Unfazed by the magic attack that Archibald had wielded against her, Joyce stepped forth. With each step taken, she firmly gripped her twin swords. Her power level had maxed out in the time she had sprinted from her camp to the enemies’ camp, and the fog of her rampage was starting to lift. Feeling slightly more in control of her actions, yet still relying on the autopilot state she was in, Joyce excitedly braced for the clash of blades.
Archibald stepped forward too, until both warriors were standing face to face. “It’s time I showed you why I am Tenri’s chosen!” He scoffed.
Joyce felt a pulse emanating from the man before her. His frame seemed to sharpen, his stance grew firmer. Having been through the exact same thing moments before, she knew: he was powering up. With trepidation and excitement for what was to come, she held up her blades in a cross shape.
The enemy commander smirked at the warrior’s stance, noting, “You might be a heathen, but even you know of the proper customs for battle. Good!” He held his broadsword’s tip between the cross, in preparation.
The air stood still in the next few seconds, before Archibald’s voice broke the silence, “Draw!” And with that declaration, both men withdrew their swords and started swinging at each other.
The first clang of steel on steel was thunderous. It sent ripples through the air, as their blades met. Every swing was precise and hit true, and despite the difference in stature and weapon numbers, none of them relented. Whilst Sigurd sported a hulking frame—a whole two heads taller—and two longswords, Archibald did not flinch nor sway in his stance.
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As Sigurd and the enemy champion clashed, the earth trembled beneath their feet, a testament to the titanic struggle unfolding. They were both planted firmly into their positions. For every one of his lunges, Archibald easily parried and countered with one of his own. True to the nature of their powered-up states, their swings were lightning fast, imperceptible to the naked eye.
Though they seemed evenly matched, the difference in power was palpable. Not at a glance, but the further they fought, the more it could be felt. Slowly but surely, Sigurd’s might overpowered Archibald’s arrogance and superiority.
Noticing this, and taking advantage of a brief moment in the skirmish, Archibald shouted, “I’ll admit, I underestimated your resolve and brute strength, but let’s see how you’ll handle this!”
Domineering the battle at that moment, and with one right swing catching both of Sigurd’s swords together, the commander left him in an awkward position. Archibald further pushed and further extended his blade’s reach, the force causing one of Sigurd’s swords to go out flying.
Landing a few feet away, and leaving Sigurd with only one longsword in hand, Archibald pressed on, “Now then, let’s end this useless squabble, that I may crush you and your kingdom’s champion personally!”
Despite the tone he took, the battle at that point had taken its toll on Archibald. He was lightly panting and sweating profusely. Meanwhile, Sigurd seemed unfazed, except for his hair which was a bit disheveled.
Getting back into the flow of battle and with few words left to exchange, both men’s blows grew heavier. The clangs of their blades grew louder, and with each hit, they would shake violently. Sparks flew at every exchange until both men reached a standstill.