground as he meets Quexajo’s prepared defense. Due to Akialom’s sheer determination and strength, he makes Quexajo send mid-air in a short distance around chest-height. Quexajo then uses this momentum to strike a counterattack of his own by redirecting his weight and also thanks for the gravity. The attack he did not long ago. Akialom looks up whereas he notices Quexajo is cruising in a downward motion towards him. Akialom blocks the attack.

“Oh no, this can’t be good…” I exhale with a worrisome remark.

“Huh? What are you trying to say, Lord Geoff?” Lord Sire Gůnthræ Güd answers in an oblivious manner.

Prior to the damage incurred, the magic shield on the floor reinforced by the mages has been shattered. Also, the deck of the ship does not survive the recoil of the attack. The final sequence of the assault makes the boat shake for a bit - dealing tremor upon us. There is a small fissure carved in Condemna in the middle of her belly. I am the first to run towards the hole. I look downward as I am trying to check on Quexajo if he is just alright.

“Quexajo, are you okay?” I cry over the hole. There is no response. I try again - still no one answers.

Then the sunlight gazes over the crevice where both men are down. Each sparring sword has been shambled into pieces. Luckily, both competitors sustained not so grievous injuries whereas they are chuckling to the end of the match. Akialom is lying on the floor in a prone position. Quexajo is nearly engorged by cargo boxes around him.