Nearly thirty seconds passed without further wounds. Eric was forced back onto the defensive, ducking and jumping around Bren to avoid the tip of the longer weapon. More than a few times, he heard the whistle of the long blade passing within centimeters of his body. He cut back, again and again, but Bren was more cautious now, focusing on not giving Eric another opening. He bided his time, moving carefully, swatting away the light cuts with his sword and shield.

Eric withdrew after a small barrage of failed attacks, frowning in concentration. Bren’s defense was good, especially now that he’d stopped rushing in. If Eric wanted to win this fight quickly, simple combat clearly wasn’t the best choice. He had to use his skills, not to mention his creativity, to stand a chance. He could simply keep hammering away at Bren’s guard, hoping to eventually break through. But he suspected that course would just tire him to the point that his opponent could catch him lacking and deal a telling blow.

“Fine,” he muttered to himself. He flipped the blade in his left hand and caught it by the tip of the blade, then threw it. It whistled across the space towards Bren, with no grace or accuracy to it. But Bren had no way of knowing his ineptitude in throwing knives and had to treat the attack seriously. His shield came up to cover his face, and, by some sheer luck, the knife hit the shield with a deep thock and stuck, buried in the wooden surface by an inch or two.

Eric jumped forward the instant he threw the knife, closing the gap in two long strides. Then he felt the extra speed and power of his Quickstep skill course throughout his body, just in time for him to swing a heavy downward blow. The long blade whistled down with brutal force, slamming into Bren’s shield with enough power to drive it down. Eric’s sword created the tiniest of cuts, not deep enough to penetrate the gap in Bren’s armor plates. But the attack panicked Bren, and he was forced to take a step back.

Eric continued his momentum, pulling the blade back to thrust at Bren’s exposed shoulder. The shield came back up just in time to block, and Eric kicked out high with his right foot. It caught the shield high, staggering Bren back. There, just for a moment, he saw the guard broken, and seized his chance to strike. Wrenching his smaller blade from the face of the shield, he swung an arcing blow that slipped past it and jabbed into the unprotected inside of Bren’s shield arm. The knife struck true, sinking in nearly four inches.

Bren roared in pain. Rather than try to shove Eric away and give him space to wield his sword, he drew back the clenched fist holding his sword, and slammed it into Eric’s face. Eric staggered back, his vision blinded by reflex tears, and felt a red-hot flash of pain shoot through his body, originating from his left thigh. Judging by the immediate feeling of liquid running down his leg, it wasn’t a superficial wound.

[Combat Information]

Level: 12 (2,086/2,455 XP to next level)

Hit Points: 5/7 (3 Base, 1 Level, 2 Constitution)

Attack (0): 38 (21 Strength, 7 Half Dexterity)

Defense (0): 37 (20 Constitution, 7 Half Dexterity)

Buff/Debuff: 0 (0 Base, 0 Magic/5, 0 Intelligence/5)

So Bren did two damage per hit, he thought to himself. There was no way he had managed to pull off a sneak attack of any kind. Perhaps his strength was high enough that he dealt extra damage with his basic attacks? Another flash of pain as a cut was opened just over his eye, Bren’s sword opening a wide cut on his forehead. Cursing, he jumped back to give himself space to recover.

Bren, predictably, advanced at once, refusing to give him any quarter. Eric parried the next two attacks with difficulty, only able to register loosely-defined blurs in his vision. Then he blinked, and his eyes were clear. Bren was swinging wide for another stroke, which he ducked back. His arms were already feeling the shock of those last two strokes, and he mentally kicked himself for trying to block them. He simply didn’t have the strength to pull that off too many times.

When your opponent has the advantage in strength, look for weaknesses in his movement to exploit. The sentence, told to him a week ago by Ehran during one of their sparring sessions, came back to him now. The Master might not have wanted to tell him his mistakes, but he couldn’t get away with teaching without offering advice from time to time. He accomplished the fact with vague, hard-to-understand quips about movement and momentum. But now, in the heat of the moment, the meaning of the lesson sank in.

Bren attacked again, a long thrust clearly intended to skewer Eric through and finish the fight then. Having recovered his senses, Eric leaned to the right with minimal effort. Bren sensed this and twisted his wrist, redirecting the strike. But Eric had already planned and let his retaliation go. The lighter blade in his left hand sliced Bren’s fist as it connected, then got between his palm and the sword in his hand. With a quick jerk, Eric yanked the blade free from his opponent.

The Milagre side of the audience let out a loud cheer as Eric disarmed his enemy with such apparent ease. Strangely, the Attosian followers were silent as dead people. Eric gave the noises, and lack thereof, no attention. He kicked Bren back, further away from his sword, and went into a fast barrage of attacks. Bren gave ground grudgingly, forced completely onto the defensive, unable to counter-attack without a weapon. Growling, he reached down to snatch the short knife he carried in his belt, but Eric got through with a quick thrust, slicing his ribs.

Bren was on the ropes now, but he was far from finished. Seeming to realize that the shield he held was more than just a defensive tool, he rammed the wooden surface into Eric’s chest, smacking him back and knocking the air out of his lungs. Eric staggered away, coughing and retching as his lungs desperately refilled. Bren had his dagger drawn now and was advancing carefully. Eric shook his head, then attacked again.

To everyone’s surprise, after Bren deflected Eric’s sword, he released his grip on the shield and threw it at his opponent. Caught off-guard, Eric swerved to the side at the last second, avoiding the heavy flying object. Then Bren was on top of him, seizing the wrist holding his long blade. His grip was like iron, and Eric couldn’t shake him off no matter how hard he tried. Then the bigger man shoved forward, tripping Eric and sending both tumbling to the ground.

A cry of concern came from the mouths of the Milagreans as they saw their representative fall. But Eric, like Bren, was far from out of the fight. Unable to use his right arm effectively, he chose to cut with his left instead. Bren parried the blow with his own knife, but barely. Fighting desperately to free himself, Eric brought his knee up in a savage jerk. There was no armor to protect Bren from this attack, and Eric saw his eyes cross with the pain. The grip on his wrist loosened, and quick as a flash, he pulled his arm free.

In a whirl of movement, Eric pushed up from the ground and flipped Bren over onto his back. He blocked Bren’s knife with his own and flicked the weapon out of his hand. Now Bren was truly unarmed, and before he could attempt to struggle again, Eric slammed the hilt of his long sword into his opponent’s head, slamming it against the cobbles and stunning him. By the time Bren’s vision cleared, the blade of Eric’s knife was at his throat, preventing him from moving.

The Milagreans cheered louder than ever as they saw that Eric had won, raising their fists into the air in celebration. A few even jumped up and down on the spot, losing their normal sense of etiquette with the excitement of seeing a good fight. One or two tried to move forward to slap Eric on the back in congratulations, but members of the Queen’s Guard quickly intercepted them, pushing them back.

Eric held his position, making direct eye contact with Bren. He wanted to make sure that his opponent understood and accepted his loss before lifting his knife, to avoid nasty surprise attacks. But the light of defeat was unmistakable, so he withdrew the weapon and pushed himself shakily to his feet. He registered the cheers of the crowd for the first time now and grinned sheepishly as he wiped his blades clean on breeches before sheathing them.. The blood didn’t show very well against the dark fabric, he noticed with some relief.

More shouts, from behind the Attosian followers, quieted the crowd and drew all eyes over. Expecting one of the Attosians to attack, Eric quickly reached for the hilt of his weapons again. But they were pushed aside by four members of the Queen’s Guard, and Eric relaxed as he recognized the face of the Sergeant he’d been following all day. The man took one glance at Bren, lying still on the ground, and Eric, standing over him. His face purpled.

“What are you doing?” He bellowed at Eric. “I told you to do nothing without my order, and now you’re attacking an innocent priest? Just who do you think you are, boy?”

Enri, who the sergeant clearly hadn’t noticed, stepped forward now, a stern frown showing on his face. “Mind your tongue, Sergeant!”

The sergeant glanced around angrily, then his face paled as he saw who had shouted at him. He quickly sprang to attention, one fist clasped against his chest in salute. “Captain! I’m sorry, sir. I know it’s my responsibility, but I never imagined this boy would go rogue in such a drastic way!”

“Rogue?” Enri repeated the word, his eyes darkening. For just a moment, Eric felt sorry for the man. “This ‘boy’, as you call him, is an honored member of Issho-Ni! And he is the victor of this fair and honorable duel. I will not repeat myself. Hold your tongue!”

Wisely, the sergeant did as he was told. He shut his jaw firmly and held his position. He cast a curious glance at Eric, most of the anger fading from his face, clearly lost. Shame, Eric thought. If he’d taken just a moment to investigate before starting to yell, he could have avoided the unpleasant tongue-lashing from his superior officer. He staggered over to the members of the Queen’s Guard, dropping to the ground with a sigh. The wound in his leg was still bleeding profusely, but one of the men was already moving forward, offering him a strip of fabric.

Eric lost track of events for a few minutes as he attended to his wounds, helped by the member of the Queen’s Guard. Now that the adrenaline was leaving his body, the shock of the wounds was fading as well, giving the pain complete dominance. He gritted his teeth as he tightly wrapped a bandage around his thigh, staunching the flow of blood. A much lighter bandage went around his shoulder and head, as those were relatively shallow wounds. As a final attempt to speed the healing along, he drained one of his potions quickly.

Ignoring his helper’s insistence that he stay on the ground, he pushed himself to his feet and limped over to where Enri was standing, watching the followers of Attos depart in angry silence. They hadn’t even bothered to pick Bren up, leaving him behind with his wounds unattended. Eric was annoyed by that. Hadn’t they put so much trust in their representative? Why were they now content to just abandon him?

“Get up, young man,” Enri said, offering Bren his hand and pulling him to his feet. “Let’s get you to an infirmary and have a healer take care of you. Moran! Take him to Issho-Ni!”

A blue-robed figure broke free from the crowd at Enri’s call, moving forward to sling Bren’s arm over his shoulder and start to lead him away. Eric noticed the sigil of Issho-Ni on his clothing. One well-known tenet of Issho-Ni was that, after a fair duel, every combatant was to be properly healed, regardless of the disagreements that occurred before. As long as they fought honestly, they were afforded respect.

“You should go with them, Eric,” Enri said, giving him a silent nod of approval. “Get someone to fully heal you, and wait for Ehran to see you.”