As the knights gathered around the training field, Wolfram stepped forward, his expression calm but brimming with quiet confidence. Before the sparring match with Baturay could begin, he turned to retrieve two distinct bows from his belongings, each one rich in history and bearing its own legacy.
He held up the first bow, a beautifully curved Turkish bow—sleek, sharp, and adorned with intricate patterns that shimmered in the sunlight. The craftsmanship was remarkable, the wood and horn bound together masterfully, creating a weapon that was the pinnacle of Tharkan archery.
"This bow was given to me after my Tharkan training," Wolfram said, his voice clear and carrying across the gathered knights. "It's a traditional Turkish bow—light, fast, and precise. This was the bow I used during my time with Kara, and it demands discipline and skill to wield effectively."
The knights leaned in closer, their eyes tracing the graceful curves of the bow as Wolfram spun it effortlessly in his hand, displaying a mastery that spoke of countless hours of practice and familiarity with the weapon's weight and balance.
Next, Wolfram raised the second bow—a rugged, formidable Hunnic war bow. It was less ornate, built for function rather than beauty, yet exuded an aura of deadly precision. The wood was reinforced with sinew, and the subtle but purposeful design marked it as a weapon of war rather than one of elegance.
"This one," Wolfram continued, lifting the Hunnic war bow high, "was given to me after I rode with the Hunnic riders, following Kara's death. It's heavier, built for long-distance precision on horseback. The Huns use it to strike their enemies from afar while riding at full gallop—hitting them before they even know what's coming."
A murmur of admiration spread through the knights as they took in the significance of Wolfram's words. His experiences were vast and diverse, shaped by time spent among the most formidable nomadic groups. The contrast between the Turkish bow's elegance and the Hunnic bow's raw power mirrored Wolfram's journey, a balance of grace and strength.
Without further hesitation, Wolfram mounted his horse with a fluid motion, holding the Turkish bow as he prepared to demonstrate his prowess. With a light command, his horse trotted forward. As he nocked an arrow to the string, his movements were seamless, as though bow, rider, and horse were one.
The first arrow flew with a sharp whistle, striking the target dead center. The knights watched, eyes wide, as Wolfram, without pause, drew a second arrow—but this time, they saw him gripping two more arrows in his left hand. In a blink, he fired three arrows in rapid succession, each one hitting its mark with deadly precision.
The knights gasped, stunned by his skill. Sir Conrad von Falkenberg, one of the older knights, muttered, "Did he just... shoot three arrows back to back ?"
Wolfram's technique was mesmerizing. To fire multiple arrows with such accuracy was a feat few archers could accomplish, yet Wolfram made it appear effortless. Every shot was precise, each arrow finding its mark as if guided by fate itself.
As Wolfram dismounted, Baturay stepped forward, his face set in determination. While Wolfram's display had been impressive, Baturay was not a man easily dazzled by flair. His own strength in battle came from years of experience and a lifetime of honing his raw power. Gripping his own bow, he strode onto the training field, his muscular frame casting a formidable shadow as he took his place.
Baturay, though slower than Wolfram, moved with deliberate precision. His methodical approach was clear as he drew his arrows one by one, each shot hitting the target with perfect accuracy. His immense strength was evident in the way he effortlessly pulled the heavy Turkic war bow, sending arrows through the air with unstoppable force.
Though his style lacked the flair of Wolfram's, Baturay's power was undeniable. Each shot was calculated, deliberate, and filled with the raw might of a seasoned warrior. The knights murmured their approval, recognizing the strength behind every pull of his bowstring.
From the sidelines, Aslı, watching the display with amusement, called out, her voice light but teasing. "Well, Baturay may not have your tricks with the bow, Gengiz, but did I mention he's a wrestling champion?"
Her words were laced with challenge, the playful glint in her eyes inviting Wolfram to prove himself in yet another arena. The tension between them was palpable but playful, as Aslı knew just how to push Wolfram. He turned to her with a smirk.
"Shall we test that, then?" Wolfram asked, dismounting from his horse and removing his quiver. He left his tunic on, his movements swift and assured, ready for what was about to come.
Baturay, sensing the shift, glanced at Aslı for her approval. When she nodded, he began stripping off his armor, revealing his massive, muscular bulky form. His body was a mountain of strength, thick with layers of muscle, his very presence a testament to the raw power he possessed. The knights were momentarily awed by the sheer size of him.
Yet Wolfram remained unfazed. He moved with the ease of a man who had faced countless challenges, his own lean but powerful frame giving him the advantage of speed. As the two men squared off, Wolfram's eyes gleamed with determination.
"Let's make this more than a wrestling match," he said, his voice steady. "No rules. Let's use our strenghts a true test of who's better."
Baturay's grin widened, his eyes flashing with approval. "Glad you said that, Gengiz. I've heard your name let us see whether you are truly a Tharkan!"
As Baturay and Wolfram squared off, the tension in the air was palpable. The knights watched in silence, their anticipation growing as the two warriors began their match. Both men took their positions—Baturay, towering and powerful, while Wolfram stood calm, calculating his next move.
They circled each other briefly before Baturay lunged forward, grabbing for Wolfram's hands in an attempt to overpower him. Baturay's grip was like iron, and for a moment, it looked as if he had Wolfram under control. Their muscles tensed, bodies locked in a test of sheer strength as they grappled, trying to force each other off balance. Baturay was using his size to press Wolfram down, hoping to pin him early and dominate the fight.
But Wolfram had trained for moments like this. His time spent under Kara's guidance had prepared him for situations where brute strength alone wasn't enough. He knew how to react, how to read the flow of a fight and use his opponent's force against them. In an instant, Wolfram twisted his right hand free from Baturay's grip, and without hesitation, he drove his elbow into Baturay's chin with incredible precision.
The impact of bone on bone echoed across the field, and the knights, watching intently, let out an audible "Uuuu!" of surprise. Baturay staggered back, momentarily disoriented by the blow. He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing at Wolfram. The strike had rattled him, but it hadn't broken his resolve.
With a low growl, Baturay wiped the corner of his mouth and glared at Wolfram. "So, that's how you want to play? Fine." His voice was thick with challenge. Angered, Baturay charged at Wolfram, his large frame bearing down on him like a crashing wave. Wolfram barely had time to react before Baturay tackled him, using all of his weight to bring him to the ground.
Now, they were wrestling in the dirt, Baturay attempting to use his size and strength to overwhelm Wolfram. For a moment, it looked like Baturay had the upper hand, as he struggled to pin Wolfram beneath him. But Wolfram was far more agile than Baturay had anticipated. Years of combat training had honed Wolfram's reflexes, teaching him how to escape holds and avoid being crushed by opponents larger than him.
In a fluid motion, Wolfram caught one of Baturay's arms and wrapped his legs around Baturay's head, locking him into a tight submission hold. The knights gasped, shocked to see the smaller man putting the massive Baturay in such a dangerous position. Wolfram tightened the hold, squeezing his legs and attempting to choke Baturay, cutting off his air supply. It was clear that Wolfram was using strategy over strength, applying pressure in all the right places to gain the upper hand.
Baturay, however, was not so easily defeated. His sheer physical power allowed him to resist the hold, and with a roar, he lifted Wolfram off the ground, attempting to slam him down in an effort to break free. He slammed Wolfram to the ground three times, the sound of each impact reverberating through the air. The knights winced at the sight, but Wolfram remained composed, tucking his body with each fall to avoid the full impact of the ground and prevent any serious injury.
Despite the brutal force of Baturay's slams, Wolfram held on, refusing to let go of the submission hold. The fight had turned into a battle of endurance, with Baturay struggling to breathe, his face turning red from the lack of oxygen. The knights watched in awe as the seasoned warrior's strength began to wane, his body growing heavier as the fight dragged on.
Baturay's breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving as his body started to give out. His face flushed, and it became clear to everyone watching that he was on the verge of losing consciousness. Wolfram, sensing that his opponent was nearing his limit, chose that moment to release his hold.
He stood up slowly, his breathing steady but his eyes still sharp and focused. Baturay lay on the ground, gasping for air, his body unable to continue the fight. Wolfram remained calm, showing no signs of exhaustion, and as Baturay struggled to rise, Wolfram offered him his hand.
"Good match," Wolfram said simply, his voice carrying no malice, only respect. He helped Baturay to his feet, and the larger man, though bruised and weary, looked at Wolfram with newfound admiration.
Baturay, still catching his breath, nodded in acknowledgment. "Now I believe the stories I've heard about you," he said between breaths, a small smile appearing on his face. "You've truly become like Kara. It's clear in the way you fight. You have my respect, Gengiz." The use of Wolfram's Turk-il name, Gengiz, was a mark of respect, and it was clear that Baturay now saw him as an equal—a true Tarkan warrior.
The knights, who had been watching in stunned silence, erupted into cheers, their admiration for Wolfram reaching new heights. They had known him as a skilled fighter, but to see him match Baturay's strength with skill and cunning had earned him their full respect.
The knights gathered around him, clapping him on the back and offering their congratulations. Sir Leopold von Eisenberg was the first to reach him, his eyes gleaming with pride. "That was a remarkable display, my prince," he said, his voice full of admiration. "You've truly earned the title of Tarkan warrior today."
The other knights nodded in agreement, offering their own praises as they surrounded Wolfram. But even in the midst of the celebration, Aslı stood slightly apart, watching from a distance. Her eyes were locked on Wolfram, and though she did not join the knights in their congratulations, the pride in her gaze was unmistakable. She had known all along that Wolfram had the potential to become a great warrior, but now, seeing him defeat Baturay in such a calculated and controlled manner, she knew he had truly embraced the mantle of the warrior he was meant to be.
For Wolfram, the fight had not been about brute force or dominance. It had been about proving his skill, his ability to outthink and outmaneuver even the strongest of opponents. And in that moment, as the knights gathered around him, it was clear that he had succeeded.