Will of the Battlefield

One hour passed faster than anyone expected, and the referee came again to call the two finalists.

When the finalists returned to the arena, the mood had changed.

Earlier there had been excitement, but now there was hope and worry.

They knew their giant had a higher chance of falling. He was battered and bleeding. They had also seen how strong the swordsman was, even when using a practice weapon made of wood.

Thane walked into the arena, the wooden axe swinging in the air as he walked.

His body was hurting and begging for rest. His ribs turned breathing into suffering, his face was swollen and torn, and his legs had no strength to hold his weight. There was not a place on him that did not ache.

Across from him stood Etno Kamsi. The swordsman looked as composed as ever.

Calm, uninjured, and very confident in his sword.

He gazed at Thane, and his eyes were different. No leniency could be seen this time. That gaze bothered Thane more than anything.

The referee stepped away and the signal was given.

Etno moved. He moved as if he were stepping on air, and in the next moment, he was in front of Thane.

Wood cracked against wood. Thane barely managed to intercept the first strike.

But the second hit his shoulder and the third clipped his ribs.

The fourth landed against bruised flesh that had not recovered from Donovan’s beating during the previous two days.

Pain exploded through his body. The crowd winced together with Thane.

Etno was not attacking randomly. He remembered every injury on Thane’s body.

Every damaged muscle was a weakness, and his sword kept finding them.

Thane swung the axe, a powerful strike. The sort that would have knocked most candidates clear out of the arena.

But it hit nothing. Etno was not there. The giant swung again. The swordsman vanished once more.

It felt like Thane was trying to catch a shadow, a particularly annoying shadow.

The swordsman slipped around every attack, never where he should have been or where Thane expected.

A cut appeared on his forearm, another on his shoulder, then on his thigh. Fresh blood began staining his clothes.

Not enough to cripple him, but enough to slow him. Enough to matter in such a duel.

Somewhere in the stands, Eudora folded her arms tighter. Max looked sick.

The judges exchanged glances. Etno was winning.

Everyone could see it, including Thane. That was the frustrating part. He knew he was losing but could not figure out why.

Then the feeling returned, like someone had pressed a knife against the back of his leg.

His eyes widened. He recognized the feeling. It was intent.

That damned thing again, Thane thought through gritted teeth.

The invisible attack. The fake wound that somehow felt real.

His body reacted before his mind did. The axe came down.

CLACK.

The sword met it. A real strike, not an imagined one.

The sensation vanished immediately. Etno’s eyes narrowed. That surprised him.

The giant had recovered far faster than he had imagined.

The first time he had experienced sword intent, he had been completely overwhelmed.

But now, he was adapting and reacting dangerously fast. Something that did not sit right with Etno, who had expected an easy match.

Thane did not think or bother himself with what ran through Etno’s mind.

He was too busy trying to understand what was happening.

The giant stumbled backward. Blood dripped from his chin as his chest rose and fell heavily.

Etno advanced. The sword flashed. Another strike.

The arena watched as the fight looked finished.

The giant looked exhausted. Even Bod frowned from the sideline.

Etno felt something was wrong. Thane was not panicking. He was not desperate like he had been at the start.

He looked at Etno with confused eyes, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

The giant remembered what Bod had told him.

Intent.

Intent.

Intent.

He kept thinking about it, as if it were obvious and made sense. But it did not, not to him.

Then a ridiculous thought entered his head, not about swords or axes, but about hammers.

If he had a hammer, a properly sized one, the hammer used by him in the smithy...

How would he hit Etno? The image appeared inside his mind.

He imagined bringing the hammer down on the swordsman’s head, breaking the sword in two with the strike.

It was a mere thought, just imagination, nothing more.

But across the arena, Etno was stunned.

For the briefest moment, his vision blurred. An impossible sensation slammed into him. It felt as though something massive had struck his skull.

He thought he was dead. He felt the pain, the pieces of his brain splashing out.

The image appeared in his mind before he could stop it.

A giant hammer, descending with crushing force.

His breath caught and his eyes widened.

For the first time since entering the trials, Etno flinched.

The entire arena saw it. No one understood why.

Least of all Thane. The giant simply saw an opening, a once-in-a-lifetime one.

His body instinctively moved. A hand shot forward. His fingers closed around cloth. Etno’s collar.

The swordsman realized his mistake immediately.

Every remaining ounce of strength surged through his battered body.

Muscles strained. His bones protested. Every wound screamed. But none of it mattered.

Thane planted his feet, then threw Etno Kamsi.

The crowd rose as one. Etno left the ground. The swordsman sailed through the air. Ten feet, fifteen, twenty.

His eyes remained wide with disbelief. The arena line rushed beneath him.

Then, beyond it, his body struck the ground and rolled.

Silence followed. Absolute silence. Nobody moved or spoke. Spectators did not even breathe loudly.

Etno stared at the sky, trying to understand what had happened and how he had lost.

At the center of the arena, Thane swayed slightly. Blood covered his clothes. His breathing sounded like a broken bellows.

He looked exhausted, confused, and almost half-dead.

The referee finally found his voice. "Out of bounds."

He halted for a moment before continuing in a louder voice. "Winner, THANE."

The arena erupted. Cheers exploded from every direction.

People jumped to their feet. Candidates shouted.

Bentram’s supporters nearly tore the stands apart celebrating.

Max screamed himself hoarse. Eudora laughed loudly, her cackles reverberating.

She was the most proud at that moment. Her little brother had earned a name.

The giant blinked, then looked around. Only then did he realize the fight had ended. He had won somehow.

He scratched the back of his head. Still confused, he looked back and forth at the referee and Etno lying on the ground outside.

His mind, for a moment, failed to grasp what had happened... How had he won? What forced Etno into that stunned state?

One question after another assaulted him, distracting his mind from the cheers and everything happening.

He had won, and maybe he had used an opening, but Etno had not found him in the most honorable way either.

The swordsman had exploited almost every injury and pain he was feeling.

Furthermore, he never realized he had used intent. He did not know what made Etno hesitate... He only knew he took advantage of the moment.

He never realized he had just accomplished something that should have been impossible.

He only knew one thing: the duel was over. And somehow, against everyone else’s expectations, he had become the champion of the Second Trial.