The blades met, clanging. Many pairs of eyes were following the fighters.
He stood facing his opponent, his weapon ready, his heart pounding furiously.
The opponent's blade descended in a graceful arc, hissing through the air. He ducked and immediately began his counter-attack, dodged another blow-
Hit! The crowd in the tavern roared.
The fighters parted again, eyeing each other from some distance. "I'll get you", his opponent hissed. "I'll get you, bastard!"
He breathed out and concentrated. Easy, boy, easy. The shouts around him became a muffled background sound.
Again the opponent charged. He let his own blade whistle through the air, blocked the blow shortly before his chest, turned the tip down and scored a hit in the other's kneecap. From the corner of his eye he saw someone painting 9:4 on a board on the wall. One more point, and he had won.
His opponent saw it, too. Without receding like before, he immediately struck another blow. He could tell that his opponent was desperate now. After all, this fellow was a grown man while he was still half a boy. This fellow couldn't afford to lose to a kid.
The tip of the opponent's sword made contact with his arm, changing the score to 9:5, but he didn't wait to see it written on the board. He struck back immediately. The blades scraped down the side of each other, people roared. It was getting hot in here. Time to end it all.
Dropping to one knee, he stabbed directly at the man, who parried. The next blow barely missed his head; his opponent howled in frustration.
Once more they parted. He was beginning to feel dizzy, with all the heat and the smoke drifting in the air. Now or never! He sprang forward and hacked at his opponent with full force. Though the man was able to block, the sword flew out of his hand.
This was no time to be a gentleman. Without hesitation he brought down his blade, jerking it out of its shimmering arc and ramming it into the opponent's chest. Then he stood back, panting.
Voices filled the room, applause, cries, cheers. "Good on ya, kid!" bellowed Benji, jumping onto the stage and hugging him. More people followed, all congratulating him. "Splendid, boy!" – "That was grand!" – "Super!" – "You're gonna be a fine fighter someday!"
And then a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder. "Excellent", a deep voice rumbled. He recognized the man Benji had called Zero, obviously the one in charge here. "Ladies and gentlemen" – some laughed, since there were very few ladies around – "the victory goes to our newcomer here – what was your name again?"
"Anthony", Benji replied for him.
"Anthony what?"
"Just Anthony will do, Zero."
The muscular fellow eyed him with some suspicion. "Can't he speak for himself?"
"He doesn't."
"Alright." Zero shrugged. "Ladies and gentlemen, the victory goes to Anthony here. Just Anthony will do, I hear."
He handed back his prop sword, looking over at his opponent. The fellow was glaring at him.
Down among the crowd, someone raised a glass. "To the hero who conquered Master Mad!" he cried.
"To Anthony!" some others chorused.
He lowered his head, feeling a hot blush creep over his skin.
His opponent's face was a mask of rage now.
