The sounds of metal crashing against metal resounded in the area, bathing the streets with their intensity and lighting that place up with the reality of the situation.
Orange sparks flew up and about, creating a strangely stunning scenery under the silver lights that streamed down from the moon high above.
The streets of the town of Medrial were silent apart from the sounds of those metal weapons clanging against each other.
The townspeople watched with somber silence, the young figure of Tristan decimate his opponent by unleashing strikes that shook even the spectators.
With each downward swing, Tristan managed to unleash a significant amount of his strength whilst remaining in top shape.
His fighting style in the ring was known for its explosive power. He had started swinging a sword at the age of 12. He even did only that for hours every day.
Still, only he and those that had trained him understood that simply his already high proficiency wasn't enough.
The path of the sword was quite numerous. Many could wield blades without much training and it was said that even a starter in the arts of swords had a better chance at winning a fight as their moves would be random.
For this reason, Tristan had been taught a small set of rules but had been given the liberty to do literally what he desired until he honed his skills.
At first, his master dominated him, but as he grew he gradually understood the rudiments and his battle skill grew allowing his great decision-making.
Outside of the ring he was considered arrogant and prideful, but Tristan knew he underestimated no one.
Nevertheless, to instill doubt in the hearts of his opponents he required a demeanor that stood strong and dominating.
Taking a deep breath and storing them in his chest to unload them in his next swing, Tristan figured it was time to get serious.
He had spent the last minute testing his opponent's style, and honestly, he felt disappointed.
The man had the advantage of age and probably more body mass, but he held his sword too flimsily, proof that he had not been in a fight that could have led to his death.
Tristan would not speak on that matter however, he had disciplined himself to never speak the moment he started swinging.
'He's only going in the defensive. Is he trying to wear me out?' Tristan wondered considering it a pity that his opponent would try such with him.
Still, that wasn't the first nor even the 20th time a person had tried such. He almost expected it from people.
"You should have stopped him from doing this," Lord Ior spoke, soberly spectating the fight. It had only been one minute but he already knew the outcome, he had seen too many such battles not to know.
The town's lord stood close to Den's personal guard. Master Ged. He seemed short compared to the man's muscular frame.
"Why?" Ged asked, even if the reasons were right in front of him. He had to admit the young man before him had skill. More than he expected. His skill truly met the hype.
"Because there's a reason our young Tristan is feared even by men old enough to be his father. His style remains at his whim and he does things based on his opponent's reactions."
"But more than that... His speed and sheer achievable might have earned him the title, 'God's blade'." A deep air of somberness befell those who heard the spoken word, and a chill swept their figures when Tristan's swings suddenly gained more power
The clashing of his blade against his opponents sped up and Den had to take the matter seriously.
Only two such blows had landed on his sword, but he already felt his grip almost completely loosen.
Worse than even getting to his knees his sword would be taken away from him. A symbol of total dominance on the side of his opponent.
Still, what could he do? He made the wrong decision to study Tristan's style. He had never watched the young man fight, and now he regretted it.
Tristan's gaze had turned stale, his moves revealing the level of work and talent he had. At least a bit of it.
He steadily increased the speed of his strikes still not ready, until finally, he exploded on the man.
Den had retained his high block, and although it grew increasingly hard to follow Tristan's swings he still held his own in terms of defending.
Nevertheless, Tristan took two sharp steps forward lunging at his opponent's open shoulder. Den saw this and tried his best to place his sword on that path, but he remained too slow as a result of the quick move.
Tristan managed to graze the man's left shoulder before Den struck his sword with an upward blow forcing his weapon up.
Den saw this opening and swung his swords toward Tritsans chest, going for the kill.
Unfortunately, his opponent was two steps ahead of him. Literally.
Tristan took two steps right at the execution of the horizontal swing.
This left Den completely open, his balance was messed up, and his sword was too far away from Tristan's.
Dashing forward at that moment of weakness, Tristan swung his swords upwards, leaving a curved cut that stretched from Den's left side to his arm.
A yelp of agony unfolded into the world at that point.
Tristan had injured Den's right arm.
His sword dropped to the ground as he held on to his side, eyes wide open.
The warmth of his blood dampened his clothes and flowed unto his hands. He fell to his knees.
Tristan stretched his sword forward at that point, laying it on the man's neck.
The noble guards stepped forward at that point. They unsheathed their weapons surrounding him, as panic spread in the area.
"If you do that you will be dooming this entire town. We have connections with the royal family the consequences will be far greater than you imagine!" Master Ged yelled those words in a bit of panic. He hoped his threat was enough.
Tristan remained in position. Sweeping his gaze over the men that surrounded him he lowered his eyes to stare into the eyes of the man below him.
"He's only wounded superficially. He's just a wimp," Tristan snarled lifting his sword and stepping back.
He flicked his blade, getting rid of the blood on it, before placing it in the sheath strapped to his back.
Those men rushed forward at that point, grabbing hold of their young master and lifting him to rush him toward the mansion according to Lord Ior's command.
His wound would be treated there.