Fifty thousand people gathered in the gigantic squares and streets surrounding the Coliseum awaiting the opening of its gates. More than happy in the meanwhile to browse through the greatest diversity of wares put on display by merchants who'd come to Zion from the farthest edges of the world simply to serve this most variegated crowd.
"Belkir, I can't believe we finally made it," Arthur said, the young warrior standing in awe in front of the Coliseum, its magnificence greater than any preconception his mind had imagined.
"Hmm?" Belkir, the young warrior's slightly plump companion turned towards Arthur with a mouth filled with skewered meat. "Oh yes, yes the arena. It is big." Belkir replied, forcing the food down his throat. Belkir then promptly returned to engulfing another steam bun the size of his palm, his seventh steam bun in the past hour.
Arthur faced Belkir, posed the question "Is there anything in that head of yours that hasn't to do with meat or potatoes?"
Belkir, talking with a filled mouth "You wound me, dear friend. I am also thinking of Shenryu noodles right now. I remember the map saying they sold some in the eastern corner."
Arthur let out a chuckle. "Say Belkir, since you seem to be the expert, there is something that I've been wanting to get."
"Does the young Albini wish for anything? Longswords from Caledion, Rapiers from Alemaigne, or even the famed jade blades of Shenryu, a Yujian, Rashaid's blades have it all!" A dusk-skinned blue-eyed trader probed the passing Arthur, the trader immediately recognizing even among the plethora of people the eyes of a man hungrily searching for a good find as he strode through the market.
Startled at the trader's abrupt call, Arthur halted and faced him. Though he wasn't an Albini, he looked enough like one to play along. He took two steps toward the trader's makeshift tent and examined the variety of blades on display. The merchant certainly wasn't lying, Arthur recognized swords of all kinds, many of them distinctly unlike anything he saw back in Caledion.
Though such positive preconceptions were short-lived.
Only a few months before their departure to Zion Arthur had the pleasure of meeting a Moghlai warrior in his uncle's residence with Arthur distinctly remembering how simple yet elegant their swords were.
Sleek, made of the same metal from hilt to tip, lacking all forms of ornaments. "Jewels are luxuries of women and kings, no place for it in the tools of warriors." the Moghlai had said.
And yet, there it was, a Moghlai talwar dotted with rubies on the hilt, which upon further inspection Arthur deduced was made of a metal different from the blade.
This trader was either a con man or someone who had been conned without even his knowledge. Not that Arthur cared. His glance drifted away from the wares and back towards the street, his body already ready to move onto another shop.
The trader noticed the immediate drop in interest in his eyes. May have slightly suspected that he may have even recognized the faux nature of some of the cheaper items on display. "Or perhaps the young Albini wishes for something else..." the trader blurts out hurriedly in a last-ditch effort to gain Arthur's attention. His words momentarily brought Arthur's attention to the dusk man.
"I see a thirst in your eyes, warrior. And quite some time I have been on the lookout for such eyes. For I possess a blade young one, which I have been instructed only to sell today, on the first day of the festival of Yahwm and only on the same soil as the great arena. Would you be interested in it?" the trader said, completely piquing Arthur's curiosity. "Is it imported, just like all those other wares on display there?" Arthur probed.
"Rashaid sells swords and daggers from all over the world, but his best blades have always been the ones made right here, the blade in question just so happens to be one of them." The trader replies, reaching his hand below himself and producing a relatively thin cloth sack, tied together by ropes. He unties the rope, revealing a beautiful black scabbard sheathing a sword with a golden hilt, the trader carefully monitoring Arthur's reaction as he does so.
Arthur is stunned by the aesthetic beauty of the sword, "The gold on the hilt, real?"
"Of course, why don't you check for yourself?" replies the trader, holding out the hilt-end slightly outside the tent but still firmly grasping the sword as a precaution against any attempted funny business by the customer.
Arthur bites onto the hilt, saying after a moment "It's real gold all right." Immediately follows up with the question "How much for it?"
"Ah." A sparkle appears in the eyes of the trader, "You see, this sword should perhaps not be for sale, for it actually belongs to one who used to be in the prophet's bodyguard, peace be upon him. The sword was buried along with the man when the prophet passed away. However, a graverobbing scoundrel decided to take it for himself." the trader continued, bringing the sword back into the safe premises of the tent as he told his story.
"Luckily, the graverobber was apprehended by the priests. The priests had already restored the grave by then and digging it back to place the sword was a...controversial prospect. Now Rashaid's piousness is well-known among the priests here. So, in exchange for a small donation, they lent me the sword. Though they explicitly told me to not sell it anywhere except here and on any day except today." the trader said.
Arthur refused to believe a single word that had come from the trader's mouth. The more that mouth moved, the more his conviction that the person was a conman grew along with it.
"How much?" Arthur asked again, his tone betraying a slight impatience with the trader.
"There is a saying in Zion: The sword chooses its wielder, never the other way around. And this sword seems to have already chosen you. It is begging for me to part it with you which makes my heart heavy. However, I do think it to be the necessary choice. Just as a father must part with his daughter's hand I too must part with the blade. So let me give you a fair price, no haggling necessary. For others, it would be ten gold coins, For you, eight." the trader said.
"Five," Arthur replied. "Now, now young warrior. I paid more in donations to the priest, we must make a living as well now must we not?" the trader replied, flashing a persuasive look toward Arthur.
Belkir shouted towards Arthur from his seat, waving his hand. Instantly recognizing the greasy hand and slightly plump, pale figure Arthur immediately rushed towards him.
"Apologies for missing the opening speech, you won't believe how much this merchant charged me fo-" Arthur stopped as he approached Belkir, exotic food all over his lap.
"You're sitting in my seat," he told Belkir.
"Oh. Uhh, I didn't know that." Belkir replied, "It'd be a shame if I got up and some of this food spilled over now would it not?" Belkir continued, his face almost pleading towards Arthur as he did so.
"Fine. I'll just sit in yours." Arthur said, somewhat frustrated because the seat Belkir occupied was actually in the center column of the section of the Coliseum they were in, for he had booked that seat in advance precisely with the structure's architecture in mind.
"So, what was that you were telling me about a mercha-", "Forget about it. It was nothing." Arthur cut Belkir off before he could finish his question, Belkir immediately understanding that he'd displeased Arthur a little.
"Arthur. I've...been wondering. I know you've gushed about it a million times, but I seem to have forgotten some things. Could you just give me a brief refresher on the matter one last time before it starts? How exactly does the tournament work again?" Belkir poses the question innocently, masking his coy intentions.
"Of course you did. Remind me what good that brain of yours is for aside from thinking about food?" Arthur responds.
"Okay, now listen carefully, Belkir. You referred to it again as a "tournament" but that's the first common misconception, the festival of Yahwm consists of three separate tournaments, with no two tournaments permitted to be on the same day. Though the second and third tournaments vary, the first tournament is always a set of One-on-One duels among the fifteen greatest fighters from the five major nations. With each nation sending five warriors." Arthur lectures about the matter to Belkir, whose immediate strategy to make Arthur forget his anger seemed to have worked.
Arthur meanwhile was gauging Belkir's reaction to the incomplete information he'd presented to his companion for the fifth time in the last month, hoping that Belkir would catch an obvious discrepancy in the presented facts.
"Wait a second..." Belkir momentarily stopped munching on his food and achieved the astonishing feat of actually putting a steamed bun back into his lap as he started using his fingers for counting
"One, two, three...six, seven."
"Say, Arthur. I think you've made a mistake. If every person is to fight in a one-on-one duel, then should there not be 16 fighters? After all, one fighter will be left out if it isn't 16." Belkir says.
"You pose a most correct question, dear friend." Arthur replied, scooting closer towards Belkir and putting his arm around him, "You see, there aren't actually fifteen but rather sixteen warriors, the last one being a random person from the audience, chosen on the first day of the tournament."
"What?" Belkir expressed his blatant confusion quite nakedly.
"Since time immemorial, it has been customary for one person from the coliseum audience to be chosen as the sixteenth warrior, this person is often called God's chosen one because it is said that Yahweh himself comes down and chooses this person. Though of course, these people are often just farmers, shepherds and the like so it is almost just as customary for them to simply forfeit the match before it even begins, making one of the warriors advance without a single shed of dropped blood." Arthur explained to his companion.
"Has no sixteenth warrior ever fought?" Belkir asks out of curiosity.
"Some do, but only one has ever lived to tell the tale," Arthur says, already anticipating Belkir's next question.
"Really, who?" Belkir was so completely intrigued by the subject that the man had not taken a bite of food at the last whole minute.
"King Arthur Pendragon the first, a supreme champion of god. The founder of the kingdom of Albion, he is still revered by all knights in Auropa to this day, and thanks to my uncle's insistent efforts, my namesake." Arthur's chest visibly puffed outwards as he finished the sentence.
"Oh I see, I see. That reminds me, when is your uncle coming out?" Belkir questioned.
"I don't know, though he did say that I should not expect to see him on the first day," Arthur replied.
As Arthur and Belkir were chatting, the western gates of the fighting pit opened. A thin, lean, slightly dusky man wearing a toga swooshes out of the gate and into the air, majestic wings of silver on his back and a wizard's cane on one of his hands. The winged person flies towards the sky, reaching even higher than the highest seats of the coliseum, and then at the apex of his flight waves his cane a single time, releasing a flurry of colorful fireworks from a gem embedded in the cane as he floats in the air, his arms stretched wide open. The entire audience was completely enthralled by this entertaining turn of events.
The winged figure presses the cane against his throat and then speaks, his voice magically amplified magnitudes by it:
"Delighted to see so many people from so many a place,
United in excitement and fervor, no matter their age, nationality, or race!
We're excited to have you here, in the great city of Zion
So make yourselves comfortable, and take a warm seat.
For with such a great company, everything's a treat!"
The winged figure momentarily took the cane off his throat and waved his cane again. Causing suddenly the appearance on the laps of all the seated members of the audience bronze plates, with a rather small but fully roasted chicken and miniature cups filled with a variety of sauces on them.
"Greetings to all men, women, and children folk present today. Taking the arena's attention after the grand priest's opening speech is MC Ikarus, aka me, filling in for the second year in a row after the premature retirement of my father as the announcer for this amazing, awesome, bloody brilliant, grand tournament!" the announcer elongating those final words of his speech.
"So, people gathered today in honor of Yahweh, tell me are you ready to begin the festival of Yahwm?" the announcer posed the question to the audience.
A resounding "Yes" echoed from the seats in unison, bringing great pleasure to Ikarus's ears. "Then let the tournament. Begin!" Ikarus released another, even larger wave of colorful fireworks as he said the last word, swooping below towards the gate the very next moment.
Speaking in a rather loud, obnoxious voice, the announcer says: "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce our first champion, whose name you have undoubtedly heard of. Representing the Republic of Alemaigne, our first hero is known by many horrible names, a mere reference to this Viking warrior from the Fjordlands sends shivers down the spine of all children in Europa. I present to you: Abandoned son of Ragnar the merciful! The pirate prince! The Fjordan devil! Bjorn the broken!"
From the gates a pale, blonde, muscular figure of large stature and broad shoulders steps onto the arena, wearing a daunting white animal hide on his back, the blue warpaint beneath his eyes and gray tattoos on his scalp clearly announcing to the audience his formidability.
Overshadowed, however, in the eyes of the onlookers by the two humongous great axes that he dragged along with him into the arena. Its edges were sharp and shiny but battle-tested, its wooden handles seemingly more like the whole trunk of a small tree than shaved wood.
He strides menacingly towards an altar that stood at the center of the arena, the gates behind him closing tight as he does so.
"Now, as the chosen first contender for this year's tournaments, it is customary for Bjorn to give some blood as a sacrifice in the fountain, and ask for Yahweh to choose for him a worthy fighter from the audience!" Ikarus says as he flies almost adjacent to Bjorn, their shadows almost looking like companions.
"That Fjordan looks quite strong," Belkir said, slowly munching the magical chicken leg that Ikarus had gifted him with.
"He is. According to uncle, he is about half as good as he is." Arthur replied, dipping a small piece of the chicken in the sauce cup before eating it himself.
"No way. Your uncle's that much stronger than that guy? He doesn't look it." Belkir said.
"Strength is not just about how big you are, Belkir. It has to do with intellect, tactics, and technique. There's plenty of other things that matter besides just brawn, you know." Arthur said.
"Maybe. Though the fact that one of us from here has to go down and face him. I don't like it for some reason." Belkir's words express a sense of anxiety.
"That's what I'm worried about," Arthur said.
"You see, for a contender to withdraw from the tournament, they must walk up to that fountain in the center of the arena and ask Yahweh for forgiveness once the battle starts." Arthur paused for a moment.
"That means that the person chosen can only withdraw once the first battle has begun. Now, in most years that is no problem. After all, which warrior would wish to soil his blade with the blood of an innocent person? But you see, that guy. He's famous for being brutal to anyone not from the Fjordlands, I worry that he may not have the same conviction. Many warriors present this year seem to be lacking in moral restraint." Arthur proceeded to comment.
"He surely does not seem very merciful to me either," Belkir jibed.
"Hey, Arthur." Belkir paused for a moment, "There's no chance that I get selected right?" Belkir asked, uncertainty in his voice.
"Don't be silly. There are more than fifty thousand people here, the chances of us getting chosen is no greater than finding roasted meat growing on a tree." Arthur said. "Besides, it is an honor to get chosen, Belkir. Next year, no. The year after the next, even I too would like to fight in one of these tournaments, to the death. And win. Just you watch."
"Someone like you would probably do fine against that monster, right? It's people like me who have to worry." Belkir said. "Maybe, though I don't know how to use magic yet. Uncle suspects that brute doesn't know how to either, so who knows? Maybe we'd even be evenly matched. I might even win my first tournament match earlier than expected." Arthur jokes coyly.
Bjorn puts his arm over the fountain, picks up one of his axes almost by the blade, and makes a small cut in his arm, the blood from the wound dripping slowly into the fountain. "May the grace of the great father forever be upon me and my people." he silently mutters as the fountain turns blood red.
Suddenly, the audience turns quiet as the blue skies turn red, and gray clouds gather over the coliseum, signs that Yahweh wished to make his presence known. Throughout the world, from the hills of Albion to the jade palaces in Shenryu, the skies become the color of blood, Yahweh's message throughout the world, clear: My festival has begun.
"I ask of the supreme god," Bjorn shouts out looking at the sky "That he grant me as my first opponent, a worthy knight."
"A worthy warrior," Arthur said,
"What?" Belkir replied.
"Grant me as my first opponent, a worthy warrior. That's the chant. He changed it, he explicitly changed it to the knight, he wishes to see an Albini on the arena."
"Why would he want that?" Belkir asked.
"It's obvious, is it not? He has no intention of letting anyone forfeit. He wishes to start the tournament by killing an Albini knight." Arthur blurted out. It was then that his body shivered from spine to toe, for some part of him anticipated what was to happen next.
Suddenly, a hole opens up in the sky, and a warm heavenly white light escapes from the heavens and into the arena, shining directly upon Arthur's seat. Yahweh's choice was made, Arthur was to be the sixteenth warrior, doomed to face Bjorn the broken in single combat.
"And Yahweh has chosen!" Ikarus announces, waving his wand once more causing a portal to appear beneath Arthur's feet. Arthur shouts as he falls through the portal, into the sands of the arena, a few feet away from the eastern gates. Ikarus flies towards Arthur, cane held out towards his mouth as if signaling he should speak into it: "Oh great chosen one, would you like to introduce yourself?"
Arthur is at a loss for words, he simply looks around his surroundings, still unable to understand the gravity of the situation, unable to properly react with 50,000 eyes fixed on his figure. Without giving it too much thought, almost as a reflex, he blurted out "I...I think there's been a mistake. I am not a knight."
Ikarus seemed perplexed by Arthur's answer. Ikarus took a deep breath, moved slightly closer to the cane, and spoke in it, "Greetings everyone, my name is Arthur Dulac, I hail from the independent kingdom of Caledion, and I am not a knight."
"When is a knight not a knight?" a booming voice protested from the center of the arena, Bjorn's face betraying the satisfaction he was feeling at the turn of events. Bjorn strides towards Arthur and Ikarus, continuing in his booming voice "You brandish a sword on your back, do you know how to use it?"
Arthur simply nods, his eyes fixating on the hulking monster advancing toward him. A smile appears on Bjorn's face, he shouts "What is a knight? Swordsmen fancied by kings, that's all they are. You, Caledi, are a swordsman fancied by Yahweh, the king of all gods, thereby making you a knight."
Bjorn walks right up to Arthur and looks down at the young knight half his stature. Arthur unable to argue with the Viking's logic as some part of him agreed with the proposition.
"You insinuate that our great father makes mistakes? How typical for a heretic." Arthur, despite shivering with fear on the inside, somehow manages to maintain constant eye contact with the giant in front of him, the audience intently watching both fighters. Ikarus intervenes between them, and holds the cane out toward Arthur asking him "Arthur, would you like to forfeit this match?"
Arthur nods once more. Then turning the cane towards Bjorn, Ikarus asks him "Do you agree to grant Arthur Dulac withdrawal from the tournament."
Bjorn stays stoically silent for a moment, then speaks "Start the match, announcer. We will see." Saying so, Bjorn turns away from Arthur and starts walking back towards the western gates.
Ikarus takes another step towards Arthur and whispers into his ears "Get to the fountain before he catches you, and you live to see another day. Fail, and that's the end of the line for you. Best wishes, young knight."
Ikarus then flew upwards towards the still blood-red sky, reaching a height even higher than he had before. "But, no wai-" Ikarus was already far away from Arthur before he could lodge any complaints.
The next sequence of events, painfully clear to Arthur. He looks over at Bjorn, squatting in front of the western gate rubbing the blade of one axe against the other, clearly sharpening them for his next prey. The sight makes Arthur gulp. He decides to instead focus his attention on Ikarus, who after reaching his apex point announces:
"Oh, supreme father who art in heaven,
Begin the labor for the birth of your next champion,
The tower of the dead created in his wake,
A necessary tool for the infinite wish he will make.
Watch over your heroes, so honorable and true.
Their destinies playthings for you."
Ikarus takes a deep breath, looks down, and speaks to the two fighters below him: "Great heroes, do you understand the rules of this single combat and are willing to weather your fate, whatever it may be?"
Bjorn takes the knee, his head held downwards facing the sands on the arena's grounds. Acknowledgment of his agreement.
Arthur takes a deep breath and looks over at the altar. "Possibly a little more than 100 paces," he thinks. "The Fjordan is twice my size and possibly heavier by even more if I were to make a straight sprint for the fountain, which is precisely what both of us expect me to do. I might have a chance of reaching before he does if it was a strict sprinting game, though I doubt that is how this match will turn out. Ugh, oh well. Won't know until I try."
Arthur too takes the knee, his face however facing towards the altar, Arthur's eyes fixed on the fountain, blood-red liquid flowing through it.
Ikarus, following another wave of his cane, announces alongside an explosively loud sound produced from his cane: "Let the battle commence!"
Arthur readied his feet, and upon hearing the explosive sound started rushing towards the altar in full force, his agility double that of a normal person.
Arthur closes a quarter of the gap between him and the altar, and a sense of self-confidence is built within him when Thud! another large sound, but different. An almost earthquake-like sound echoes through the arena. A large shadow appears on the ground in front of Arthur, he looks up: It was Bjorn, he's jumped into the air and was lunging towards Arthur, both axes in hand.
The sheer bloodlust in Bjorn's eyes is terrifying enough to make any man cower in fear, Arthur halts his advance. Bjorn shouts "I'm coming for you, heretic!" and hurls one of his axes towards Arthur, leaving him no choice but to jump backward, getting out of the axe's way.
Arthur barely manages to get out of the way, the axe piercing the hardwood decks beneath the sand. Thud! With another even larger quake-like sound, Bjorn lands a little less than ten paces away from Arthur, looks him dead in the eye says: "Thanks for not dying, boring way for it to end."
Arthur realizes his last barely out of the Viking's range, and anticipates the next move by association: "He's going to close the range!" Bjorn quickly turns around towards Arthur, and flashes a devious smile before lunging once again towards Arthur, swinging his single axe in one hand almost like an extension of himself, created explicitly for the purpose of splitting his enemy in half.
Arthur's survival instinct makes his body retreat by jumping backward, to no avail, for Bjorn's huge axe was headed right for Arthur's upper body, eager to separate it from its lower counterpart.
Arthur lands firmly on his feet, spins partially towards Bjorn's axe, and unsheathes the sword in his back, holding it with both hands towards the axe, making it intercept with the sword instead of his body.
When he felt the great force of the axe slamming into the sword, Arthur thought he'd made a mistake, he thought the blade would shatter, the axe then slicing him apart. Turns out, he'd made a mistake, just an astronomically less grave one: The momentum of the axe was so strong that it threw Arthur into the air, causing him to slam hard into the hardwood decks, the sand above cushioning some of the impact.
Arthur quickly gets back up again and faces Bjorn, sword in hand. His mind oscillating between whether he should focus on escaping Bjorn or on running toward the altar.
Bjorn takes a deep breath. Looks at Arthur menacingly, and says "Sturdy sword you got there. Sad it won't survive the next one." Bjorn raises his axe into the sky, closes his eyes, and focuses his mind. Small, perfectly spherical, concentrated particles of green light start appearing around the axe, attaching themselves to the blade's edges one by one. Soon, an entire coating of green light forms around the axe, almost as if the weapon was emitting an aura of its own.
"Is that what I think it is...magic?" Arthur's eyes had become glued to the axe, one fact clear to him, a magical attack was not something he could evade by simple maneuvers, which made choosing what to do next simple: He had to run.
Arthur began rushing towards the altar once more, as fast as he could, his eyes fixated once again on the blood-red fountain.
Bjorn opens his eyes follows the running Arthur with them, and shouts for all the audience to hear "Jorgun Kirves: Might of Gungir!" Bjorn swings his axe in the general direction of the rushing Arthur, a green energy slash is released from Bjorn's axe, its arc thrice the size of the axe itself.
The sight of the large energy slash traveling toward him paralyzes Arthur's mind, halting his advance toward the fountain. It was clear that he could outrun the attack, causing Arthur to act not according to any thought process but simply in ways that humans have been primordially programmed to. Just as the energy slash nears Arthur, he squints his eyes and shouts "Ahh!" cowering instinctively in fear as he holds out the sword in between the energy slash and himself just as he had done before.
Nothing happens. No wave of energy cuts through his body, and no pain is felt.
Arthur finds himself able to open his eyes once more, in front of them he sees a glowing sword, his sword, radiating with energy.
At first, the light was bright but the light gradually dimmed and before he knew it, the light was gone, consumed by the sword returning itself to its original state. Initially, Arthur had no idea how to process this sequence of events. He stood idly for a moment, thinking, but then it clicked.
The blade he'd gotten from the trader was not just a normal blade used by a bodyguard, it was a blade that had probably been blessed by the prophet of Zion, thereby making it able to absorb magical energy just as the prophet was rumored to have been able to. It all made sense now.
Possessing the blade made him worthy. It was because of the sword that Arthur became a knight. "That's right. The supreme father makes no mistakes. Yahweh must've chosen me for a reason." Arthur thought.
He looked at his sword and looked again at Bjorn. Bjorn was astonished by the sequence of events, a newfound conviction shines in his eyes.
It was always Arthur's wish to fight in the arena, with the divine sword he was clutching so tightly in his hand perhaps he even could. Should he? Could he? "Yes, yes I can." Arthur thought.
"After all, I was chosen by Yahweh. That is all the confirmation I need. If a god can believe in me, then all the reason for me to believe in myself!" Arthur concluded his thoughts, finding within himself a newfound desire not to run away but to fight.
He looked over at Bjorn, who seemed to be readying to lunge at him once again. Arthur faced Bjorn, assuming a knight's stance, the same one he'd seen his uncle assume so many times growing up.
Arthur blinked. And Bjorn was gone.
In such a short period, Bjorn had managed to disappear completely from Arthur's line of sight. Suddenly, Arthur feels a great shadow behind him.
Turning, Arthur finds himself in a fearful situation. Bjorn had moved upwards of five to six paces in the blink of an eye, undetected by Arthur.
"This humiliation has gone on long enough," Bjorn says, picking up Arthur by his head and throwing him into the sand, Arthur is unable to retaliate in any meaningful manner.
Bjorn takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again. Little green particles appear around his offhand, and when Bjorn opens his eyes, his second axe comes flying back to him. "Uhh" Arthur grunts as he gets back up and assumes his stance once more, facing Bjorn.
Bjorn flashes a devious smile towards Arthur once again, brave lad for sure he quietly thinks. "Young knight, what was your name again?" he says.
"I am Arthur Dulac, hailing from the independent kingdom of Caledonia," Arthur replies, clutching his sword, and carefully weighing his options for a counter-offensive.
Bjorn raises both his axes, winds up for a simultaneous swing, and says "Arthur Dulac. May your blade chip and shatter." before unleashing an unending flurry of waves upon Arthur. The axe hits Arthur's blade with a hurricane's force, and again, and again.
Arthur intercepts the simultaneous mix of horizontal and vertical swings that Bjorn throws at him despite having no confidence in his ability to do so. With every subsequent hit, Arthur gets better at matching Bjorn's pace, the force of one individual swing seemingly manageable with Arthur's newfound grit and determination.
After a dozen swings, the agitated Bjorn stops. Thoroughly frustrated by the sword's durability, he takes a step back. Leaving one of his arms exposed in the process.
"Now!" Arthur thinks, taking advantage of a tired Bjorn. He lunges towards Bjorn, his intent clear: Cut off one of his arms. He gains a foothold only inches away from Bjorn and winds up for a clean slash. At that moment, Bjorn sweeps Arthur's left leg from under him, causing Arthur to slam into the hardwood floor.
Arthur squints his eyes in pain. Musters all the courage in his body to open them again. Arthur tries to get back up, only to see an axe headed straight for his face.
He thinks, "Oh. Yes. How could I forget the precious words of uncle Galahad?" He recalls his uncle's words: "Never leave your trust in gods, prophecies, or chosen ones. They will bite your prick off every time."
The axe sweeps through right under Arthur's nose, separating the upper half of Arthur's head from the lower one giving him a clean, relatively painless death.