─────────────???─────────────

  As Eran hit the ground, the impact rippled through his already weary body. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he quickly pushed himself up, adrenaline surging through his veins. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue as he assessed his opponent—Paul—towering above him with a confident smirk.

  Paul, a seasoned knight with the scars of countless battles etched into his face, wasted no time exploiting Eran’s brief moment of vulnerability. His sword cut through the air, aiming precisely at the weakest point in Eran’s defense. The lone wolf struggled to regain his footing, deflecting each blow with hurried, unsteady parries.

  The song of clashing swords rang through the air—metal met metal with fierce intensity. Eran’s once fluid movements now looked tense and erratic as he fought to keep up with Paul’s relentless assault. With every strike, Eran felt the strain in his muscles, the weight of exhaustion piling on his shoulders.

  Paul's attacks were executed with deliberate precision. He transitioned seamlessly between offensive strikes and defensive blocks, dismantling Eran’s every move. Eran’s agile fighting style, which had once seemed advantageous, now appeared futile—powerless against Paul’s overwhelming might.

  “Damn it.”

  Frustration mounted inside Eran, his mind racing to find a strategy that could turn the tide in his favor. He tried to seize every opening, feinting and lunging with deceptive speed. Yet Paul easily deflected every attempt.

  Eran’s face tensed, his eyes locked onto Paul’s every motion, searching desperately for the smallest weakness. But Paul’s defenses seemed impenetrable—his swordplay serving as both blade and shield in perfect unison.

  As time dragged on, Eran’s movements grew slower and more erratic. Superficial cuts had deepened into gashes, blood seeping out and draining what little strength he had left.

  The weight of the battle bore down on him. His energy reserves were nearly depleted.

  In a final, desperate bid to reclaim control, Eran launched a bold attack, his body moving purely on instinct.

  Paul was ready for it.

  Eran aimed straight for the heart, throwing himself forward with both daggers in hand. As the twin blades closed in, the old knight deflected them with a single, effortless slash—and followed up with a powerful kick to Eran’s abdomen.

  Eran collapsed to the ground, not far from where Paul stood.

  Failure—that was all Eran could feel in that moment. The daggers he had gripped so tightly slipped from his hands. His heart sank as he realized his weapons were now out of reach.

  Helpless and exposed, Eran braced himself for death. Paul’s final blow was inevitable.

  But just as the strike was about to land, someone intercepted it with a swift parry. The clash of steel filled the air as the newcomer made his presence known.

  Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Eran rolled aside, putting distance between himself and Paul. He recognized the figure instantly.

  “You’re Theo!” Eran exclaimed.

  “Leave it to me from here. Rest—you look like hell,” Theo replied without turning, his eyes locked on the man before him.

  “Hmm... interesting,” Paul murmured, withdrawing his sword and taking a single step back.

  “It’s an honor to face you in person, the esteemed former Imperial Shadow Knight, Sir Paulus de Leaf,” Theo said, bowing respectfully.

  “I’m quite surprised you know who I am. Even those within the Empire might not recognize me.”

  "Because we come from the same lineage of swordsmanship," said Theo before launching himself from his stance.

  Their duel began, both fighters striking at once with mirrored attacks. Their swords danced gracefully through the air.

  Theo’s rapier seemed to become an extension of his body, moving fluidly without effort as he unleashed a flurry of swift, precise strikes. Each attack was deliberate, aimed with precision at Paul’s defenses.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The sound of steel meeting steel heightened the intensity of their duel.

  Despite his age, Paul matched Theo’s agile movements. He parried and countered each of Theo’s strikes with formidable pressure.

  Now it was Paul who pressed the assault, striking relentlessly. Theo had to stay fully focused—any lapse could see him cleaved in two. He chose to retreat a few steps to break the savage momentum of the onslaught.

  "As the rumors suggest, even after just a few exchanges, I can already see your tremendous talent. It’s truly an honor to face the future of the Empire—Theo de Light, leader of the Band of the Sun."

  Eran was spellbound by the sight. Their swordsmanship was far beyond anything he had ever seen.

  "It is an honor to receive such praise from you, the esteemed Sir Paul," Theo replied respectfully.

  "Why don’t you both attack me at once? It would make this far more entertaining," Paul said, pointing at Eran. Theo responded with a shake of his head.

  "I think I’m more than enough. From now on, I’ll be serious," Theo said, briefly glancing at Eran.

  Eran leaned against the fortress wall, visibly drained of energy. He didn’t care what they were talking about—he just couldn’t wait to see them fight.

  "Prepare yourself..." Theo warned.

  "You’re quite the intriguing young prince."

  Both surged forward, their swords meeting in a powerful clash. This time, there were no defenses—only pure speed and aggression. Their focus remained razor-sharp; even a split-second lapse would spell defeat.

  Paul could tell they were evenly matched. But there was something different—something subtle. With every clash of their blades, Theo’s strikes grew faster, stronger. He exploited every gap in Paul’s attacks, searching for weaknesses and using every slight opening to force Paul back.

  Paul increased the force behind his unrelenting attacks, but Theo began softening his own responses, following the flow of Paul’s sword rather than resisting it. His movements grew more difficult, his reactions slightly delayed.

  Until the moment Theo sensed a major opening.

  Paul swung his blade powerfully toward Theo’s right side, aiming for his waist. The young man waited for the perfect moment. And then, in the fraction of a second as the blade neared, Theo ducked his body with agility, letting the attack miss its mark. As Paul’s sword veered off target, Theo thrust his rapier into Paul’s wrist, disrupting his grip. The sword was forced upward—Paul tried to hold on—but in that moment, Theo struck again, a quick jab toward the shoulder.

  Paul felt a jolt, like an electric shock. Reflexively, his fingers released the sword, which flew into the air and tumbled over the edge of the fortress. Paul stumbled too, unable to control his footing.

  Theo had successfully disarmed Paul—and brought him to the ground.

  Paul’s breathing was heavy, his face a mix of frustration and admiration. Even in defeat, his spirit remained fierce. He prepared to rise again.

  But at that very moment, Theo recognized the threat still lingering. He swiftly pointed his rapier at Paul’s neck, halting him mid-motion.

  Seeing the cold steel at his throat, Paul abandoned his attempt to rise—and his will to continue the fight.

  Theo's eyes locked onto Paul’s—an unmistakable sign of the dominant presence he held in that moment.

  Paul, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, struggled to suppress his pride. He glanced briefly at the tip of Theo’s rapier, then looked back into his eyes. A flicker of resistance passed across Paul’s face.

  Theo’s voice pierced the tense silence—firm, yet touched with a calm resolve.

  “Surrender, Sir Paul. Lower your hands, and let’s end this bloodshed.”

  A storm of emotion played across Paul’s face—pride, frustration. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched his fists, weighing his options.

  The weight of the decision pressed heavily upon him, its consequences circling his heart.

  Time stretched thin as the true battle raged within Paul’s mind.

  The clash of swords and cries of warriors in the distance formed a dissonant symphony in the background, their rhythm disrupted by the burden of this one fateful choice. The battlefield held its breath, waiting for the decision that would shape their fate.

  At last, after a long inner struggle, Paul’s shoulders sank slightly, and weariness overtook his expression. His gaze dropped from Theo’s piercing eyes, and his fists relaxed—his pride subdued by the realization of how futile it would be to keep fighting.

  “Very well,” Paul said at last, after a long pause.

  In that moment, a heavy breath was released—a blend of relief, exhaustion, and respect for the path chosen. Theo lowered his rapier and slid it back into its sheath.

  “You really are your father’s son,” Paul said.

  Theo smiled and extended his hand.

  Then, a trumpet blared across the city and beyond.

  It silenced the chaos around them in an instant—the clashing swords, the cries of warriors—all halted at once.

  Theo walked over to Eran and held out his hand. Eran’s tired eyes met Theo’s amethyst gaze, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a towering black wall—rising beyond the limits of human comprehension.

  Until a gentle pat on the shoulder snapped him back to reality.

  “We did it, Eran,” Theo said with a wide smile.

  ─────────────???─────────────