Krow tilted his head toward Tharjan behind him. "Why does he look like that?"
Tharjan's lips curled upward, gleeful. "The last opponent was the favorite to win the tournament."
Ah, shkav.
He'd been hoping the next opponents would keep on thinking he had the skills of a village butcher.
His lips firmed as he walked up to the platform.
Good things came to an end.
"So," Dabalt spat. "I don't know what tricks you pulled, butcher! But they won't work on me."
Hah, figured.
If Dabalt was going to be vigilant, he'd just change tactics and stop being so cautious.
"Begin!"
Krow charged headlong like he'd never done in his last matches, hoping to catch the other by surprise.
Dabalt's eyes widened, but he had some skill.
He dodged, leaped back to put space between them, then dropped into a formal stance to parry Krow's continuing attack, redirecting the falchion to the side and thrusting into Krow's guard.
