Ker-chiiiiing!

A harsh, grating sound filled his ears. Half a second later, his hands felt the reverberating shock. He knew. Metal met metal; his attack had failed.

It still... wasn’t enough.

Despair gripped him. The world went dark. He waited for the end. He waited, and waited...

But the end didn’t come.

The world came back into focus. Their swords were still clashed, and he... was winning? Suddenly, he noticed that they were at the edge of the arena, and Sion was a step away from exiting the ring.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t going to hold back?” said Abel with an angry grimace.

Sion responded with a pained smile.

“I apologize for not living up to your expectations, but circumstances,” he said through gritted teeth, “seem to be forcing my hand.”

“Are you mocking...”

Abel had taken the remark as an affront, but he reconsidered when he saw a drop of sweat roll down the side of Sion’s face.

“Or maybe not. Well, whatever the case...” Abel took a step back and reverted to his overhead stance. “It doesn’t matter to me. My repertoire is rather limited, after all.”

He swung again.

“Ugh!”

Sion narrowly dodged the strike; the blade missed him by a hair. He wasn’t trying to show off. The swing was simply so fast that a narrow dodge was all he could manage.

Damn, I certainly wasn’t expecting this...

He’d never discounted Abel’s abilities — he was fully aware of the dangers of underestimating an opponent. Nevertheless, Abel’s swing was ferocious, coming at him with a speed and power that vastly exceeded his expectations. He barely managed to wedge his own sword between the oncoming blade and his own face. There was no time to parry, resulting in his arms bearing the full force of the brutal impact.

I can barely feel my arms. The last time they went this numb was when I trained with Father.

This one strike had left him in a terribly disadvantageous position. He could barely keep his sword in his hands, never mind trying to counterattack. However...

It bears repeating that Sion Sol Sunkland was a true genius. One strike was all he needed to grasp the range of Abel’s swing.

“Haa!”

Abel’s second swing came. This time, he evaded it purely through footwork.

Still, it’s a good thing I only have to deal with the overhead swing. Otherwise...

It quickly dawned on Sion that he could dodge the overhead swing solely because it was the only thing he needed to watch for. If Abel mixed any other motions into his repertoire... They didn’t need to have the same force. So long as they provided a tiny bit of variety and kept opponents on their toes, they’d create openings for his match-ending power stroke.

The thought sent a shiver through Sion. He saw the potential within Abel, and the danger.

Anyway, I have to wait for my arms to recover. I don’t know how many more seconds it’s going to take, but...

A question occurred to him, and he decided to ask it.

“Tell me something, Prince Abel... What is it that makes you so strong? Is it, perhaps... Princess Mia?”

“That’s correct. It’s her. She believes in me. She wishes for my victory. Therefore... I cannot afford to lose.”

“I thought so...” Sion let out a quiet sigh. “I wish I were in your shoes.” Then his eyes narrowed and he held up his sword. “However, I cannot afford to lose either.”

They both remained motionless. He felt the numbness in his arms receding. A little longer, and he’d be ready. As he — and the whole arena — waited with bated breath, a drop of rain landed on the point of his blade.