"I'll give you one more chance after seeing that you are decent enough. How about you forfeit now?"
"Thank you for the suggestion, but I must decline. I have my own ambitions, as any person does."
"…You're aiming for the prize. You have some grandiose ideas above your station."
Tsk,
Gareth clicked his tongue, further lowering his opinion of his opponent.
"Well then, you will die by my hand."
...And then match began.
The moment the words left Gareth's mouth, he lunged.
His movements were fast—fast enough to startle the average viewer. His footwork was sharp, trained, refined. His sword shimmered in the sunlight, coming down in a clean, vertical arc aimed directly at Julies's shoulder.
A decisive strike.
A strike meant to end the match quickly.
But—
Clang!
Metal scraped against metal. Julies's blade was there, waiting for it. Not late, not early. Perfect timing.
