Finally, when the last of the hostages was out of sight, the barbarian chief raised his weapon, a heavy battle axe that seemed to pulsate with dark energy, almost threatening, as if it craved the very essence of chaos.

— You die here, boy. — He growled, slowly moving toward the center of the field, a lion approaching its prey. — A life for many, that is the choice you made. Prepare for your end.

Aemon tightened his grip on his sword, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, pulsing in a frantic rhythm, but his determination was unshakeable, fueled by the dread surrounding him.

— If this is my fate, then let it be so. — He replied, striding toward the center, where the final and inevitable confrontation would take place.

An absolute silence fell over the battlefield, filled only with the sound of heavy breaths and the scent of blood, as the two warriors positioned themselves, eyes locked onto each other. The fate of many now hung in the balance, resting on the sharp tips of their blades.

The sorceress, watching with a sadistic smile that cut through the air like a sharp blade, retreated a few steps, her ethereal presence shrouded in mystery and danger, while the flames around them seemed to intensify, reflecting the imminent conflict that could change the course of history.

— Let the duel begin. — She whispered to herself, filled with dark satisfaction.

And so, the mortal duel between Aemon and the barbarian chief was about to commence, with the fate of all present hanging by a thread.

The darkness of the night seemed to deepen even further as the battlefield fell silent, the distant sound of the wind howling through the trees as if nature itself felt the impending clash of death that was about to occur. Aemon, with Lyra's sword in hand, assumed a basic battle stance, his eyes fixed on the barbarian chief who emanated an aura of destruction, feeling the weight of the overwhelming responsibility on his shoulders.

Before he could fully adjust his stance, the barbarian chief attacked with terrifying speed, surprising Aemon, his body moving like lightning in an impending storm. The chief's axe sliced through the air toward the prince, each blow coming with a force that seemed capable of splitting mountains into dust. Aemon instinctively blocked the first attack, but the impact nearly knocked him down, an overwhelming shock reverberating through his entire being.

— You’re quick for a noble — the barbarian mocked, his deep voice echoing like distant thunder. — But you have no idea what you’re facing. Each of my strikes could be your end.

Aemon felt sweat rolling down his forehead, mingling with the blood that already stained his face from previous battles, a painful reminder of his sacrifice. He had never faced an enemy like this. Sir Caldor, with all his skill and strength, had never moved with such ferocity. Each attack from the barbarian felt more like a death sentence than a mere strike. But Aemon did not retreat. He defended, spun, and counterattacked, their swords clashing in the air with a sound echoing like a lament, trying to keep distance and find an opening.

— I... am not... afraid of you! — Aemon shouted through clenched teeth, his voice trembling under the crushing weight of each blow, while adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire.

The barbarian let out a laugh, a deep and sinister sound that echoed across the battlefield, filling the air with a touch of malevolence.

— You should be, boy! — He snarled, launching another brutal attack that Aemon barely managed to evade in time. — Bravery without strength is merely madness. I will end you, and then, all your men!

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With each strike, the sound of metal clashing against metal resonated like the tolling of a funeral bell, prefiguring death. The screams of wounded soldiers and the murmurs of the hostages, realizing Aemon was fighting for them, blended with the thud of the axe hitting Aemon's armor, each sound a portent. The prince felt each impact reverberate through his bones, the sound of flesh being sliced and metal being crushed filling the air with a macabre melody that echoed in his ears.

— Your end is near, prince! — roared the barbarian, his voice reverberating with primitive savagery. — Tonight, you will die, and your kingdom will fall! I will savor your death!

Aemon tightened his grip on the swords, feeling the blood trickling from his wounds, each drop a reminder of what was at stake. He knew he was being pressured, that the fight was becoming more and more lopsided. But inside him, there was a flame that refused to be extinguished, a drive burning in his soul. It wasn’t just his life that was at stake; it was the lives of all he had sworn to protect, and that gave him strength.

— No... — Aemon murmured, his voice transforming into a defiant cry that echoed across the barren field. — I... will... not... yield!

He charged at the barbarian, his swords slicing through the air with renewed determination, each movement a promise to fight until the end. The barbarian was forced to retreat, taken aback by the prince's renewed ferocity, the force of his strike now like a storm unleashed. The duel intensified, both combatants risking everything with each movement, every strike they exchanged, each breath as if it were the last.

— You are a fool, boy! — the barbarian shouted, now with a mix of anger and respect in his voice, the admiration clinging to his words like blood. — Your death will be remembered as an example of futility!

— If this is how we die, then let it be with honor! — Aemon responded, his eyes shining with fierce intensity, a flame of hope amidst the darkness. — I fight for more than just my life. I fight for the future of my people!

The sorceress, observing the scene, smiled with dark pleasure, her gaze penetrating like a serpent lying in wait. She delighted in the sight of two warriors immersed in chaos, blood, and brutality, as if each drop symbolized her own delight. The surrounding barbarians, recognizing the balance of the battle, began to beat their weapons on the ground in support of their chief, the rhythmic sound creating a macabre cadence that resonated like a war drum, calling for blood and vengeance.

— Blood for blood! — the barbarians shouted, their voices uniting in a tribal chant that made the very ground tremble with the promise of a brutal sacrifice.

Aemon felt the pressure mounting, an overwhelming weight that threatened to make him falter, but he knew that time was running out, and more importantly, he knew he could not simply give up. Every muscle in his body ached, his lungs burned as if ablaze, but he could not stop. The determination solidified in his spirit.

— Come on, barbarian! — Aemon shouted, raising Lyra's sword in a final challenge, a roar that rose above the clamor of battle. — Come and face your destiny!

The barbarian roared in response, attacking Aemon with renewed fury, a storm of violence that shook the earth beneath their feet. The weapons collided with a force that made the air vibrate, the sounds of bones breaking and flesh being torn filling the field, the echo of strikes resounding like distant thunder, each impact a prelude to the end. Both men were covered in blood, the ground beneath them soaked in red, a visceral display of survival and desperation.

The soldiers watched in silence, their hearts heavy with the tension of the battle, each beat a reminder of what was at stake. They knew that the fate of everyone there depended on that moment, on that mortal confrontation between two men willing to give everything to prevail.

The sorceress watched, her eyes gleaming with cruel pleasure, a torturous satisfaction at the imminent suffering. She knew that, regardless of the outcome, it would be a sight she would savor for a long time, a testament to pain and defeat.

— May this duel be remembered — she murmured to herself, as the final confrontation between Aemon and the barbarian chief approached its inevitable climax, every strike echoing like a prelude to death.

And so, with the darkness around them intensifying and the battlefield steeped in shadows, Aemon faced his fate, determined to fight to his last breath, a prince against a monster, battling not just for his life, but for all those who believed in him, the flame of hope burning brightly in his heart.