The arena's atmosphere was thick with anticipation as I stepped forward, my boots silent on the sandy floor. Beatrice stood across from me, her sword gleaming in the fading light, a silent challenge that set my blood alight.
I could feel the weight of the crowd's gaze upon us, their whispers a distant murmur against the pounding of my heart.
"Ready to taste defeat?" I called out, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Beatrice's lips curled into a smirk. "I was about to ask you the same thing," she replied, her stance relaxed yet alert.
At the signal, our swords met with a resounding clang, the sound echoing off the stone walls. I advanced first, my blade slicing through the air with precision. Beatrice parried with ease, her counterattacks swift and sharp.
We moved as one, a dance of death choreographed by the years of training that had honed our skills.
