A Duel between Master and Student

“Tell me, Frederick, why do you want to be a knight?” the boy was asked by his master as they wielded wooden swords. He was bruised all over, barely standing. From the moment he challenged a man four times his size, it was clear he could never hope to win, but that never stopped him.

“It feels great to wield a sword!” he declared, pointing his wooden blunt blade against the man before him.

At the time, that was the only reason he needed. After all, his reason couldn’t have been wrong. But even as young as he was then, he couldn’t help but notice the dissatisfied look from his master. Was there something he was missing? He didn’t know. He never got an answer. But that was okay, he was then accepted to be a knight. That was all that mattered.

*******

The next morning, when the knights were supposed to leave and head to their respective stations, they were given the opportunity to watch the mock duel between Frederick and Sir Logan. The sun was barely up with the soil still damp from the slight drizzle of rain last night.

“Frederick.”

“Ah, Tristan, did you get to have dinner with Sylvia last night?” Frederick replied. He was already wielding his wooden sword, ready to step out into the ring.

Tristan was slightly bothered by how nonchalant Frederick’s attitude was, but he just shook his head.

“Are you sure about this?” he said.

“Yeah…”

“I don’t suppose Sir Logan will hold back…”

“That won’t be a problem, neither will I.”

With eyes filled with determination, Frederick stepped out into the ring, and there Sir Logan stood, waiting.

The soil was loose, nowhere near ideal for a duel between pristine royal knights, but that didn’t matter. This was his first, last, and only chance to challenge Sir Logan. If he failed, by tomorrow, he’d wake up already on his way to the station far from the mission.

The crowd of knights erupted with a roar. This was a rare opportunity that no knight, regardless of standing, would dare to miss.

The rules were simple, the duel would have both knights fight in an open ring with wooden swords. It was but a pure test of skill and physical prowess, without any special abilities or blessings or artifacts. And whoever disarms or lands a solid strike against their opponent first would be the winner.

“Ready!?” the announcer called.

“I thank you for this opportunity, Sir Logan,” Frederick bowed, and continued with the formalities. “I am Sir Frederick of the Royal Knights’ Order. In the name of the King and the Sun God Agni, I swear to give it my all!”

“Begin!”

With that battle cry, Frederick charged toward Sir Logan and swung his sword at rapid pace.

The strike was fast enough that no other knight would have been able to dodge, and Sir Logan was no exception. Rather, he lifted his sword just enough to meet Frederick’s then tilted its angle slightly and completely diverted the incoming sword’s trajectory.

Frederick lost balance, about to fall face first onto the wet and muddy ground. Even though Sir Logan’s body was slower, his eyes were that of a hawk. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this. He swung down with full force, ready to end the match as soon as it started. But Frederick wasn’t going to let that happen. Slamming his foot onto the ground to regain balance, he pivoted, using his momentum to drive his wooden blade upward, meeting Sir Logan’s blunt blade. Despite both swords being made up of wood, the shockwave of their clash was felt by the onlookers.

“Ngh–!” Frederick grunted.

He already knew as much, but the strength of Sir Logan, even without his sword, was not one to be trifled with. Instead of continuing to face it head on, which would only spell his defeat, Frederick jumped backward, putting distance between them.

This position was also disadvantageous as Sir Logan’s reach was farther than his own, but he would’ve been crushed had he stayed.

The exchange that lasted no longer than three seconds set the crowd on fire. More. They wanted to see more. And as if a show performed just for them, Frederick charged again. He threw a barrage of attacks in rapid succession, each strike aiming to bring Sir Logan down quickly.

But the Master of the Knights' Order could not be brought down, effortlessly parrying all the attacks.

“Predictable. I can see all of your strikes before you make them!” he shouted, lecturing Frederick as though they were back on the training grounds.

Frederick would dismount and immediately charge right back in from the same direction. Running toward Sir Logan while throwing bold sweeping strikes.

While initially cheering, the onlookers' faces quickly turned into a look of awe. Not toward Frederick’s determination or his sword strikes polished through years and years of training, but at how something so properly formed can be overcome as though it were nothing.

“Wow…” one of the onlookers gasped in awe. “There really is no beating Master. Even Frederick can’t land a single strike.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Tristan interjected with his eyes firmly locked into every move. “Look at Master’s feet.”

“His feet?”

And almost immediately, their expressions changed. Despite not cracking a single sweat, ever so slightly, Sir Logan took a small step back.

“Between the two of them,” Tristan continued. “Master’s probably feeling more pressure.”

Sir Logan wasn’t the type to duke out a long drawn out battle. For as long as he’s lived, while tenacity was important, displaying resilience in a battlefield where he could be whittled away slowly by his enemies would surely lead to defeat. As such, he preferred to end fights as fast as possible. This was reflected in his battle stance. It was efficient and effective without an ounce of beauty or grace.

But it was this contradiction that Tristan could not overlook, and the reason he was able to spot the anomaly before anyone else. Why hasn’t he ended the fight sooner? He couldn’t. Despite “seeing” Frederick’s attacks before he could make them, that did nothing when his attacks were so quick and powerful, it would take everything the Red Knight could to maintain parrying.

Frederick roared and threw another barrage of strikes, never slowing down.

His style of fighting had always been straightforward. He attacked the enemy right where they could see him, almost inviting them to block or dodge, but even then, he would overcome the ‘equal footing.’ Having someone play so fairly by the rules is one of the reasons he gained the title of “The Finest Knight.”

“Not that that kind of fighting style matters in this day and age. When was the last time we went to war with another kingdom?” Tristan scoffed.

The only enemies they had now were the demons, and the outlaw bandits who would never even think of fighting head on. The man’s swordplay was outdated, leaving him unable to use his style to its fullest. But here, in the face of someone as incredible as Sir Logan, everyone could see in full view the kind of man Sir Frederick of the Royal Knights’ Order was, just by his way of wielding the sword.

“Isn’t… that amazing!?” someone finally shouted. “Go, Frederick!!”

Slowly, the awe generated by Sir Logan’s overwhelming pressure shifted into roaring support for the unrelenting knight. .

“Go, Frederick!!” another one shouted. And another. Then another. One after another until the chant grew to almost a unanimous uproar. All the while the stalemate in the ring slowly started coming apart.

“Looks like you’ve rallied up quite a following,” Sir Logan smiled proudly, stomping his heavy foot on the muddy ground, flinging mud everywhere.

Frederick blocked it with his arm to save his vision, but that split second decision gave his opponent just enough time to launch his next attack–A powerful straight punch directed at The Knight’s solar plexus.

Frederick was able to block it, but even just one strike that powerful from a man of his size sent him tumbling backwards, landing on his back, caking his clothes in mud. He quickly got on one knee, but before he could stand the sword that felt like a hammer came crashing down from the heavens, forcing him to roll and dodge to his left.

Sir Logan had gone on the offensive.

Despite his large frame, his strikes were all precise. If any one of his attacks hit, it would incapacitate Frederick instantly. At the same time, all of his earlier proud energy was gone, as if he chose to respect the warrior in front of him by reverting back into the Red Knight and focused solely on this duel.

And within the next five seconds, the victor would be decided.