The sound of swords clashing dominated the air.
Within the midst of the chaos stood Friedrich, his blade drenched in the blood of the men who had once opposed him. He had never killed a man before this day but now... Now he had killed many. The battle had changed him, the nerve that was once so prevalent before he had tasted true combat was gone.
The sweet smell, once so dominant, had been replaced by the smell of iron.
As he made his way through the battle, he would emerge into an opening. All around him, soldiers from both sides would be clashing, the sound of metal on metal echoing through the air. Yet, in this one spot, there were only two soldiers. Himself and a man who seemed to be barking orders across the battlefield...
It was the enemy commander.
It felt very convenient, like Saint Asselin himself had intervened to ensure this confrontation would happen, as though it was some final test for Friedrich to best before he could consider himself a warrior... And he would not leave the Gods waiting. If it was their will that he challenge the enemy commander, so be it.
And so, in spite of any exhaustion he may have been feeling, he would call out across the battlefield.
"You!"
Friedrich would point his blade in challenge and the man would turn. Both men prepared for a duel of a lifetime...