The clash rang across the arena like a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil.
Wood met wood. Each collision sent sharp, unhinged echoes racing through the stands. Thousands watched in near silence.
The earlier cheers had faded. There was no need for shouting anymore. The battle itself commanded attention and focus.
An average person could easily lose track of what was happening, even while struggling to keep up in the first place.
At the center of the arena, Hodyr's greatsword carved wide arcs through the air. The weapon looked less like a sword and more like a descending fortress gate in human hands.
Every swing carried enough force to shatter bones and send dust skittering across the stone floor.
Etno met those attacks with unnerving calm. He did not overpower them. He slipped around them.
A step here and a turn there. His blade seemed to arrive exactly where it needed to be and nowhere else.
