Just like last time, it was all like a dream. Hazy and disorientating. Still, it rapidly cleared out, showcasing the memory they were reliving.
Faust was with his fellow men, his steel armor glinting in the partial sunlight. He was sharpening his gladius, feeling the whetstone grind against the blade’s edge. It was rhythmic, syncing up to his heartbeat like a war drum. The rest of the men were gearing up as well, most of them with nervous looks and pale faces.
Faust couldn’t relate, as his heart was racing, his blood coursing through his veins as he stared at his reflection on his gladius. He was born for this. The old Legate soon showed himself, walking out of his red tent.
“All right, everyone, let’s get moving. That fortress will not take itself out!”
The men all shouted in agreement, some more excited than others. Faust grinned and sheathed his blade before he grabbed his helmet, its red mane swaying in the wind. Just as the Centurion placed the helmet on his head, the world suddenly shifted.
The scene was now vastly different, dark clouds threatening to snuff out the warm sunlight as the wind picked up leaves and dust. Faust was outside of a fortress’s walls, the rest of his comrades behind him. Evidence of battle was apparent throughout the scene, blood and arrows littering the ground. Faust even spotted some bodies nearby, some of them unrecognizable.
“Leonard Kord!” the Centurion shouted in anger, raising his gladius to the fortress. “Come out, you coward! Let’s end this like men!” Faust’s eyes could spot movement from atop the walls, an aged knight making his appearance. The man wore much different armor than the rest of his knights, his family’s seal visible on his ornate breastplate, as well as the red wax seal of Delphine.
Faust recalled the red wax seals that represented the knights who served under Delphine’s church. They were supposed to be inquisitors, taking part in wars only when their goddess commanded it. Yet here was one of her loyal knights, fighting at the front lines for the Lumen Kingdom’s best interests. Faust knew of the title given to this particular man, as the Legate had already briefed him on it prior to the battle.
Leonard Kord, the now Lumen Knight, brushed his salt and pepper hair aside, his tired blue eyes visible from the distance. He even had a disheveled looking beard, which added to the look of exhaustion. Yet his posture did not falter. Neither did his voice.
“I am of the notion that we settle this like honorable men,” he said. “We can end all of this with no more unnecessary deaths,” the knight added. Faust almost laughed at the man. He knew he had to be getting desperate, as the fortress had been under siege for the last few months.
‘They’re either out of supplies or morale.’
“No one needs to die,” Faust agreed. “Just as long as you let down that bridge and let us take it over in the name of Cyrus!” He added, prompting some soldiers behind him to cheer.
Leonard shook his head. “I’m afraid we cannot allow that to happen. Retreat Centurion, or you will suffer Delphine’s light.”
“I am not afraid of your goddess! For we have the blessing of Caelus!” The men behind Faust cheered again, clashing their tower shields and weapons together to make noise.
‘If this keeps up, we’ll be standing at a stalemate for months.’
Faust was sure they could win either way, but the default option of waiting risked even more lives and time. Things that they didn’t have enough of already.
Both the knight and Centurion stared each other down from their respective distances, before finally Faust spoke up once more.
“How about I propose a challenge?” he called up to Leonard, the men around the two quieting down.
The knight raised a gray eyebrow. “What kind of challenge?” he asked.
“A duel! To see who is the better man! If you win, we will leave your fortress alone out of goodwill, and return to our base across the border,” Faust called out. He heard the men behind him curse loudly, most of them murmuring amongst themselves. The Lumen Knight stroked at his beard, intrigued.
“But if I win, we take over your fortress. Peacefully, if you allow it.” Faust knew he was sounding like a fool, almost like those ‘heroes’ those bards sang in their songs. Regardless, he wanted this all to be over and done with.
One of the other knights on the wall, a young man, laughed audibly. “Are you some sort of idiot? We will never trust a damn legionnaire!”
Faust clenched his fist, his eyes focusing on the knight. Before he could say something cutting, however, Leonard spoke up.
“Do you swear it on Caelus?” The knight asked. Faust blinked, unsure if the old knight was actually serious. “Do you swear to uphold your vow to the god? That you do as promised?” He repeated.
Faust could see the other men on the wall react, their voices full of disbelief and anger. Leonard raised a hand to quiet them down, turning to speak with them under inaudible chatter. Faust looked back at his men, who all seemed to have the same reaction as the ones on the wall.
“Faust!” one man hissed. “What has gotten into you? Gambling our victory in a duel?”
Faust held back a chuckle as he tapped his gladius’ hilt.
“My dear friend, are you afraid I will lose? I haven’t lost a fight in all my years in Cyrus’ Legion,” he assured them.
“That is not the point!” The other men seemed to be riled up, their murmurs raising noise. Faust raised his hands to quiet them down.
“Look, you all must have faith in me,” Faust called back. “Settling the matter this way will ensure we do not waste our time sitting on our asses and waiting for those bastards to run out of supplies or, worse, get reinforced by troops from Artois. If I somehow lose… then I will take the total blame for our loss and report myself to the Legate and then to Cyrus himself.”
Faust’s words seemed to have calmed the men down, but not entirely. They were part of the first detachment, sent out to weaken the enemy and assess the possibility of ending the ongoing siege, which had been lasting for a few months. To try and end this siege now was far from what they were initially sent to do.
“Centurion! Have you made your decision?” The Lumen Knight’s voice rang out, catching Faust’s attention.
Faust turned back to the wall, his eyes meeting those of the knights.
“I swear to Caelus, God of Order and Truth, that I will keep to my word!” Faust stated, raising his sword to the heavens. At first, there was an awkward silence as the wind blew silently throughout the landscape.
Then, the God answered his call.
Faust’s eyes watched as his gladius gained a holy glow, silver filigrees suddenly appearing on the blade’s edge. Runic symbols even burned themselves onto the blade’s hilt. The same happened to his bronze armor, runic symbols and engravings appearing subtly on the edges of his armor. Faust blinked, surprised that the god himself had answered. Men on both sides talked amongst each other, murmuring and clamoring as Faust gazed up at Leonard Kord. The knight nodded and turned around, walking out of sight.
After some time, the drawbridge to the fort opened up, the tension in the air so thick that a knife could cut through it. Leonard Kord stepped out, helmet on and sword sheathed at his side as he approached the Centurion, other knights, and soldiers following behind.
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It seemed as hours passed as they walked, despite it being only a minute. Soon enough, Leonard arrived at the Centurion’s location, a good five meters away. Even his men stayed back.
No one from either side dared to move. Leonard opened his helmet’s visor, his blue eyes staring the Centurion down as he unsheathed his broadsword. He raised it to the heavens, not unlike Faust had done.
“I swear to Delphine, Goddess of Light and Healing, that I will accept our duel and its conditions!”
Like with the Centurion, nothing happened for the first couple of seconds. Then, ethereal light surrounded the knight, his body gaining a soft glow as engravings appeared on the edges of his armor, as well as his sword. Soon enough, the knight was like Faust, his own engravings and runic symbols differentiating in color and appearance. Suddenly, a line of ethereal blue flames appeared around the two, circling around the warriors to create a ring.
Faust grinned at the sight, realizing that he was becoming a part of history itself. This was a duel blessed by the Gods themselves, fated to be sung about for centuries to come. Faust looked at his opponent, who seemed to realize the same thing. Kord pulled his visor down, readying his sword with both hands. Faust readied his gladius, staring the knight down as they circled each other, tension building up between the two.
Faust was the first to strike, his blade’s tip aimed at Kord’s jugular. Kord deflected the attack, moving to create a counterattack at Faust’s exposed flank. Faust saw the attack coming, his body shifting at the last moment, the broadsword’s edge scraping against his armor’s side. He backed away, watching how Kord rushed at him with a downward slash. Faust used his gladius to counter the attack, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks.
Faust forced both blades to the side before using his left fist to punch the knight’s helmet, dazing him. Kord stumbled away, trying to regain his composure before Faust came in again, his gladius now moving in for a downward stab. The gladius’ tip found its mark in a gap between Kord’s chest plate and left shoulder guard, piercing flesh and sending specks of blood flying. Kord shouted in pain, his left hand moving to grab at Faust.
The Centurion didn’t allow for the knight to recover, as his left fist moved in for another punch. His gauntlets made a gong-like sound against the knight’s helmet as he uppercut Kord. The knight stumbled back, nearly falling, before he finally regained his footing. Still, Kord didn’t see Faust’s kick, which finally sent him to the ground.
Faust watched as the knight struggled to recover from his dazed state, the Centurion moving in to retrieve his gladius from Kord’s shoulder. The knight was halfway up before Faust forced him onto his knees, his hand forcefully yanking his blade from the other man’s flesh. Kord winced painfully, panting as Faust looked down at him.
‘Pathetic…’
“This is it? This is what the Lumen kingdom offers?” Faust asked as he turned to the other soldiers, extending his arms as if to address the entire fortress. Disappointment reigned in him as he stared at the sullen faces of the Lumen soldiers, their eyes downcast.
“Pathetic! What is the point of even fighting you all if this is what you have to offer?!” He gestured towards Leonard before turning to look at the knight. Faust’s eyes widened, his blood running cold as he saw the incoming fist of Leonard Kord.
Crack!
Something broke as Faust’s vision was instantly white. Faust stumbled, feeling something warm and thick run down his nose and mouth.
‘Blood.’
Faust recognized the familiar taste of iron filling his mouth as his vision returned, only to see Kord’s downward slash.
Faust instantly tried to block, his gladius coming up to deflect the attack. No luck. Kord’s slash was faster, the steel blade cutting across Faust’s breastplate. The attack threw Faust back, nearly making him lose his footing. He tried to realize the situation, his mind racing with solutions and counters.
Before he knew it, however, Kord attacked again, his blade swinging at Faust soon after his first strike. Faust had no time to block this one either.
‘He’s lost his momentum! His attack won’t do much besides maybe scratch and–’
“Power Strike!” The knight shouted. His body visibly tensed up, and the air shimmered around him.
Faust’s eyes widened as the next attack struck true, this time cutting swiftly through his breastplate and chainmail. The impact of the strike alone sent the Centurion sprawling onto the ground. Faust coughed up blood, his chest painfully moving with every breath as he tried to stand. He caught a glance of his chest, the two wounds from the broadsword forming a red X.
‘He used a physical casting…’
Faust remembered what the knight had shouted. That ‘Power Strike’ had amplified Kord’s swing, making it hit much harder and much faster.
“You have been beaten. Accept your loss and save yourself.” Kord took off his helmet, blood staining his beard and lips. The knight turned to the rest of Cyrus’ army. “I have bested your chosen warrior! Your legion will fall like he, as well as Cyrus himself! Run, tell your leaders what you saw! I, the chosen champion of Delphine’s light, have defeated your best!”
As Kord rambled on, Faust was currently trying to get up, blood leaking from his mouth as he slowly picked himself up from the dirt. The Centurion was on his knees now, his hand gripping onto his gladius as he stared at the knight, who had his back turned. Anger and rage filled Faust’s heart, the blood in his mouth suddenly tasting sweet. Faust gritted his teeth, crawling to the knight as he held onto his gladius.
Finally, without warning, Faust sliced the back of Kord’s knees with his ever so sharp blade. Kord yelled in agony as he toppled over, landing next to the Centurion. Faust didn’t hesitate to climb on top of the knight, gladius in hand.
Kord tried to fight back, but Faust used his newfound energy to kick the knight’s sword away from reach. Using his gladius, the Centurion unleashed a flurry of stabs onto Kord, jabbing at his arms and torso mercilessly. Some of his strikes scraped against armor and gambeson, but Faust didn’t care. He wanted to carve him up like a butcher would a hog.
Kord tried to fight back, his hands shoving back against the Centurion’s blade. Faust’s rage was stronger, however, his strength overpowering the knight’s. Using his left hand, Faust pummeled Kord relentlessly. His fist rang out like a mallet against raw meat.
“Leonard!” some knights outside the circle shouted as they tried to enter the ring, to no avail.
“Mercy… please…” Kord coughed out. His face was bloated and bruised, blood coming from every orifice.
Faust didn’t listen, his gladius rising above his head as he stared down at the knight with a burning fury. He plunged the blade down, but not without resistance. Kord had some life in him. The knight tried to hold the blade back, eyes wide with fear as they struggled with the gladius, its tip drawing closer to Kord’s throat.
“Yield!” Kord suddenly shouted in desperation, his voice echoing into the sky. “I yie—”
He was interrupted when Faust slammed the hilt’s end with a fist, forcing the blade to pierce the knight’s jugular.
“Infirmus,” Faust growled.
Kord’s eyes widened as he tried to speak, but only the sounds of gurgling came out. Faust punched the hilt again, yelling as he forced the gladius deeper. The blade pierced through the throat fully, blood spurting from the incision as the crimson liquid poured from the knight’s open lips. Kord stopped struggling, but Faust kept going. He slammed and jolted the sword before the gladius’ tip hit the dirt below, nailing the knight to the ground.
The brown concoction of blood and dirt pooled around the two men, who were still holding onto each other as if they were passionate lovers. Faust stared at the dead Lumen Knight, whose blue eyes were now vacant and soulless. The Centurion had lost his helmet at some point, his sweat and dirt-covered hair sticking to his forehead. There was no more holy magic in place now. The engravings on both the men’s armor and weapons were gone. The ethereal ring was gone as well, but neither side of the field dared a move.
Faust felt a couple of cold droplets of rain hit his head before a few more followed it. Soon, it started raining, the cold water washing off the blood on Faust. He stared at the soldiers in front of him, the ones loyal to the Lumen Kingdom. They all seemed stunned, a mixture of anger and fear on their faces.
Faust attempted to stand, failed, tried again, and soon got his footing. After a couple of heated breaths, he raised a bloodied fist at the men and their fortress.
“Surrender without resistance… or die,” Faust threatened behind gritted teeth. His legion of men came into view, readying their tower shields and weapons.
The enemy chose unwisely, their shouts of anger accompanying their charge as they unsheathed their weapons. Faust’s men met with the soldiers before they could advance to the Centurion, clashing with them as sounds of battle filled the air.
As their battle waged on, Faust reached into his belt’s pouch, pulling out a copper vial with a cork seal. Using his teeth, Faust uncorked the health potion before downing it all in one go. The sickeningly sweet taste of cherries and cinnamon replaced the one of copper and blood in his mouth, his body’s strain soon wearing off. Faust felt rejuvenated again, warmth overcoming him as his wounds healed. He looked towards his men, who were pushing their way onto the drawbridge ahead.
“Take the fortress!” Faust commanded. “Whoever resists gets put to the sword! Burn it all down!” The surrounding men cheered in response, which made the Centurion beam with pride as they pushed past him. Faust looked down at the body of Leonard Kord, whose eyes stared at Faust as if he had betrayed him.
“I never said what I was going to do to the fortress if I won,” Faust simply stated. The Centurion grinned as he joined his men in rushing at the fortress ahead.