Grunts and groans. They can barely be heard over the din all around them. Every man seems to have his hands full, except these ones. Face on the dirt, all he can breathe is stale, dusty air. The smell of blood and sweat is thick in the air. He starts to feel delirious. His vision is clouding, all he can hear are distant, muffled sounds. Yet all that's on his mind is the task that still awaits him.
There's absolutely nothing intimidating about his nemesis. And yet the fate of two cities lies in his hands. He's a polite, well-mannered young man. However, it's not his demeanor that is scary; it's his skills.
There they are, two men in the midst of the chaos. One will rise, the other will fall. they've been at it for minutes, but it feels more like hours. Both men are incredibly skilled, yet this duel is more than that.
The situation seems grim. One is standing, the other is stooped, trying to clear his lungs of the blood caused by a series of blows to his chest. He's almost out of breath. The young man brandishes his sword. It's quite a masterpiece. Only three of its kind. The other is in the hands of his adversary. The third is in a museum. The man on the ground is in an unfortunate position. His is a broken sword...