Arriving at the entrance, I was met with a curious array of weaponry – a whip, a dagger, a spear, and a broadsword. I couldn't help but chuckle at the choices laid before me. Dismissing the whip and dagger was easy. The dagger felt insignificant for an arena of this magnitude, and as for the whip, memories of its short-lived and controversial stint in Salve had me shaking my head. What people had come up with in the virtual realm often bordered on the absurd.

My hands hovered between the spear and the broadsword, contemplating the strategic implications of each. The spear would provide reach, but the broadsword... There was something comforting about its weight and power. Recollections of using it in Salve guided my decision. The balance, the solidity of a broadsword was familiar territory. Additionally, it would pair well with the forearm shield, it was amazing how quickly my shield had become so central to my fighting style, without it I would literally die.

Gripping the broadsword, its weight reassuring in my hand, I squared my shoulders and made my way toward the massive gates leading to the arena. The sands of the battleground awaited, and with them, an opponent yet unknown. As the door began to rise, I took a deep breath, ready for the announcer's voice to herald the start of another battle.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as the arena's grand announcer took to the platform, his voice, enriched with a posh accent, echoing throughout, amplified by unseen magics.

"Presenting first, a man who hardly needs an introduction but most certainly warrants one! Our very own drifter who's become the talk of the town – the steadfast, the tenacious, everyone's favorite drifter, Everett!" The crowd erupted into ecstatic cheers.

Jag Roneo: Everett steps up to the plate again! The crowd’s eatin’ it up. It’s like they can’t get enough of this guy. What do you reckon, Bill?

Bill Ruggles: Aye, Jag, they’re right mad for him! He's like the hometown hero in a pub fight, only with a sword instead of a pint glass. Every battle’s a new chapter in his tale.

He continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "Some reckon his tale's already been spun, but why prattle on when we can give it a good show?" A grand projection illuminated the darkened coliseum, showing a montage of my past matches. Each strike, each dodge, each victory played out like a dance, only a touch more savage. The announcer's voice provided a riveting narrative, especially highlighting the most ruthless of my finishes, ensuring the crowd were right on the edge of their seats. The sandy arena beneath my boots was a stark contrast to the hushed atmosphere, teeming with anticipation. Every grain I felt underfoot reminded me of the battles I'd faced and those yet to come. I wiped sweat from my brow and took a moment to steady myself, feeling the familiar weight of my sword in hand. It provided a sense of comfort, a silent partner in every skirmish.

Jag Roneo: These projections never fail to get the crowd goin'. Look at those highlights—every slash, every dodge—like he’s in his own action movie!

Bill Ruggles: Yeah, it’s like the ultimate fight montage, mate. If he had a soundtrack, it’d be somethin' epic, like a choir of angry football fans.

With his accent cutting clear through the silence, the announcer proclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, steel yourselves for a monumental bout! Presenting the pride of the Orkish Highlands, the paragon of honor and might—Halduk!"

As I squinted against the sun, from the dim archway emerged the imposing figure of Halduk. Standing a full 7 feet, his dark green, nearly black skin contrasted sharply against the sunlit arena. Those depthless black eyes, like twin voids, settled on the surroundings and then on me. They were eyes that had seen countless battles, holding tales of valor and wisdom. His braided hair cascaded down his back and his pronounced features hinted at a rugged nobility. As for his physique, it was as if each muscle told a story of rigorous discipline and endless combat.

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In his grasp, a greatsword the announcer called “Skullcleaver” gleamed ominously. Its blade, dark and foreboding, seemed to resonate with an energy of its own. But what caught my attention most was his lack of armor. Halduk stood there exposed, wearing only a leather tunic and breeches, why he would be without his trademark armor was beyond me.

Whispers amongst the crowd reached my ears. I had heard of Halduk's pride and how he had risen from the ranks, from his modest start in the Orkish Highlands to the esteemed household guard. Word had it that after learning of my earlier injury, losing my hand, he'd remarked that he wouldn’t fight a cripple. Yet, in the brutal world of the arena, refusal meant death. So, in an attempt to level the field, he had chosen to fight armorless, laying bare his vulnerabilities. It was a testament to his honor, his respect for the fight, and perhaps, for me.

Jag Roneo: Here comes Halduk, the Orkish titan. He’s a sight to behold, ain’t he, Bill? Seven feet of raw power, carryin’ that ominous Skullcleaver, and no armor! What’s he thinkin’?

Bill Ruggles: Aye, he’s like a brick wall with a sword, Jag. No armor, though—that’s a bold move. Like playin' football without shin pads! But it’s a nod to Everett, a bit o' respect, maybe a hint o' pity. Could go either way in this match.

Halduk's deep voice resonated across the arena, tinged with a genuine sorrow, "This isn't the duel I envisioned for us, Everett. True warriors should meet on equal ground." He paused, taking a measured breath. "I've stripped away my armor, not out of pity, but respect. May the best of us prevail today."

I am not proud of it but in that moment, I did not feel honored by him, I felt pitied. I wanted nothing more than to destroy him. I did not need him to even the playing field between us. I did not ask for him to take his armor off.

Jag Roneo: Halduk’s makin’ a statement here, folks. Armor off, it’s a sign of respect. But Everett’s got that look, like he’s got somethin’ to prove. This isn’t about honor for him, it’s about survival.

Bill Ruggles: He’s not feelin' honored, Jag; he’s feelin' ticked off. I’d bet my best flat cap he’s thinkin' Halduk’s tryin' to make him look weak. This fight’s gonna be fierce.

At the commencement of our duel the distance between Halduk and I closed in a matter of heartbeats. My heart thundered in my chest, matching the rhythm of my rapid footsteps. Halduk's tall frame braced itself, his arms raising as he let out a fierce, earth-shaking battle cry that echoed in the vast expanse of the arena.

But I had already mapped out my approach. Feinting left, then right, I attempted to be unpredictable. My eyes locked onto Halduk's, reading him, searching for that momentary lapse, that brief flicker of uncertainty. And there it was. As he prepared to counter my feigned assault, I quickly rotated my compass tattoo towards Tornado's Swiftness.

Jag Roneo: Here we go! Everett’s comin’ in fast, feinting like a champ. He’s readin' Halduk, lookin' for that opening. Tornado’s Swiftness on his compass, this is gonna be quick!

Bill Ruggles: Like a dancer in a pub brawl, Jag. Halduk’s ready for a head-on fight, but Everett’s got speed on his side. He’s like a whirlwind in a tea shop.

Harnessing its power, I faked a leftward lunge and then, with a burst of speed, shot to his right. Time seemed to slow for a heartbeat. I leaped, my blade finding its mark, puncturing his side. I felt it pierce the outer layer of skin, muscle, and then what could only be the sound of the resistance of lung tissue.

Halduk's powerful frame shuddered as blood stained his dark green skin. His breathing became labored, every inhale a raspy struggle. But I didn't relent. I couldn't. This was the arena.

Each of my movements became a lesson in precision and adaptability. No longer the relentless force I once was, I had become the calm before the storm, picking apart Halduk's defenses bit by bit. With every strike, every feint, and every parry, I chastised him, my voice cutting deeper than my blade.

"You think nobility is a strength? You saw me as someone to be pitied? Your pride blinds you, Halduk!" I growled, my words a mix of anger and disappointment.

Jag Roneo: Everett’s not holdin’ back! That’s a solid hit! He’s not just fightin'—he’s got words for Halduk too. He’s teachin’ him a lesson in humility, in the most brutal way possible.

Bill Ruggles: Aye, he’s right proper riled up! It’s like watchin' a bloke argue with his reflection, only deadlier. He’s takin' Halduk apart, bit by bit.

I utilized my Forearm Shield to block any sluggish attempts he made, using every opening to chip away at his endurance. With his lung compromised, his abilities were hampered. I remained on the defensive, each calculated block or parry setting up for a retaliatory strike. Occasionally, I'd attack at his side, to keep him from gaining momentum.

As we continued fighting, Halduk's breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale causing him evident pain. The punctured lung severely hampered his movements, and his once-powerful stance was now a weakened shuffle. It was time to end it.