As soon as the hooded figure entered, a bone-chilling breeze left his face in pain. Although the wind kept attacking his eyes, his eyes remained wide open. The hooded figure saw him. The Traitor. Staring coldly at the Traitor, the hooded figure tried to stop his chin from trembling. "Am I shaking because of fear? Because of rage? Because of sadness?" The hooded figure demanded an answer. "No, no, no, I can't be thinking of other things… A traitor he might be, but he still requires my full attention."
Taking his time, the Traitor stood up from his chair. Accompanying the creaking sound from his chair, the crimson light from the fire outside shone on his face: a wrinkled and very tired-looking face. Wearing a thick fleece pyjama, the forty-something-year-old man simply stood there with his back slightly hunched. He was extremely thin which made his pyjama look very loose. Amidst his black hair were strands of white and grey. It looked as if he would crumble at any moment.
The hooded figure tightened his grip on his sword and slashed. As if out of thin air, the Traitor pulled a silver dagger and blocked his slash. The spark caused by the collision blinded the hooded figure for an instant, which allowed the Traitor to take the opportunity to go on the offensive.
The hooded figure saw silver gleams coming from all different directions. Before he even blocked the first strike, the second one came without warning. After witnessing a barrage of silver gleams, all aiming at him, he was starting to lose track of the dagger. He was now committing the most dangerous mistake in martial arts: to parry attacks purely on instinct. He knew how dangerous the situation was and thought, "I can't let him control the flow of the fight! Remember, you're not aiming to survive, you're aiming for his life! I mustn't disappoint the people of Eustacia!"
In a desperate attempt, he slid his sword on the flat side of the incoming dagger upwards and directed his blade towards the Traitor's left shoulder. The Traitor did not anticipate the hooded figure would leave himself wide open just to get a hit in. The Traitor jumped back reflexively and avoided the hooded figure's blade.
The hooded figure gained his much-wanted initiative and he held onto it for his dear life. Each sword slash was extremely swift, and most importantly, all aimed at the Traitor's vitals. Seeing the Traitor slowly being pushed back, the hooded figure became even more aggressive.
As the Traitor was parrying attacks left and right, he felt something cold touching his back. He had been backed to a wall. Without hesitation, he crouched and swept the hooded figure. Right before his legs reached his opponent's, the hooded figure hopped forward and used the momentum to throw a left hook onto the Traitor's face.
A blunt sound echoed in the room. The Traitor's right cheek swelled up and turned bright red. He was staggering and swaying to his left.
Not giving the Traitor a moment to recover, the hooded figure pressed on. However, the Traitor's stagger was merely a faint and after a tumble in mid-air, he narrowly avoided the hooded figure's slash and swung his dagger across the masked man's face.
No ordinary person could have dodged that slash even if they saw it coming. However, the accumulated lifelong fighting experience of the hooded figure came into play. The hooded figure felt a surging hunch when the Traitor was still in mid-air and all his senses were telling him to pull back. He escaped death by a hair's breadth. Despite that, there was still a cut from his bottom-left cheek to his nose.
Suddenly, the Traitor had his eyes wide open and mouth agape. "It's you?" He gasped. Those words of utter disbelief were the first ones spoken during this whole fight. He then smiled faintly, but his eyes looked as if he was about to cry.
"So it's you." Before he was even able to make out the final word of that sentence, the hooded figure took advantage of his startled state and penetrated his right shoulder with his sword. The back of the Traitor now revealed the red tip of the blade.
It was only then did the hooded figure realise his cloth mask was torn and his face was revealed when he tried to dodge the dagger slash.
The legs of The Traitor gave out and he kneeled on the floor, the blade still in his shoulder. As the pool of blood on the floor was slowly expanding, the light in his eyes started to dim. He faced forward and stared at the wardrobe behind the hooded figure, perhaps mistaking the wardrobe as the hooded figure in his hazy vision.
"Sorry," gruntled the man on the ground. His tone was that of a pleading one, filled with pity and sorrow. Yet, he looked powerless, almost frustrated, as if he failed to protect something more valuable than his own life.
"Perhaps he regretted his actions," the hooded figure thought, "But it's too late now. What you've done is unforgivable – not even your death is enough to redeem yourself."
"Farewell, my dear friend," he spoke solemnly as he pulled his sword out from the dead man's shoulder and let the body fall to the ground.
The hooded figure took a second to compose himself and rushed towards the window facing east. There were some guards but among those who survived, a good portion of them fled from the manor. He contemplated, "the Traitor was killed but the office just north of the library had not been infiltrated yet. Although I've already accomplished my task, I guess it wouldn't hurt to help others." He quickly left the room, leaving only the corpse of the Traitor behind.
No more wind-slashing dagger sounds, no more sword flicking noises, and no more heavy panting in the room. All that was left was the indistinct weapons clattering outside. After a short while, a creaking sound can be heard. The wardrobe door was opening by itself – or not. Inside the wardrobe, a tiny body climbed out slowly. It was a seven-year-old boy.