The training grounds held their breath as Jacob walked forward, sweat beading on his brow. Jack stood across from him, rolling his shoulders, his expression calm and unreadable.
Ezra raised his voice. "This will be a real duel. Real swords. No blunted edges."
Jacob's stomach dropped. "Wait—real swords?"
Kaisel tilted his head, his ruby-red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Did you expect otherwise?"
Jacob swallowed hard. He thought this was just a test, a spar. But no—this was a true fight. He had always trained with dull, non-lethal swords, never once wielding a blade meant to kill. Now, the weight of the steel in his grip felt unfamiliar, heavier, as if it carried the very essence of battle. He glanced at Jack's sword, the razor-sharp edge catching the morning light like a sliver of impending doom. One mistake could mean serious injury—or worse.
But turning back now wasn't an option.
Ezra continued, "The rules are simple. Jacob, you need to land one clean hit. Jack, you have three chances. If you strike Jacob three times, he loses."
Jack nodded, his grip steady. "Understood."
Jacob took a deep breath and adjusted his stance. His legs felt stiff, his arms tense. He had fought before—but never like this.
Ezra dropped his hand. "Begin!"
Jack moved first.
A flash of steel.
Jacob barely managed to raise his sword in time, deflecting the blow. The impact sent a shock up his arms. Before he could recover, Jack pivoted and slashed toward his side.
Jacob jumped back, but—
Pain.
A shallow cut along his left arm.
"First hit!" Ezra called.
The watching knights murmured, some shaking their heads. Jack had struck him in seconds.
Jacob gritted his teeth. Focus.
Jack didn't let up. He pressed forward with relentless speed, his strikes precise, controlled. Jacob struggled to keep up, his feet stumbling slightly in the dirt.
Another sharp movement—Jack feinted left, then cut right.
Jacob moved too slow.
A burning sensation flared across his ribs.
"Second hit!" Ezra announced.
Jacob staggered back, panting. One more hit, and he would lose.
His fingers tightened around his sword.
He couldn't win in a contest of skill or speed—Jack was simply better. But what about tactics?
Jacob's mind raced. He replayed Jack's movements in his head. His attacks were quick, but there was a pattern—Jack always pressed forward aggressively after scoring a hit, assuming Jacob would be on the defensive.
That was his mistake.
Jack stepped forward for the finishing blow.
Jacob forced his breathing to slow, feigning exhaustion. He let his stance slacken just a little.
Jack saw his opening.
He lunged.
At the last second, Jacob sidestepped—just enough to evade the strike. And in that same instant—
He pivoted and swung his sword upward in a sharp arc.
Jack, mid-movement, had no time to react. His own momentum carried him forward—straight into Jacob's blade.
A shallow cut bloomed across Jack's shoulder.
Ezra's voice rang out.
"Hit! Jacob wins!"