Zetarnu stared down the bald mercenary who had a staff of his own.
"Mage on mage fight huh? Son of a bitch," thought Zetarnu.
Zetarnu pointed his staff and shot a fireball at the mercenary yet the mercenary responded with one of his own.
The two began dashing around and firing at each other. Zetarnu's elderly body was only barely able to keep up with the intense exchange of fireballs. Keen senses honed through many years aided him weave past the deadly fireballs, each of which could blast through a fully armored man with ease.
Zetarnu planted his staff into the ground and the area around him filled with arcane aura. Suddenly rows of tall, dirt spikes sprouted from the ground in front of him straight towards the mercenary. The mercenary dashed out of the way and fired a spread of mana bolts which were quickly disintegrated against Zetarnu's powerful aura.
"Fool, doesn't even know about aura projection. Such weak magic can't touch me when my powerful aura is projected like this," thought Zetarnu smugly.
Zetarnu's hand extended towards the dirt spikes and lifted them into the air using his telekinesis.
"EAT DIRT FUCKER!"
The spikes surged at the mercenary yet stopped mere millimeters from impaling him. All at once the spikes flew straight at Zetarnu.
"Dam it! a deflection barrier, the son of a bitch is sending my own attack against me! My aura projection only protects from magic attack. I'd need a barrier to defend from physical attacks."
One of the spikes tore a chunk of flesh off from Zetarnu's leg as he tried to dodge the spikes. He plummeted to the ground in agony as the mercenary slowly approached him, cruel smile on his face.
"Prepare to die bastard," said the mercenary, pointing his staff.
Zetarnu looked around desperately and then spotted the dead armored mercenary which Noname had killed. Using telekinesis he sent the mercenary's hammer flying over 120 miles per hour straight at the mage mercenary's head.
The mercenary's head was immediately blown to bloody pieces against the hammer sending bloody chunks of flesh and bone shards flying into the air. Zetarnu took out a potion from his pouch and drank the red healing liquid. The liquid coursed through his body, regenerating the flesh he lost on is leg. He slowly stood up, leg still in pain.
Meanwhile Simon was engaged in battle with a hatchet wielding mercenary. Simon ducked under a wide swing and sprung backwards to create distance between the two. Weaponless, he assumed a martial arts fighting stance, something he used a lot during his mercenary days.
Simon dodged another swing before quickly striking the mercenary with his fist sending him reeling back. The mercenary charged forward and began swinging wildly at Simon. The hatchet grazed Simon's side before he unleashed a flurry of quick, practiced punches at the mercenary. The mercenary stumbled back with a bleeding nose.
Simon grabbed the mercenary's arm and snapped it causing him to drop the hatchet. Simon began violently thrashing and bashing the mercenary with deadly precision and efficiency, breaking bones and bruising the mercenary.
The mercenary was sprawled out on the ground bleeding and broken. Simon stood above him, crimson blood splattered across his black robes. He picked up the hatchet and raised it into the air ready to finish off the man.
Yet he couldn't do it. Six years worth of war and slaughter flashed through his mind. Simon trembled and dropped the hatchet and turned away.
"No, not anymore, I can't do it. my days of killing are long over. I shall be merciful as Terra commanded. I have abandoned the blade and summited myself to a life of righteousness a long time ago," thought Father Simon.
Suddenly the mercenary scrambled up, grabbed the hatchet on the ground, and slashed the back of Simon. He shouted in pain yet pushed through the pain and whipped around to face his opponent. His fist smashed into the mercenary's face sending his falling to the floor and dropping the hatchet.
Simon picked up the hatchet and split the mercenary's face in half spraying blood all over him. Father Simon quickly realized what he had done and reeled back in horror.
"Holy father Terra, forgive me for I have slain a man!"
Simon collapsed in pain from the large cut on his back. He knelt down on one knee to say a prayer. He muttered the prayer through his pain in an ancient language.
After finishing the prayer Father Simon's wound began glowing with a radiant yellow and by divine power, healed completely. This was but one of the many blessing abilities granted to him by the god Terra.
Simon stood up and looked to his right and saw both Noname and Zetarnu rushing towards him.
"Are you alright?" shouted Zetarnu.
"Yes," responded Simon.
Simon looked to the ground and reflected.
"I should have expected that I would eventually have to kill someone. Perhaps I should take my own advice and harden my heart. Two years of peace were nice but I suppose I must once again pick up the blade and shed the blood of other men."
Meanwhile Rinero and Beowulf were engaged in a vicious battle. They were a torrent of slashes and parries.
Despite the huge size of Beowulf's blade his attacks came just as fast as if he were wielding a swift dagger. Rinero blocked on of the great blade's swings and sent Beowulf tumbling back with an attack of his own which scrapped against the massive blade.
"Impressive you're able to block my claymore with your puny saber. You clearly have a very refined blocking technique. Yet it won't stop me from slicing you in half," jested Beowulf.
"Save the compliments for when you get to the afterlife asshole," replied Rinero.
Rinero ducked under a swing of Beowulf's claymore and jerked his head away from a jab. Rinero retaliated with a barrage of lightning fast slashes which were all parried swiftly by Beowulf's massive claymore. Rinero's saber bashed into Beowulf's chainmail coat and Beowulf's claymore grazed Rinero's face.
The two leaped away from each other to create distance. A drop of blood dripped from the stinging wound on Rinero's face. He licked the drop of blood which tasted like iron in his mouth. He smiled confidently.
This was combat, real, deadly combat, and Rinero liked it. Adrenaline surged through his body sending Rinero into a familiar trance-like state of focus. All the cockiness from back at the tournament raced back into his mind.
Zetarnu was a mage, this was just another man. Rinero began analyzing the situation.
"My opponent has stronger armor and a longer sword than me. His chainmail makes him near impervious to my saber's attacks. The only way to get through chainmail is with stabbing damage but a saber is a slashing weapon. The only way to easily damage him would be with my knife which has much shorter range than that huge sword of his. I'm at quite the disadvantage here."
Rinero pulled out his knife and put it in his left hand with his saber in his right. He took a fighting stance with his two blades.
"I'll make this work somehow," thought Rinero.
"Duel wielding huh?" said Beowulf.
Rinero dashed forward fast as a rushing river and began swinging at Beowulf. Beowulf blocked a swing from Rinero's saber and dodged an awkward jab from Rinero's knife. He swung wide with his claymore which Rinero blocked with both of his blades.
Rinero dodged a barrage of stabs and jumped back to create distance. Beowulf began putting on the pressure with a mix of swings and stabs, using the length of his blade to his advantage.
Rinero slipped past another stab and hopped over a swing before dashing forward to close the distance between the two. Rinero's blades came like a rain of iron, dual wilding had fit his fighting style perfectly. "Strike swiftly and forcefully," as the old mercenary said.
Beowulf dodged, ducked, and parried through Rinero's iron storm. Beowulf was being pushed back by the attack yet held strong and was not overwhelmed by Rinero's attack.
Beowulf saw an opening in the storm of slashes and stabs and went on the offensive. Beowulf's swing grazed Rinero and bounced off Rinero's armor. Yet Beowulf's second swing hit it's mark, bashing into Rinero and sending him flying back.
Rinero landed on his feet and began coughing up blood. Rinero quickly looked at his wound. The claymore had severely damaged his armor yet did not touch his skin.
"The broad side of the blade must have hit me. Yet that much force in a swing is terrifying," thought Rinero as he reassumed his fighting stance.
Rinero and Beowulf charged at each other and locked into another vicious exchange of blows.
Simon, Noname, and Zetarnu were rushing to aid Rinero and were witnessing the battle. Rinero and Beowulf were both moving swiftly and wildly like two wolfs battling each other. A whirlpool of grazes, slashes, and parries. The two were in a dance of steel, sparks, and blood, one wrong misstep would lead to death.
Steel clashed sending sparks flying into the air. Rinero stabbed with his knife grazing Beowulf face and Beowulf's claymore took off a small shred of flesh from Rinero's left shoulder.
The two dashed away from each other and took striking stances. The two were sweating and panting, the battle had taken it's toll. Both men were tired and damaged. The two made a silent agreement that this last exchange would be the decisive one.
"Two minuets of fighting and not a single solid strike, dam he's good," thought Rinero taking an offensive fighting stance, poised like a lion ready to pounce on it's prey
"I'm gonna slice that swift bastard in half," thought Beowulf taking a defensive stance, claymore high in the air waiting to carve Rinero in two.
The entire exchange happened in a split second. Rinero dashed forward and Beowulf's claymore fell ready to meet him. Yet Rinero's saber was faster and sliced off both Beowulf's hands. Beowulf looked in horror at the two bloody stumps which once held his blade. Not a second later Rinero's knife crashed into Beowulf's chainmail with enough force to split a stone in two.
Blood gushed from the wound and Beowulf cried out in pain as he dropped to the ground. Rinero dropped his saber and with both hands repeatedly plunged his knife into Beowulf's chest. Every time the knife fell blood spurted from Beowulf's wounds.
By time Rinero was done he was covered in blood and had made an absolute mess of Beowulf. He smiled in satisfaction of his victory but soon was overtaken by the feeling of immense pain. Without the adrenalin coursing through his body all his wounds hurt like hell. He had not even noticed that during his last attack Beowulf and made a large cut into Rinero's right shoulder.
"Hey Rinero are you alright!" shouted Simon as he ran to Rinero's aid. "Let me heal you."
Simon put his hands over Rinero's body and spoke a prayer of healing. Rinero's wounds glowed and healed quickly.
Rinero stood and thanked Simon.
"That was some impressive swordsmanship there Rinero, who taught you?" asked Simon.
"An old mercenary who stopped by at my village, Dunstrik. I begged him to teach me and he relented after a week straight of pleading."
"Impressive, he must have taught you well."
Zetarnu stared at Beowulf's bloody dead body sprawled out on the ground.
"Impressive indeed," he muttered sarcastically.