Lieutenant Marcus drew his sheathed sword, a cheerful smile still on his face.
He bowed respectfully to Daphne, and she returned the gesture.
They circled each other, a silent acknowledgment of their opponent's skill.
Marcus's movements were blindingly fast, a blur of motion.
He was not a brutal fighter like the others; he was a master of his craft. But Daphne was ready.
Her own movements were fluid and quick, a quiet strength that met his every blow.
The two swords met, and the air was filled with the rapid, sharp clangs of steel on steel.
The knights were entranced, utterly astounded.
This was not a test of strength or brute force; it was a spar between two masters.
They moved with a terrifying grace.
Daphne's defense was unbreakable, and Marcus's offense was a flawless storm.
Neither one could gain the upper hand.
Finally, with a loud, final clash, their swords locked. Neither could push forward.
The silence that followed was absolute.
