The air grew tense, the space between them crackling like the silence before a storm.
With a grunt, Osphal drew his weapon — a massive longsword, its blackened steel jagged along the edge, radiating danger with every gleam of firelight.
He swung it with brutal force, the air hissing as the blade cut downward toward the Captain.
The Captain moved in a blur, slipping aside just as the ground split where he had stood. Dust leapt into the air, fragments scattering from the impact.
For an instant, his face hardened — not in fear, but in sharp recognition.
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing them, as though something in Osphal's swing had revealed a hidden truth only he had noticed.
Steel rang against steel as the Captain and Osphal clashed, blades sparking with every strike.
One cut high, the other parried low. One thrust forward, the other turned aside.
Blow after blow, neither could break through.
The circle of enemies and guards stood silent, watching the storm unfold.
Dust swirled, sparks flew, and still their swords met in perfect defiance — but never in blood.
Yet time was not the Captain's ally.
The wounds Yoki had carved into his body burned with every movement.
His steps grew heavier, his arm slower by the smallest margin.
Each heartbeat stole a fraction more of his strength.
Osphal, fresh and roaring with power, laughed as their swords locked again.
"Is this all the strength of the kingdom's Captain?" he taunted, pressing forward.
But though his body ached and faltered, the Captain's eyes remained cold, sharp, unyielding.
Their blades clashed again, sparks spitting into the smoke.
Then, with a sudden shift of his weight, the Captain twisted past Osphal's guard and drove his sword deep into his left shoulder.
Osphal roared in pain, stumbling back as blood sprayed across the ground.
The Captain's chest heaved, but a fire lit in his eyes. I can do this.
He pressed forward, sword raised for another strike—
—but then he froze.
Osphal was laughing.
Laughing through the blood pouring from his wound.
And before the Captain could even draw breath, the brute blurred.
His massive frame moved with a speed no man of his size should possess.
In a blink, he was upon the Captain.
A knee bent, a foot coiled, and then—impact.
Osphal's kick slammed into the Captain's stomach like a battering ram.
The air whooshed from his lungs.
His body lifted off the ground, spinning uncontrollably, and crashed hard against the stone floor, sliding to a stop at the far edge of the field.
Pain tore through him as blood spurted from his lips—the blow had reopened the wound Yoki had left, flaring the old injury painfully.
"Captain!" Oxel shouted, his voice breaking with panic.
But the Captain forced out through bloodied lips, "Stay back! Do as I ordered—do not interfere!"
Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself off the ground, planting his sword into the earth for balance.
Then, with a growl of defiance, he stood tall once more.
The duel raged on.
Steel clashed against steel, their strikes echoing like thunder across the battlefield.
For five relentless minutes, neither yielded an inch—each blow answered with another, each strike meant to kill.
But at last, Osphal feinted left and then drove his blade downward with brutal precision.
The edge bit deep into the Captain's leg.
Pain seared through him as his stance buckled, and he crashed to the ground.
Yet even then, he did not stay down.
With a guttural cry, the Captain forced himself upright, one knee sinking into the dirt, his body trembling.
He leaned heavily on his sword, its blade his only pillar, but his eyes still burned with unyielding fire.
Osphal threw back his head and laughed, the sound booming like a drum across the battlefield.
He lowered his blade, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"I think this is the end," he said, almost mockingly.
"You fought well—better than most I've faced. But your body was already broken before you stepped onto this ground. A shame, really. You never had a fair fight… but that is how life is."
Oxel's fists clenched, his chest burning as he watched the Captain struggle on one knee. He could no longer hold himself back.
With a cry, he drew his blade and lunged toward the duel—
—but steel barred his way.
Several of Osphal's soldiers stepped in front of him, weapons raised, their faces grim but disciplined.
One shoved his sword close enough that Oxel felt its edge graze his chest.
"Stay where you are," one of them barked.
"Until our commander gives the word, you do not move."
Osphal strode forward, a cruel grin stretching across his face.
"You have a loyal soldier beside you," he said, glancing at Oxel.
"I like that. All the better—I'll kill you right in front of him."
The Captain wiped the blood from his mouth, his voice low but defiant.
"Who said I am dying?"
With a roar, he forced himself upright, driving his sword forward in a desperate thrust aimed at Osphal's legs.
But the brute twisted aside, the blade slicing only through air.
Osphal chuckled darkly.
"It's not going to work." He raised his weapon, preparing to deliver the final blow—
—but before his strike could fall, an arrow whistled through the smoke and slammed into the earth between them, quivering in the ground like a warning.
Osphal snapped his head toward the castle walls.
There, atop the battlements, stood a lone figure dressed entirely in black, a mask concealing every feature of his face.
The cloak and garments fluttered in the wind, blending with the drifting smoke, making it impossible to discern anything beneath the shadowed veil.
"Who are you?" Osphal demanded, his voice echoing across the battlefield.
The man's reply was calm, sharp as steel.
"Your death."