Since the duel, I had been reflecting on how I could become stronger. My bow skills weren't bad, but I knew I was vulnerable in close combat. So, what could I do to become more well-rounded? I needed a close-range weapon that was unpredictable—not just a regular sword.
While working in the fields, cutting grain, I suddenly heard screeching sounds coming from the woods. My instincts kicked in, and curiosity pulled me toward the source of the noise.
When I arrived, I saw something I hadn't expected: a giant brown tree snake had an owl in its powerful coils, squeezing the life out of it. The owl's wings were twisted and broken, its eyes wide with fear as it screeched, struggling in vain to escape. The snake, coiling tighter, was focused on its prey, not yet aware of me.
But then, the snake slowly released its grip on the owl. It flicked its tongue in the air, tasting the surrounding scent before locking its gaze on me. The owl, exhausted and defeated, tried weakly to fly but crashed to the ground. The snake's attention was now fully on me.
I realized that running would open me up to an attack from behind, so I steadied myself. I wasn't about to let this creature intimidate me. I clenched the sickle in my hand, the rusted blade still warm from working in the fields. I didn't have a weapon suited for a fight like this, but I'd have to make do.
The snake hissed, its tongue flicking rapidly as it prepared to strike. It was huge, its scales glistening under the sunlight that filtered through the trees. I could hear its low, guttural growls vibrating through the air.
Without warning, it lunged at me. Its mouth opened wide, exposing rows of sharp teeth. I barely managed to dodge, its fangs scraping across my arm as I twisted away, my muscles straining. The pain was instant—a sharp sting of the scrape—but I couldn't let it distract me. The snake was fast, faster than I had anticipated.
I swung my sickle at the beast, aiming for its head, but it was already retreating, its body undulating as it slithered backward to strike again. It was calculating, studying me, learning my movements, waiting for a mistake.
I backed up, using the trees around me to limit its range of motion. I needed to slow it down, force it into a mistake. But the snake wasn't stupid—it kept its distance, flicking its tongue as if tasting the air, analyzing me, looking for weakness.
Then, as I circled, I realized that I was already bleeding from the wound on my arm. The snake hadn't taken much damage—it was still at full strength, coiling and ready to strike again. My heart was racing, but I forced myself to think, to focus. The situation was dire, but I wasn't about to give up.
The snake struck again, moving in faster this time. Its head shot forward like an arrow, and I barely dodged, feeling the air rush by my face. This time, I wasn't quick enough—its tail snapped, hitting me square in the chest. I stumbled back, losing my footing for a split second, but I quickly regained my balance.
It was clear now—the snake wasn't attacking randomly. It was choosing its moves carefully, looking for any small opening. It was patient. Too patient.
And then it hit me. To beat it, I had to think like it. I couldn't just rely on brute force—I needed to become as cunning and calculating as the snake itself. I couldn't fight this beast by following my usual strategies. I had to outsmart it.
The next time it lunged, I didn't try to dodge. Instead, I leaned into the strike, letting the snake's mouth snap dangerously close to my face. In that brief moment of vulnerability, I made my move.
I twisted the sickle in my hand, changing the angle, and swung it backward as hard as I could. The snake's body recoiled, but it was too late. My sickle found its mark, cutting through the thick scales of the snake's neck with a brutal, clean slice. The beast's head fell to the ground in a sickening thud, its body convulsing before it collapsed in a heap.
I stood over it, chest heaving, blood still dripping from my arm, but the fight was over. The giant snake that had been so sure of its victory was now a lifeless carcass.
I approached cautiously, making sure it was truly dead, before taking a deep breath. My heart still pounded in my chest, but I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of triumph. I had done what I needed to do. I had defeated the predator.
And in doing so, I had proven something to myself—that no matter how vicious the challenge, I can be vicious too.