This was not going to be an ordinary fight. To the skeleton knight, it was a duel against a worthy opponent, one that would truly measure the depth of his power. The victor would be the one who possessed enough strength, experience, luck, instinct, and cunning cheats to survive.
If he could smile, he would, for he felt a surge of exhilaration at the thought of the battle ahead. This clash was not just survival — it was a step higher, a chance to sharpen his skill and move closer to the strength he longed to acquire.
So he began studying the elf's movements with a discerning eye, noting every subtle shift and gesture, trying to predict where her blow might land and how best to counter it. He weighed whether to attack or to wait, his mind sharper than ever before.
The skeleton knight felt more focused in this battle than in any he had fought before, and he understood why. For once, he was not ordered to fight — he chose this duel himself. And for the first time, he was truly enjoying combat, savoring the thrill of testing his strength against a worthy opponent.
It was precisely because of his unwavering focus that he noticed it immediately. The elf's patterns shifted — her stance, her mood, her movements all changed. She was no longer acting with a clear mind as he was; instead, she was blinded by a feeling that clouded her judgment.
The skeleton knight neither knew nor cared what emotion drove her, but he felt a flicker of disappointment. To him, she had broken the disciplined rhythm she had maintained, abandoning caution and charging blindly at him. At that moment, he resolved to exploit her recklessness, aiming to show why clarity and patience reigned supreme.
Despite his disappointment, the skeleton knight's desire to emerge victorious in their duel burned stronger. He had no intention of clearing the confusion clouding the elf's mind or releasing her from the feeling that blinded her.
Instead, he seized upon the shift in her pattern, recognizing it as an opportunity. He prepared his move with cold precision, retaining his stance and raising his scimitar before him, the blade angled to cover his body completely.
Every bone was tense, every thought sharpened, as he readied himself to exploit her reckless charge and prove his superiority in this duel.
He was preparing two counters. The first was obvious: he hoped the elf would drive her blade downward, allowing him to block with his scimitar and push her back. The second was more cunning — to dodge the tooth dagger aimed at him while using the scimitar held before him to slash across her body.
When the attack came, the skeleton knight's preparation paid off. His blade moved with cold precision, he dodged her strike and cut into the elf, landing a decisive blow that proved his focus had not been in vain.
***
*Slash*
A strong pang of pain flared as Willow felt the sword bite into her chest, the strike a blur of steel and malice. Its sharp edge carved a ghastly wound, and the agony that followed was surreal yet undeniably real.
The pain was debilitating, impossible to ignore, and the scar it left burned into her flesh as a cruel reminder. It was a mark that would forever teach her never to rush into battle with emotion clouding her judgment.
If she survived this harrowing duel against the opponent who had dealt her such a wound — the same foe who had no doubt slain her friend Momon — the scar would remain as both warning and vow.
Willow knew she couldn't afford to get emotional or distracted now. Though the pain of her wound burned and the loss of her friend weighed heavily, she forced herself to push it aside.
Every breath was agony, yet she desperately tried to shrug it off, focusing her mind on the battle before her. She resolved to face the skeleton knight as she would any other opponent — with a stable mind, sharpened instincts, and the relentless desire to emerge victorious.
Her grief and fury became fuel, but her will demanded clarity, for only discipline could carry her through this fight.
*Clink*
Willow barely managed to block another strike that could have ended her life, her tooth dagger catching the scimitar in a desperate clash. But the dull edge of the skeleton knight's blade smashed against her hand, numbing her fingers and sending the dagger flying from her grasp.
Panic surged as she reached instinctively for her weapon, yet the knight closed in, his presence suffocating, his scimitar poised to strike again. He loomed over her, threatening to kill her should she dare move closer, and Willow realized she was trapped in a perilous moment where hesitation could mean death.
Willow cursed lightly and stepped back, forcing herself to reevaluate the situation. She noted grimly that the skeleton knight was gaining the upper hand — his scimitar still firm in his grasp, his stance unbroken, his soul‑forged body seemingly unharmed.
Spurned forward by grief and rage, she longed to kill him swiftly, yet no matter where she looked, there seemed no opening, no weakness to exploit. Escape whispered as the only option, but Willow clenched her jaw and reminded herself why she was fighting.
That memory reignited her resolve, steadying her mind and hardening her will to endure, even against such a harrowing foe.
Just like that, Willow renewed her will to take down the skeleton knight at all costs. Though his stance revealed no weakness, she was determined to break it, even if it meant sacrificing her body and health.
With that conviction burning inside her, she dashed forward. The knight's scimitar came sweeping to meet her, and in the blink of an eye the blade lodged deep into her arm.
Pain exploded through her body, but Willow gritted her teeth, refusing to falter, for this strike was the price of her relentless resolve.
The pain was harrowing, sharper and more consuming than the wound carved into her chest. The scimitar had struck dangerously close to her joints, and though it was likened to a deep cut, the damage carried the weight of something far worse.
It was almost a fracture, a strike that could have impaled her arm entirely had the blade plunged just a little deeper. Willow's breath caught in her throat as the agony radiated outward, every nerve screaming, yet she forced herself to endure, knowing this wound was the price of her relentless determination to break the skeleton knight's stance.
Willow wasn't simply watching the skeleton knight as he struck; her purpose in attacking was to create an opening for herself.
Precisely at the moment his scimitar plunged into her arm, she drove her elbow forward, using the momentum of her charge to smash toward the skull of the soul‑being. Pain radiated through her body, but her counter was fueled by defiance — a desperate strike meant to shatter his composure and prove that even wounded, she would not yield.