Auryon's black bladed sword swung with violent desperation. Cadaoir maintained his tactic: back away until an opening presents itself, then strike. He must admit to himself that this battle was hard. There had been no decisive strikes made against his opponent, there had been no time to take the victory. Every time Cadaoir broke inside Auryon's defence, all he could manage was a single strike against a fully armoured target, or a failed grab before Auryon countered. Red wounds glowed on Cadaoir's forearms, minor as they were.
His failed attempts to defeat Auryon had one advantage: the armoured Duellist was becoming sapped of his stamina quicker than Cadaoir, and his failed attacks against the Monk had worried his confidence. The Duellist's attacks were now deployed without surety, Auryon not knowing whether they would hit or miss.
Horizontal slashes were the hardest to counter, so Cadaoir skipped backwards or rolled away to maintain distance from his opponent. Vertical and diagonal slashes were easier to counter, though the risk was extremely great. These are what Cadaoir waited for, but the opportunity never came. It was only when Auryon over stepped, stumbled and his sword faltered that the Monk found his opportunity to win.
It was not the timing of Auryon's fault, or the Monk's ability to strike in a weakened state, where victory was found. It was when the blade struck a wooden board on the ring's surface and loosened it. Auryon recovered and struck out defensively, expecting an attack from Cadaoir that never came. He circled around the ring and gave the Monk his chance. Cadaoir dove at the wooden board and wrenched it from its nail and rope fastenings. It cracked and splintered and snapped, and Cadaoir was left holding a metre long length of seasoned wood. It was thick and heavy, but it would not hinder him.
Auryon, aware of the advantage this gave his opponent and wishing to overpower him, charged Cadaoir and slashed from the side with great strength. Cadaoir acted with speed, swinging the plank at the blade of the whistling sword. He expected to knock the sword aside, but instead batted it out of the Duellist's hands entirely. The weapon spun away and Auryon was made defenceless. Cadaoir swung the plank again but Auryon blocked it with his arms. The wood exploded over the Duellist, the force pushing him to the ground. He dropped and then recovered, but too late. Cadaoir entered the other man's space, gripped him by the shoulder with one hand and slammed the other elbow into the side of the Duellist's neck. A subtle pull over the hip and a spin on the balls of Cadaoir's feet brought his opponent wheeling head over foot and crashing into the floor. Cadaoir followed him to the ground, kneeling. He locked up Auryon's arm and applied a lever over his own knee. It took only a little weight to dislocate the elbow, then the fight was ended.
'I yield!' Auryon shouted.
Cadaoir responded, releasing his grip and standing to hear the shouts and wails of the spectators. The Announcer was quick to hop into the ring and call out the outcome of the match.
'Auryon yields! Cadaoir wins!' The Announcer screamed.
The crowd yelled back, clapping and jumping. Cadaoir made to exit, but something caught his leg. When he looked down, he saw Auryon gripping the leg of his pants.
'A little help?' He asked, with a strained smile.
After yielding, you should still have pride enough to stand on your own. Cadaoir sighed, kicked Auryon's hand away, then left him there. He turned his back and left the ring. The Announcer was still doing his job as the Monk entered the stands to find his seat.
'You've seen it all now folks! The final fight has been decided with the loss of Auryon of the Black Foot. Cadaoir moves on to duel Jerry in the final round!'
Cadaoir melted into his own mind just as he melted into the people around him. That was harder than I'd have thought. Auryon the swordsman had put up a hard fight. Cadaoir was already reliving the duel, analysing the techniques, studying the feints and the timing of each chained attack from Auryon. Although he had lost the match, this other man was talented, and from what he had seen, the old man Jerry was even better. Auryon's fault gave Cadaoir the edge, it gave him a weapon, but he did not take Jerry as the type to make that mistake. Cadaoir had studied each match, he had seen and learned from every win and loss of the other duellists. He had discovered Jerry's flawlessness.
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Jerry had defeated Wolf, who was famed for her ability to use wrestling techniques in a battlefield setting. He had defeated Timothy Rott, hardly a famous combatant, but a Jumper, a man that could evade and attack from great heights. Timothy was cut out of the air with ease. Then Jerry won against Sir Daniels, a fully armoured Knight with a reputation as one of the strongest in the west, by plunging his dagger into Daniels' unprotected armpit. Jerry had shown his ability to quickly react and adapt to different opponents, demonstrating an experience for beyond any other. Cadaoir was confident that he could match Jerry in technique, but the old man had something that he himself lacked. An edge. Perhaps...
Before he knew it, his name was being called. The break had ended and the final match of this duel tournament was about to begin.
'These two great men need no introduction, but that's my job folks, so here we go!' The Announcer clapped his hands above his head, the crowd mirrored him. 'Having defeated Winslow Fisher, Captain Deluge of Hattsu, and Auryon of the Black Foot... Cadaoir stands before you for the final fight!'
The audience bellowed and cheered and booed and clapped and stomped, Cadaoir felt the energy of the crowd in him as he stepped on to the wooden platform for the last time. The breeze folded his hair to one side, sea birds chattered in the rafters and squawked in the grey sky above and the spectators' noise saw no end.
'The great Wolf of Hurdland fell to him.' The Amaratese crowd loved that. 'Timothy Rott fell to him.' The cheers loudened. 'Sir Daniels fell to him!' The Churashi loved that. 'Cheer for Jerry!'
The arena exploded with the mixed shouts of every person in the stands. Cadaoir had never heard such a sound in his life. Jerry stepped on to the other side of the ring, and with him came an energy that Cadaoir could feel much more deeply than the vibrations and noises around him.
This man is something else. Cadaoir, for the first time, felt doubt.
Jerry had a subtle smile, hardly visible within the shadow of his wide brimmed hat, but his eyes shone like silver from the darkness of his face. His plain long sword hung limp from his belt, and the ragged brown clothes made him look as harmless as some street whelp. But those eyes, they were dangerous.
'Gentlemen, you know the rules. The battle is won with a ring out, when one of you yields to the other, when one of you is knocked unconscious, or when one of you dies. Injury to the audience and extreme damage to the arena qualifies as a forfeit, so keep those powers of yours in check.' The Announcer backed away, then with one word before he left the ring did the duel begin. 'Fight!'
Jerry's eyes locked to Cadaoir's, and Cadaoir's to Jerry's. Cadaoir felt his body's instinct to attack, but he hesitated in his mind. If I attack, he will counter and win. There is no doubt in my mind. Go left? Attempt to close the distance and attack his sword arm? He can quickly manoeuvre away and draw on me. Go right? Try and take control of his weapon before he can draw? He's quick enough to draw his dagger instead, or lead me into some trap. If I try to attack him head on, I’ll be cut to ribbons. Cadaoir was struggling to find a way to win. The ring's been cleared of the debris, so I can't use that again. If I give him the initiative, I won't be able to escape him, he easily cornered Wolf... His thoughts passed in under a second, but for Cadaoir it felt like hours of deliberation.
It was then that he remembered his training, a golden rule, and it was then that he knew he had lost.
Do not think. Thought is the absence of intuition and the presence of uncertainty.
Jerry had brought the foundations of Cadaoir's composure to ruin. His gift, his supreme confidence as demonstrated through deadly eyes, had thrown the Monk's mind into disarray.
I've lost. This was Cadaoir's one thought before the slither of silver appeared in his vision. Jerry had advanced with unmatched speed and his aim was to take Cadaoir's head. No... Cadaoir could only raise a hand in defence.
You weak fool. Cadaoir thought to himself as the Monk's true class ability showed itself. A faint white glow was projected from his hand, his spirit given form as a protective barrier. The sword blade was stopped merely an inch away from his flesh, but it still fought to find blood. Weak! Then the power of the cut overtook him. I'm weak! There was a loud pop in his ears and then all he could hear were bells. The ring became distant to him, he saw the sky spinning to his right and the ground tumbling to his left. Then the world went white and then black.