Lucien tightened his grip on the sword, stepping into a stance that screamed danger—loose, coiled, and ready to snap like a wolf about to pounce. His blade hovered mid-guard, angled to block, strike, or riposte in a heartbeat. The dirt beneath their boots churned as the crowd held their breath.
Across from him, Paladin Oscar Jaunez—clad in gleaming plate, the church's wrath made flesh—raised his sword high in the classic Vom Tag stance. The blade caught the sunlight, promising a strike forged in holy fury.
Without warning, Oscar brought his sword down in a thunderous diagonal arc aimed straight for Lucien's head.
Lucien barely dodged, the steel slicing through the air a hair's breadth from his face. His breath caught for a split second, then he twisted on his heel, pivoting smoothly. With no pause, he fired a quick horizontal slash at Oscar's side.
Clang!
Their swords collided, sparks flying.
Oscar didn't back down. He pressed forward, aggressive and brutal—each strike a calculated test of Lucien's defense. A powerful overhead cut crashed down, forcing Lucien to raise his blade just in time.
The force rattled his arms, but he stayed standing.
Lucien's eyes scanned for an opening.
Feinting right, he baited Oscar to overcommit, then pivoted low with a slash across the paladin's thigh. A thin line of blood blossomed under the armor.
Oscar snarled, pain flashing across his pale face, but his resolve never wavered. He lunged forward with a deadly thrust aimed at Lucien's torso.
Lucien twisted away, feeling the cold sting as the blade grazed his side and tore through his tunic.
Blood and sweat mixed as the duel heated up.
Lucien's fighting was wild but sharp—an unpredictable storm. Oscar's form was pure discipline—each strike heavy with righteous judgment.
Arthur lay on the sidelines, wincing but trying to stand.
Lucien's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. "You'll regret that," he said quietly, eyes glinting. "No one dares threaten me and walks away unscathed."
Oscar bellowed, "Then prepare to be cleansed, demon!"
The paladin gathered every ounce of strength and swung a devastating overhead strike—a death blow in all but name.
Steel clashed with steel as Lucien met the strike head-on.
Their blades locked, vibrating fiercely up their arms.
Time seemed to freeze.
Then, with a brutal twist, Lucien broke the bind, slipped under Oscar's guard, and jabbed upward beneath the breastplate—aiming for the soft gap where armor met skin near the diaphragm.
Thunk.
The blade found flesh.
Oscar staggered, eyes wide in shock.
Blood seeped through the armor.
Lucien stepped back, sword ready.
Oscar fell to one knee, burning hatred in his gaze.
Lucien's voice was ice. "The church might want to reconsider its training regimen—paladins like you won't cut it."
The crowd erupted—some cheering, others speechless.
Lucien dropped his sword to the ground, eyes never leaving the fallen paladin.
The duel was over.
But the war for truth was just beginning.
Lucien closed the distance and grabbed Oscar by the collar with his left hand, yanking him forward. With his right, he unleashed a brutal haymaker that slammed into Oscar's jaw, leaving a harsh red mark across his face.
"Speak," Lucien growled, eyes burning. "What's your quarrel with me?"
Oscar laughed darkly, narrowing his eyes until they cut like blades. "You want me to say it out loud? Typical of a demon like you—to forget the sins you've committed."
Lucien's scowl deepened as he hauled the paladin upright, forcing them to stand face to face, equal in fury.
"If a noble speaks, you answer with respect!" he snapped.
Then, without warning, Lucien's forehead slammed against Oscar's with savage force. Pain exploded, stars flickering behind his eyes. Both men staggered, gripping their heads.
Lucien wiped a trickle of blood from his brow, a wry grin tugging at his lips despite the ache.
"Maybe not my smartest move," he muttered under his breath.
Oscar snarled, wiping blood from his nose. The fight was far from over.
"Damn you!" Oscar snarled, lunging forward with a quick jab that caught Lucien off guard, slicing across his cheek.
The crowd gasped, some laughing in disbelief at two high-ranking men brawling like reckless children, while others exchanged worried glances—fearing this chaos might spark something far worse. Nearby, bards continued to scribble feverishly, capturing every moment.
This churchman thinks himself judge, jury, and executioner... I'll show him the cost of such pride.
Lucien's jaw clenched. His fist shot out, driving a heavy punch straight into Oscar's bleeding nose. The thud echoed sharply.
They locked eyes—faces flushed, noses bleeding, fury burning between them.
The once-celebratory festival of Trent had devolved into a raw, chaotic clash.