Alaric spun, his flaming blade meeting the curved sword in a shower of sparks.
Steel locked against steel for a moment before Alaric twisted his wrist, sending the other weapon spinning away.
His pommel strike to the man's temple ended the fight.
Fredrick's opponents were wavering now.
The old knight had taken more punishment, cuts on his arms, a gash across his forehead that painted half his face red, but his technique remained flawless. One of his attackers was already down, clutching a sword wound in his thigh.
The other backed away, pride warring with survival instinct.
Alaric's blade found the last standing guard's ribs with surgical precision.
The man's eyes went wide, mouth opening in a soundless gasp before he crumpled to the cobblestones. Blood pooled beneath him, dark against gray stone.
Silence fell over the square like a blanket.
Then the crowd erupted. Whispers rippled outward like stones thrown in still water.
