Chapter 121: Somber Tidings
The following morning, we found ourselves just beyond the city’s borders. A raised embankment emerged from the surrounding swamps, offering solid ground for the upcoming exhibition match. Thousands of eager citizens had gathered, and Lord Griffon graciously allowed our party to join him on a grand wooden stand that overlooked the unofficial arena.
As I settled into my seat, which seemed designed for someone twice my size, Lord Griffon leaned in and whispered, "Everything will be ready in about an hour."
I nodded my thanks and shifted my attention to Soltair, who stood at the center of the cleared space, clad in his gleaming armor and wielding his holy sword. Faint streams of light danced off the blade, giving him an almost divine aura. His first opponent, a grizzled man with more gray than color in his hair, offered a respectful bow.
"It will be an honor, Great Hero," the man announced, loud enough that the crowd caught wind of his words.
"Likewise. And please, make the first move," Soltair replied graciously.
The man drew his slender rapier, a deceptively fragile-looking weapon infused with powerful, enchantments. His movements were deliberate, lacking the flashiness of a novice, yet he moved with such confidence his sword felt unshakable. Magic coursed through his arm and into the blade, reinforcing his opening strike with a fifth-level technique.
Soltair raised his sword, channeling his own technique, and parried the attack. The air resonated with the collision, and before the shockwaves dissipated, their blades clashed three more times. The soldier’s sword moved like a viper, methodically searching for weaknesses and forcing the hero’s guard apart. Soltair’s defenses crumbled against these calculated attacks, but his superior power and speed allowed him to parry with ease.
The casual glint in the hero’s eyes vanished, replaced by unwavering concentration. Despite his earlier bravado, I had to admit he had dedication. This was the perfect opportunity to test and improve his skills, and it seemed he had every intention to take advantage of it.
While Soltair utilized his magical techniques for defense, he refrained from unleashing most of his power in his strikes. This was where he seemed to falter compared to the seasoned soldier, and all of his attacks were parried or diverted with ease. The sheer difference in skill was apparent to even myself, the most casual and untrained observer.
The crowd erupted with cheers as their weapons clashed. I noticed many young men, both soldiers and commoners, watching with bright eyes. Some even scribbled notes or mimicked the latest move with empty hands.
Neither combatant could penetrate the other’s defenses, and the duel soon reached a stalemate. However, Soltair’s heroic stamina set him apart from ordinary mortals, ensuring that the battle of attrition could have only one outcome. The soldier began to tire, resorting to fourth-level magical techniques and then third. Nearly ten minutes after the fight began, Soltair succeeded in disarming his opponent.