The duel that started it all

Everything was lost in a buzz of senseless noise. Bets made between students, screams of support or insults from classmates, few of the responsible ones trying to put an end to the fight before it got out of hand. He ignored all of them, there was only him and his opponent.

A trumpet blast signaled the beginning of the fight. Harold slammed his visor shut and drew his blunt training sword, no blood will be drawn here today. His opponent appeared to be regretting his decisions now that he was actually in the ring, most did after challenging Harold to a fight.

Seeing that his opponent was too nervous to go on the attack, Harold pressed forward instead. The recent rain had turned the training grounds into a field of mud, but Harold marched without hesitation, steps steady despite the uneven footing—years of training made sure of that.

He advanced quickly, sludges of earth flying in every direction with each of his heavy steps. He was much taller than his opponent, and had a greater reach as a result, Harold attacked first. A slash from the right, something to test the mettle of his opponent without overcommitting.

The shorter knight was no slouch with a sword, he easily parried the half-hearted attack, though he never got the chance to counter.

A slash from above, a slash from right, a feint from below, a slash to the head. Four well practiced chain of moves executed to perfection, most fights would’ve ended right then and there. His opponent appeared to have expected it, he managed to block the first two attacks and leaned backwards at the very last moment to dodge the last, what he didn’t appear to have expected was the punch that followed.

A single mighty hit from a hand covered in steel gauntlets and his opponent was sprawled out on the ground, clutching his ringing head. A kick from Harold sent his face into the mud, the shorter knight raised his hands in surrender before taking off his helmet to empty his stomach.

That was it? All that big talk from before and he gave up after two measly hits to the face. He ignored the cheers and boos ringing out from the audience, instead of ending the fight he turned his sword around to grip it by the edge. He drove the pommel into his defeated opponent’s elbow, a crack rang out, the poor boy’s arms bending in an unnatural way.

A blood curdling scream rang out. All of the sudden it was almost dead quiet, only a single person's cries of pain remained. A lone thought entered Harold’s head.