As soon as the toll of the third bell rang out, I dashed forward with a burst of speed and firmly planted my free hand into Cavendish's face with a clenched fist, with a small burst of extra power from the Gauntlets of Strength. I felt a crunch, and he slid back a few feet, swearing, and blood ran down his nose.
"You little bi-" He started to say, but I wasn't about to give him a chance to catch his footing. I followed with a sharp kick to the side of his knee, causing him to stagger further and curse even louder. I wasn't sure how much damage that had done, but it had the desired effect of getting him off balance.
I bounced back a few steps out of the range of his attempt at a counterattack, though it was a close thing. He swung his massive slab of a sword much faster than I would have expected. He likely had something similar to my gauntlets, giving him some kind of strength boost.
He swung in the other direction just as quickly, moving forward, trying to close the distance between us. I ducked under the strike just in time. There must be something else going on with the blade. He was able to swing it faster than a strength enhancement could account for.
No time to run through possibilities. I just had to react until I got a feel for it.
I ducked and weaved around his attacks. His swings were large and powerful, but they lacked finesse. He was clearly skilled in fighting either large foes or crowds of enemies, weaker than himself.
Time to test the waters. After an overhead swing embedded itself in the sands, I dashed forward and went for a jab with my sword straight at his face. It was a dirty trick my brother taught me. In his words, "Always go for the face. Everyone, no matter how skilled or protected, will flinch if you shove at their face!"
The tip of my sword bounced right off a magical barrier. When did he cast that? Another item? A silent spell? If he could do silent spells, I might be in real trouble.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. My surprise had thrown off my reaction time. He had returned my earlier punch, and the side of my face hurt like hell. I think I felt a little blood run down my cheek.
Fool. Being down here gave me a clear shot at the best target for fighting male opponents. I lashed out with my foot and caught him square in the crotch. Even armored, that will make any man flinch. It wasn't armored enough. He let out a squeal of pain and stumbled back, which gave me enough time to roll away and get back to my feet.
I couldn't help but grin at the groans of sympathetic pain from the audience.
He was shouting something at me, but I didn't really care. I was studying him, planning my next move. He had a lot of defenses outside of his sword fighting and physical strength. That hit to my face was really hard, and I could feel a bit of swelling already. That was going to be so bruised in the morning.
My sense of fair play suggested I get back in there and press the attack. My sense of fair play could shove it.
"Bolts of Light and Burning Spheres, reduce my foes to Weeping Tears!" I intoned the spell poem, focusing my mana into a ring of fireballs surrounding me. I launched them at Cavendish, one after the other, exploding around him and bouncing off his shield.
I didn't need to damage him; I needed to figure out exactly what kind of defenses he was working with. I hadn't heard any incantations, which meant he was a silent caster, which suggested a more studious side of him than I would have expected, or he had some kind of item that maintained a shield that only affected attacks over a certain speed. Maybe it only protected against certain attacks. My sword and spells were bouncing off, but my foot and fist went right through.
A glint of light confirmed my growing suspicion. He had an amulet, likely having some sort of shield spell, but a very specific form of protection. The more specific the protection spell, the stronger the defense was. This was going to get tricky.
I had a plan. A risky as hell plan, but a plan, nonetheless.
"Einfreiren," I whispered to my sword, and began my charge forward, my sword aiming for a thrust at his face again. His scowl turned into a huge grin, and he laughed loudly.
"Stupid wench! You can try all you want, but you'll never hit me with your pauper's sword!" He shouted as he swung his sword at me in one of his brutish overhand swings. As it sank into the ground, I tapped it with my Ice Moon sword, and it immediately froze to the ground, encased in solid luminescent ice.
I saw his confidence melt into confusion as I continued my approach. He cursed and tried to wrench it free, but the magical ice was holding strong. I had pumped a lot of power into it to make it hold. Enough that one of my mana battery rings had come apart.
With a deft movement, I drew my Shield Piercer directly towards his amulet. The shield flared to life, as did the dagger, and the two colliding spells fought for power. His amulet shone, and I could see the energy draining from Cavendish's face as it did so. I was right. It was pulling power from him now. I pulled even more mana from my rings to try and give the Shield Piercer the push it needed to overcome this bastard's shield. I felt another ring shatter. I hadn't been wanting to use that many, but I wanted to save my natural reservoir in case things got worse.
It saw the sight I hoped to see. Cracks in the shield spell. One, another, more, like a spiderweb of light and power. And with a crackling pop, the shield was gone, the amulet shattering, and I felt my dagger get hot, and tossed it aside. The amulet forced a mana feedback loop, and it had overwhelmed the Shield Piercer. I prayed it hadn't burnt the enchantments out of it, but that was a problem for later.
I had the advantage. Time to press it. I swung for his face and struck him hard enough that it knocked him off his feet. Not satisfied, I straddled his chest and swung, over and over, feeling his blood coating my fists as I vented all my anger and frustration into him.
Not just against him, but every other injustice that had been done to me. I hit him for things he had nothing to do with. I let rage control me, and let my fists think for themselves.
He finally recovered from my assault and shoved me off. I rolled, grabbing my cast aside sword, its spell power burnt out. Which meant his sword was free.
I was starting to feel exhausted. This had lasted longer than expected, or hoped rather, and he had the advantage there. For all my derision towards Knights, they trained for protracted and intense battles against powerful foes, whereas a dungeoneer's style tended towards fast and efficient fights.
He grabbed his sword, and we squared off outside each other's range. I felt a droplet of water on my face. I spared a glance skyward. I hadn't noticed the clouds rolling in, and with them the cold autumn rains. It felt good, cooling my rage and easing some of the soreness on my face.
We stared at each other for a moment, the sound of the crowd cheering our names lost to our focus, the only sound registering was that of the rain, and the beating of my heart.
"I will admit, wench. You are a better foe than I expected. I grudgingly give you, my respect. Marchesi, was it? I'll remember it when I have my victory drinks tonight." He gave me a wry grin.
"You're effective for a lush and a pervert. I will admit that much. I think no matter how this goes; I'm going to do my best to forget all about you!" I replied, matching his expression.
"Fair enough." He shrugged. "I guess it's time to stop playing around with you."
"Are you really going to pull that whole 'Time to show you my real power' nonsense? It's fitting that someone like you would be so damned cliché!" My voice was full of sass, but I was mentally preparing for some kind of ambush. I had heard he fought dirty, but like an overconfident idiot, I didn't look into it enough.
"Cliché or not, if it works, it works. I haven't had to break this out in a while! Don't think too badly of me." He tapped the hilt of his sword, and then a design on his gorget. "Reveal! The Herald of Speed!"
His heavy armor shifted for a moment, and shed several parts of it, revealing a lighter set beneath it, entirely etched over with runes. His sword made a hissing sound, and the hilt and grip separated, revealing a much smaller sword. His stance changed to match my own.
I tried my best to hide my surprise, but I wasn't doing a very good job of it. This was going to get bad. My only advantage was speed compared to him, and that wasn't even his proper fighting style. I swore to myself, and at him.
I had spent two rings and my shield piercer. Ice Moon wouldn't be ready for a few more minutes.
As I was trying to think, he charged at me faster than I could follow, striking me solidly in the guts. I fell to my knees, gasping for breath. He quickly followed up with a kick to the ribs.
Pain. So much pain. I hated pain. It reminded me too much of my training with my sister. As much as she derided my so-called dirty tactics, she was more than happy to use them against me in our sparring matches.
Cavendish was strong, though. It hurt much worse. I was fighting to maintain consciousness. I struggled to my feet and barely parried a sword strike and another fist. I had to think, but there was no time to think.
I was on the back foot here, all I could do was block and try to parry. Every time I made an attack, he just dodged. I was going to have to break out my dirtiest trick I hid. I only hoped I could survive the recoil.
I dodged a jab, which he followed up with a punch. I let it connect and dropped my sword to grab his arm with both hands. He tried to pull himself loose, then punched me with his other hand and even tried to kick me off, but I held on for dear life as I pulled in the remaining mana in my battery rings as well as my own reservoir.
I began the spell poem for the most devastating attack in my arsenal.
"By nature's hand-"
"What the hell are you doing, you piece of-" He cried out.
"By craft, by art-" His eyes widened in recognition as I continued.
"You can't be serious! This is a duel! You can't use that!" He screamed.
"What once was whole-" I kept going, locking my gaze with him. I wanted him to see my defiance and feel the depths to which I was willing to go to win.
"You idiot! Let me go!" He pulled and tried his best to shake me off, but I held even tighter, feeling my joints creak, and my nails began to break. I would not lose to this cur. I was Alta Alba Marchest, Exile of Burgotova, and I wasn't going to let this piddling little knight shame me!
"NOW FLY APART!" I completed the spell with a roar and felt the mana flow out of me and into his arm and armor. I felt the power surge and worm its way deep into his bones and flesh, and with a sharp pulse and crack of pure magical power, the spell unleashed.
His armor on his arm exploded, the bones in his arm shattered into flinders, and he screamed in agony. I did too, the cost of the spell being paid, as every bit of damage I did to him reflected back on me, destroying my last two rings, the gauntlet of strength I had so recently one, shattering like glass upon the rain and blood-soaked sand beneath us.
He stumbled backwards and screamed louder and louder, before falling to the ground, and landing face first in the mud, blood from his arm running like crimson rivers into the ground.
The world was going black around me, the cold water running down my face, I fought to stay standing, holding my one good arm to the sky, a sign of the last vestiges of defiance that still clung to my body and soul.
I looked across the field and saw the magical fire that represented Cavendish turn dark. Victory was mine.
Satisfied, I slipped into blessed unconsciousness, the pain lost to the void, victory firmly in my grasp. I had the vague sense of being lifted, the warm feeling of someone's mana touching my body, healing me, but I couldn't muster more than a passing mote of attention to it. I heard voices, familiar ones. There was a comfort of recognition. I wasn't alone. That was all I needed to know.
I sank deeper into that soft void and let myself drift away.