Chapter 268: v3 - 29: the challengers III

Chapter 268: v3 Chapter 29: the challengers III

The second match began without the same arrogance as the first.

Gary stepped forward.

His challenger was already waiting.

The man did not move casually this time.

He held his sword properly.

His attention remained fixed on Gary.

There would be no testing for its own sake.

He had watched what happened to the first man.

He knew better.

The signal sounded.

Gary attacked.

The challenger met him immediately.

Steel struck steel.

Gary’s first blow was heavy.

The challenger absorbed it and redirected the blade.

Gary came again.

The challenger stepped aside.

A counterstrike followed.

Gary twisted away.

The blade caught his sleeve instead of his ribs.

He didn’t retreat.

He attacked again.

The challenger blocked.

Another strike.

Another block.

They moved across the sand.

The challenger was precise.

Gary was relentless.

Neither man gave the other an easy opening.

The challenger began changing his rhythm.

A quick attack.

A pause.

Then a sudden thrust.

Gary avoided it by inches.

The challenger followed.

Gary blocked.

The impact drove him backward.

Another strike.

Gary caught it.

His arms shook.

The challenger stepped away.

Not mocking him.

Not underestimating him.

Simply waiting.

Gary charged.

Their swords collided.

The challenger turned his wrist.

Gary’s blade slipped aside.

The challenger struck toward his shoulder.

Gary moved too slowly.

The blade cut through the fabric and opened his upper arm.

Blood appeared.

Gary looked at it.

Then raised his sword again.

The challenger watched him.

He understood now.

This man wasn’t going to stop because he was hurt.

The fight continued.

Gary attacked harder.

The challenger answered with cleaner movements.

A cut across Gary’s ribs.

A strike to his shoulder.

A blow that nearly knocked his sword from his hand.

Gary kept coming.

The crowd roared every time he recovered.

The challenger remained focused.

He had learned from the first match.

There was no room for complacency.

Gary swung.

The challenger parried.

Gary stepped in.

The challenger struck.

Gary raised his arm.

The blade cut into his forearm.

He should have pulled away.

Instead, his hand closed around the sword.

For one terrible moment, Gary trapped the challenger’s blade against his own palm.

The challenger froze.

Gary used the opening.

He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest.

The challenger stumbled.

Gary struck.

The challenger twisted away.

But the blow caught his side.

He staggered.

Gary followed.

The crowd erupted.

The challenger recovered quickly.

He attacked.

Gary blocked.

The force drove him to one knee.

The challenger pressed the blade down.

Gary’s arm trembled.

Then Gary surged upward.

He knocked the sword aside.

The challenger stepped back.

Gary rose.

Blood ran from his hand.

His breathing was ragged.

But he was still standing.

The challenger stared at him.

There was something almost incomprehensible about the man’s refusal to stop.

He had already been cut several times.

His hand was bleeding.

His movements were slowing.

Yet every time he was knocked down, he got back up.

The challenger attacked again.

Gary blocked.

His sword slipped from his grip.

It fell into the sand.

The challenger stepped forward.

Gary lunged for it.

The challenger kicked it away.

Gary didn’t hesitate.

He went after the man instead.

His fist struck the challenger’s jaw.

The man staggered.

Gary tackled him.

They crashed into the sand.

The crowd exploded.

The challenger fought back.

He drove his knee into Gary’s side.

Gary grunted.

The challenger shoved him away.

Gary rolled.

The challenger reached for his sword.

Gary grabbed his ankle.

The man fell.

Gary climbed over him.

The challenger struck him across the face.

Gary barely reacted.

He grabbed the man’s wrist.

The challenger twisted.

Gary held on.

For several seconds, they struggled in the sand.

Then the challenger managed to break free.

He rolled away and reached his sword.

This time, Gary was too slow.

The challenger recovered the weapon.

He stood.

Gary rose after him.

Barely.

His legs shook.

Blood ran from his arm and across his side.

The challenger looked at him.

For the first time, something changed in his expression.

Not contempt.

Not confidence.

Respect.

He raised his sword.

Gary raised his empty hand.

Then charged.

The challenger met him.

The blade struck Gary across the shoulder.

He staggered.

The challenger struck again.

Gary blocked with his forearm.

The impact nearly knocked him down.

Again.

Gary tried to move.

His legs failed.

He fell to one knee.

The challenger stepped closer.

"Yield."

Gary looked up.

He said nothing.

He tried to stand.

His body refused.

He pushed against the sand.

His arm trembled.

He rose halfway.

Then collapsed again.

The challenger waited.

Gary tried once more.

Nothing.

He couldn’t stand.

The challenger lowered his sword.

The attendants began moving toward them.

Gary still tried to rise.

One of them reached for him.

Gary shoved the hand away.

He planted his palm against the sand.

Tried again.

His strength failed him.

The challenger watched for another moment.

Then stepped forward.

He struck the side of Gary’s head with the hilt of his sword.

Gary collapsed.

The Arena fell silent.

The attendants rushed in.

Gary lay motionless in the sand.

Only then did the challenger lower his weapon completely.

The crowd erupted.

The point belonged to the challengers.

But the reaction on their side was different from the celebration that had followed Alex’s victory.

The four challengers on their side of the arena watched Gary being carried away.

No one looked pleased.

They had won.

But they had also learned something.

The Arena fighters did not surrender because they believed they could still win.

They fought because surrender had been beaten out of them long ago.

Cassian watched silently.

Gary had lost.

But he had made the challenger fight for every inch of that victory.

Two matches.

One victory each.

The score was tied.

One victory for the Arena fighters.

One for the challengers.

The crowd was already calling for the next match.

Robert glanced toward the Arena.

Then toward the challengers waiting across the field.

"I think I’m next."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert watched the men on the opposite side for a moment.

"They’re different."

"Yes."

"You can tell from the way they move."

His eyes followed the challenger who was preparing to enter the Arena.

"They’re properly trained. Not just fighters who learned how to survive here. Their swordsmanship is different."

Cassian nodded.

Robert tightened his grip around his sword.

"I’ve spent almost two years fighting men like us."

He glanced at Cassian.

"Don’t get me wrong. I’ve learned plenty here."

His gaze returned to the Arena.

"But this..."

He smiled.

"This is a real test."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert’s expression had changed.

There was excitement in it now, but not the careless excitement he sometimes showed for the crowd.

He was genuinely interested.

"They’re not trying to kill us."

"Not deliberately."

"Exactly."

Robert rolled his shoulders.

"So I can actually see how I measure up against someone who was trained to fight properly."

He looked toward the opposite side again.

"How fast they are. How good their technique is. Whether all those years of formal training really make that much of a difference."

A faint grin appeared.

"I’ve always wondered."

The announcer’s voice suddenly rang across the Arena.

"Three hundred and twenty-seven!"

The crowd erupted.

Robert straightened.

"That’s me."

He took a breath.

Then smiled.

"I can’t wait."

He stepped toward the Arena.

--

Tbc