The clash of swords rang sharp and relentless, metal screaming against metal with every strike. Diomede swung his greatsword in a wide, deflecting arc, pushing back each of Ruffgaurd's precise swings of his golden longsword. Every collision sent sparks flying, scattering like shards of light in the morning air.
The crowd watched in tense silence as the two warriors danced their deadly dance. Diomede's breath came heavy, sweat slicking his brow, muscles straining with every motion.
Suddenly, Diomede's gaze shifted — the other knights were emerging from the tavern, dragging something behind them.
Bound in iron shackles, Kira was pulled into view. Bruises mottled her face, her nose swollen and busted. Her eyes locked with Diomede's, filled with pain and silent pleading.
A furious snarl tore from Diomede's throat as his eye flared bright orange, the fire of his rage burning hot beneath the surface.
Before he could move, Clayton stepped between him and Ruffgaurd, hands raised firmly. "STOP!" His voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Diomede turned toward him, surprised to see the certainty in Clayton's stance — no longer the boy who feared him.
"Stop fighting and lay down your weapons," Clayton commanded. "You're outnumbered. We've found the person we were looking for." He mouthed a quiet, desperate "Please" to Diomede.
The ground trembled with the Elite's arrival before anyone saw him. He stormed out of the tavern, moving with a speed that blurred reality.
Clayton was sent crashing to the ground by the massive knight's sheer force, stunned by the unexpected assault.
Diomede barely had time to react before the Elite's right hook connected squarely with his nose. The sharp snap of breaking bone echoed in his ears as blood exploded across his vision.
He flew backward, crashing through a stack of crates fifty feet away. The impact rattled his lungs, forcing the air from his body with a harsh thud.
His greatsword slipped from his grasp, landing with a heavy, echoing thump that left a dent in the ground.
Gasping for breath, Diomede tried to gather himself, but the Elite loomed over him, relentless.
He began to pummel Diomede's chest with brutal, precise strikes — the sickening crunch of bone under iron filling the air, mingling with Diomede's ragged grunts of pain.
The Elite's blows were not wild, but measured — like a miner striking the unyielding rock, each strike deliberate, each impact driving deeper into the work at hand.
Clayton watched, eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. He had heard of the strength of Umar's Elite Knights, but nothing prepared him for this merciless precision.
Kira shut her eyes tight, tears slipping down her cheeks. Yet even behind closed lids, the echoing thuds and guttural sounds pierced her heart, each blow a fresh wound in her soul.
Ruffgaurd's smile was cold approval, pride curling the edges of his lips. The other knights stood impassive, as if witnessing routine.
Around them, the crowd trembled — some covered their mouths in fear, others frozen like statues. The tavern keeper was rooted to the spot, unable even to blink.
For five long minutes, the Elite worked over Diomede — a slow, punishing symphony of power and control.
When the beating ended, the Elite rose, towering and unyielding, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag tied to his belt.
"Shackle this man," he ordered, voice low and commanding. "I will question him later."
One knight hesitated. "Sir, permission to speak?"
The Elite turned, voice like steel. "Granted."
"The man you beat… is he not dead?"
The Elite strode forward, every step a statement of unchallengeable authority.
"Why question me? If I order the shackling of a headless body, you obey. If I command binding the hands of a fish…" He stopped close, the cold gleam of his helm reflecting the knight's uncertainty. "You. Will. Do. So."
The knight snapped to attention, hurried to bind Diomede's wrists.
As they lifted the battered man, his breath came in ragged wheezes. His face was a canvas of black, blue, and red bruises; swollen nearly grotesque. Bloodshot eyes barely visible beneath puffy lids. His once-sturdy armor hung in tatters, fastened only by torn threads and bent nails.
Kira followed, tears tracing fresh tracks down her cheeks. Her gaze met Clayton's, where flickers of regret and helplessness passed silently between them.
The Elite turned back to Ruffgaurd. "I leave the rest to you. Correct those who require it."
Ruffgaurd saluted sharply.
He gestured for the crowd to disperse, then snapped his fingers at Clayton. The boy stepped forward.
"What," Ruffgaurd growled, voice thick with menace, "in the name of our glorious King do you think you were doing?"
Clayton's mouth tightened; he said nothing.
"Do I need to repeat myself? Speak, boy!"
"I wasn't thinking, sir. Only reacting."
Ruffgaurd's eyes burned into him as he circled, predator and prey entwined.
"So you think killing a Gultonk excuses you from your place? You called the Boarkin a person. Why? She is barely an animal. Why step between me and that bastard?"
Clayton's silence was his only answer.
Ruffgaurd stopped, heavy hand resting on Clayton's shoulder. "I blame your backwater training — too far from the capital, diluted standards. But fear not, we will teach you the true way of a Holy Knight."
Their eyes locked.
"But first," Ruffgaurd's hand glowed, "you will learn pain. So your lessons are never forgotten."
Sparks of searing agony shot through Clayton's body, muscles locking tight. He collapsed to his knees, breath stolen.
When the grip released, he fell forward, gasping, but forced himself back to attention.
Ruffgaurd chuckled darkly, turning away. "We will make a Knight of you yet."
They marched through the village, met with cheers and praise.
Clayton's mind drifted. If only they knew what they had done… would they cheer then?
No. They would not. But outwardly, his chest swelled with pride.
Led by Ruffgaurd, war hero. Guarded by the Elite Knight who protected the king himself.
At the village's Knights' main office, guards stood ready — two at the gate, six along the road with spears and shields, four archers perched on the roof, eyes scanning.
Diomede was carried through the side entrance, down the stairs. Kira entered through the main doors.
"Head down with Elite Knight Panagiot," Ruffgaurd ordered Clayton. "He will teach you how to question Umar's enemies properly."
Clayton saluted and followed.
Ruffgaurd entered with a devious smile — one that promised harsh lessons ahead.