"Let's begin," Frey said bluntly, summoning the Demon-Slayer—Dark Sister—and assuming his usual relaxed stance, one riddled with openings.
Yet, despite Frey declaring the start of the duel, Frost didn't move.
He stood there, still as ice, almost as if he were waiting for something.
"Aren't you going to use your other sword? If I'm not mistaken… you fight with two."
Frost asked calmly, noting the absence of the sword Frey had used against him in the past.
"Ah… you mean Balerion."
Frey scratched his hair with his free hand, then leaned lazily on his blade.
"Apologies, Frost. It's not that I'm underestimating you, truly ..
I just don't see a need to use it against you."
He paused for a second, as the two locked eyes ..
cold mist beginning to spread between them.
"Dark Sister will be enough."
As those words left his lips, the air around them grew tenser.
The soldiers surrounding the field stared in silence, sensing a strange, suffocating pressure taking hold of the arena.