'Left, right, step away, come back, he swings widely, like I thought, sweep his legs, use that momentum to riposte the guy on the right…'
Syrian was in the midst of battle, his thoughts running rampant. His brain ran calculations of thousands of laws of each movement. The laws of combat, to Syrian, weren't a set of rules. No. While combat did have its rules, there were only two of them to Syrian. Winning, and losing. But laws? Combat had thousands. Millions, even.
Each small movement was governed by these laws. And if Syrian were to follow these laws exactly to what needed to be accomplished, he would succeed. He knew he would.
'This guy on the left puts too much pressure on his right foot when he swings, bait an overarm attack then slice his left leg off. Make sure you move to the side to avoid the strike from behind while you do so.'
SHING!
His blade sliced cleanly through the leg. Then, he elbowed the attacker from behind him, striking cleanly and breaking his nose.
'The other one that was about to attack was scared by my elbow, he'll hestiate. I can finish off the one that I've elbowed.'
His sword struck true, decapitating the head of the man he had elbowed. He was entirely focused. Not a single thought was dedicated to anything other than combat, and his body flowed freely, as if he was dancing, and each beat was the swing of his opponents weapons. He was perfectly efficient and deadly.
'This next one coming from behind has a spear, he looks smaller. I'll kick his spear away, and slice his-'
The music of Syrian's thoughts were stopped as he was hit in the side of the head by a rock.
'Slingers from up in the stands. Didn't think about that. I'll have to look out from my right.'
He immediately centred, and dodged a blow from the spear, grabbing the gladiator by the wrist and snapping it, before driving his blade through his neck.
'Keep calm. Pivot to your right foot, a slinger has just thrown a rock. Don't bother looking. Too late. If hits you, it hits.'
Syrian was too focused on his next opponent who was already approaching. Only two more. The Beast had already finished with all of his opponents
He didn't need to do much. Only the cowardly opponents were leftover. He reached out and stopped the swing of the gladiators sword with the bracer on his wrist, and swiftly jabbed his sword through his eye. He raised his blade for the last one, and threw it with a single stroke. The sword pierced the chest of the gladiator, and Syrian raised his arm up.
"AAAND, Finished! The Black Star and his formidable and grotesque companion have succeeded once again! Can this duo even possibly be stopped? This is incredible!"
The announcer yelled out, using a round, large device powered by basic sorcery. Although even as basic as it was, such a device was incredibly expensive.
Syrian walked over to the corpse of the last man he had thrown his sword at, to retrieve it.
"This marks the 43rd day of games for our glorious ever-lasting emperor, Castian the 14th!"
He knelt besides the slain gladiator, and muttered a small phrase to commemorate his death.
"I will not forget your death by my hand. Please, go peacefully."
He then retrieved his sword and stood back up.
"And man, is it good to be doing these games again! It was such a shame they'd been banned for so long! But glory to our emperor Castian for his mercy, and his grace! And glory to his general Resian for paying for the games in his honor!"
The crowd gave multiple cheers in the name of the general, and the Emperor. But Syrian had already left. And so had the Beast.