Emile stepped away from the limelight and approached Sam. She was already at her end of the campground and she had her palms pressed against her knees, exhaustion seeping through her pours.
Noticing Emile's approach, she forced her back up and saluted.
"Relax—" Emile smiled and spoke in a soft, caring tone, "are you up for another spar?"
Sam dropped her arm and released a heavy sigh.
"I said I was the strongest, didn't I? I'm just reaping what I sowed," she said through a forced smile.
This was Emile's first interaction with Sam and considering her performance thus far, Emile took special note of her. She had long, dirty blonde hair that had been tied back into a ponytail, faint green eyes, and freckles drove across her nose.
"I'm asking if you're tired—" Emile clarified, "you've already proven your ability as far as I'm concerned and I don't want to see you lose against him."
"I don't want a handicap," Sam replied.
"You're already the handicap—you know what, come here."
Emile placed his palm on Sam's shoulder and began circulating Breath of Essence. Instantaneously, a chilled sensation washed over Sam and spread throughout her body; her burning muscles loosened, her temperature decreased, and her heartbeat subsided.
"Remember—" Emile said as he turned around and began walking away, "don't lose."
Meanwhile, Sam stared at Emile's back, awestruck frozen across her face. She felt great, she felt incredible actually.
The soreness from the march to the Dead Trees Forest, the lack of sleep from a rock littered floor and rambunctious environment, and the mental exhaustion from having to perform at her best all flowed out of her, pushed out by the calming current that Emile released into her.
Emile made it back to the start, and once he stood beside Roy he nodded towards Willow. Willow looked between the two contestants and then began her countdown.
The new opponent, the man from beyond the thirteen, summoned a long and heavy sword. He held it with both hands and scraped the tip against the stone as he walked.
That was one of the beauties of Relics, unless they're completely shattered, they'll repair themselves in their owners soul core. Meaning unnecessary, but cool, acts like scraping your sword across the ground were more common than not.
Willow dropped her hammer and the match began. Sam continued with her usual strategy, she sprinted forward as fast as she could. On the other end of the camp, the man walked ahead without urgency.
Sam arrived and pierced with her sword, but the man blocked it while lifting his claymore above his head. Once above, he slightly spread his legs past his shoulders and cut down.
Sam was able to avoid the strike, but nonetheless the claymore crashed into the stone and cracked the ground beneath them. With his weapon outstretched, Sam weaved around the man and thrust into his back.
He leaned his body weight into his claymore's handle and used it like a pole vault pole. His body momentarily became weightless as he lifted himself off the ground and spun around, narrowly dodging Sam's thrust.
He reconnected with the ground and, using his newfound momentum, swung his claymore into the air. The face of the blade landed on his shoulder where it would stay until his next attack.
The two walked around one another, now that they've clashed blades once they can gauge their opponents strength.
"That was a neat trick—" Sam said, "were you part of the circus before this?"
"That's funny—" the man replied, "although I'm pretty sure you're more familiar with poles than I am."
Sam immediately lunged forward. She pierced once and it was reflected by his claymore, but then she pierced again and again.
Sam released a flurry of blows so fast that afterimages began to appear around her sword. Unable to tell which is the real sword, the man haphazardly tried to block her strikes.
Loud pengs reverberated throughout the campsite, he was successfully blocking many of Sam's blows, but some of them broke through. Small incisions slowly accumulated across the man's body, each pooled a small river of blood.
After a few seconds, the man was drenched red. Holes littered his torso and his speed significantly declined.
Sam stepped back, halting her attack, and scrutinized the man before her. He plunged his claymore into the ground and then fell to his knees.
Without saying a word, Sam raised her rapier and held it above his head. The match was over and everybody knew it.
"Sam is the victor!" Willow announced.
Sam dismissed her sword and turned her back to face Willow. The man behind her shot up, pulled his sword into the air and then slammed it down into Sam's back.
Willow vanished from sight. An extremely strong gust of wind blew past Sam and a loud bang followed suit.
With her fist embedded in the man's stomach, he let go of his sword which toppled over Willow's back. But that split second of stillness didn't last long.
Immediately after, Willow's velocity caught up with her and transferred into the man. His feet lifted off the ground and he exploded backwards.
He crashed into the stone and tumbled away, his blood painting the floor as he rolled. Willow looked back and made eye contact with Emile.
"Whoops," she was communicating through her eyes.
Meanwhile, the soldiers all simultaneously wore deadpan expressions. The majority of them couldn't even see Willow move, let alone understand what happened.
From their perspective, Willow vanished and then appeared with her fist pushed into the man's stomach.
In reality, Willow kicked off the ground and arrived before the man in mid-air. She grabbed his head and bludgeoned his skull with her knee before falling back to the ground and releasing an onslaught of jabs.
She struck all of his major pressure points, and then at the end, she finally wound her arm back and exploded it into his stomach, lifting him off the ground and sending him rocketing through the air.
Emile started walking across the battlegrounds to the beaten, unconscious man.
'Please don't be dead'