Their voices grew and grew louder, cheering and chanting octaves of their favorites, blaring in a deafening exciting thrill of anticipation and eagerness. Wanting to see their favorites, many within the crowd strained to see through the masses of arms and hands raised up into the air with a ravenous hunger that could not be contained. Their demands to sate their lust simply grew louder and louder, even as It could only be satisfied, and it was through the appearances of their favorites that the appetite would be fulfilled. Thumping of feet and clapping hands were blisteringly loud that it was a wonder how an individual could not be deaf.

Obi Wan now finds it a startling prospect as he now awaited his own match, watching as the knights in the epicenter circled each other, waiting the first attack from their adversary. The people of Kazimierz would hunger for their knights to clash as a form to satisfy their menial lives as a way to entertain themselves. Was it just for their own self-satisfaction? To fuel their own lust to see them don in armor and clash with each other with blades and lances, even in death as well? He considered the sports such as podracing of his previous life, and how Anakin would enter those, even illegally in Coruscant's depths, and perhaps yes, they enjoyed such entertainment. He was sure this type of entertainment would have fit within his old galaxy, melding into the chaos.

None of it was right.

Did the people forget that the knights of Kazimierz were sworn to protect and serve? He glances at the announcer with a loud bold voice to introduce the combatants, and then proclaim the action, as they were glued to the very movement in front of them.

Or, like the Jedi with the Senate, forgot their vows entirely just to serve whichever government that controlled them in any form of use? That their roles as peacekeepers were now gone and replaced?

How could they find entertainment in this? Whatever happened to swearing to protect the lives of others? Is our oaths just it? Just a deception to others?

Had Obi Wan still believed in the Jedi, he would have found the thought traitorous and treasonous, but now, after what he had seen through the Clone Wars and slavery on Tatooine after the Empire's rise, it was only a connection that he could no longer ignore. His previous experiences as he recognized the growing hypocrisy and failures left a growing sour taste in his mouth.

Obi Wan watched as they clashed in silence, brows narrowed in concentration. Kazimierz knights with Arts was fine to utilize, as long as those within the stands, the audience that cheered them loudly, were not harmed in the slightest. The former Jedi turned Kuranta was glad at least one aspect of… chivalry within this "sport" was at least not aimed at direct innocents, and rather the combatants at each other. His turn had not been it yet, and Obi Wan had experience relearning his own Force abilities, fine tuning them with precision and control enough that he was certain to not harm innocents in the slightest if it did come down to relying on the Force.

Killing was also… fine when a combatant won, an option presented though thankfully, not often taken from what he had done probing the memories of those who were already aware of such. Had he been a Jedi, he would have frowned at such, but after his harrowing experiences watching the Clone Wars with many of the Clones he had befriended, such as Cody, Obi Wan wasn't even sure anymore. He was disgusted, but yet watching it, he wouldn't even try to stop it either. Not only was he sure that form of act would paint a target on his back, nevermind disqualification.

Even as he stood as an up and coming knight now… Obi Wan watches in sickening disgust. A child raises his own plushie of one of the contestants, ignorant and lost in the bliss of what looked to be fun to him. It served as what was wrong within this world and the very nation of Kazimierz itself, and a reminder of how the Jedi had failed in his prior life. Everything, from the feet thumping, to the cheering, simply reminded him of forsaken oaths.

You are a hypocrite, Kenobi. Are you any different from them? They are the ignorant masses, but what have you done in your career… Jedi?

Memories of where he, Anakin, and Ahsoka even enjoyed the battles of the Clone Wars themselves, making challenges to cut down the most possible number of droids or blow up most of the battle stations with grenades, even along with the 501st or 212th, not even caring that Cody or Rex had lost another one of their brothers or troopers or even those living beings within the Separatists forced to create weapons out of necessity, as they joked around. The Republic claimed Anakin and he as heroes of the Republic, framing them as good, while he and Anakin were the monsters of the Separatists' side that took the lives of them, ignoring that they too had families and loved ones. All three of them had not cared, or if they did, they just hid it behind jokes and laughter, trying to move past the bloodshed and pretend everything was all right.

It was not.

Obi Wan stared down at his hands. Negotiator, he was called by the Republic's masses, for bartering with many Separatists. What a twisted lie. He simply negotiated the deaths of millions of those on the Separatists, for a Republic already corrupted. What he had said to Luke was true: Truths were from just many certain points of views.

All he could see was blood on them, even before this tournament now.

In a way, the Empire's propaganda had been right. The Jedi were just murderous butcherers, even before the Clone Wars had begun. In a way, the Sith had been right. They were not different from each other. What had made them any different from each other, other than their contrasting ideals?

"AND NOW, I HOPE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU ARE READY, FOR LET US GIVE A HAND TO THE UP AND COMING ROOKIE…"

Obi Wan turns up at his match now, his own armor pristine and blade gripped in hands. Centering himself, he slowly walks into the arena. Even as he remained focused and calm, poised and tense, he could in the barest of knowledge that he was now giving them exactly what he wanted. They would now see him, and his foe, fight in a battle they craved, to satisfy the lust of the bloodsport, fueling the madness of a nation once sworn to the protection of its people.

We're all executioners now.

His name came in a loud deafening chant even before the light of the Kazimierz bright morning rays hit the arena. Even the announcer who called for him once he stood out. He winced, still attempting to adapt to it, his ears twitching at the sound of it.

Andrzej Bosko was glad for it. His eyes watched the crowd and winced, shifting his lance aside as he gazed up and around, giving a grandiose twirl of his lance that snapped to his hands with a bow and a smile.

Now… who would his foe be? His grip on his lance tightened, watching from the other side of the arena where his foe would enter from.

"AND NOW… I HOPE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU ARE READY, FOR LET US GIVE A HAND TO THE UP AND COMING ROOKIE…"

Drumrolls were sounded out along with the thumping of feet. The excitement of the crowd turned an octave higher.

"BEN KENOBI!"

The Kuranta turned to see his own kind, and his own foe walking towards him. Though unlike him, his hair and ears were auburn, with a short beard already forming on his youthful face. His armor wasn't as heavy or covered his entire body, for he could see the leather underneath shoulder pauldrons and padding, and a sword strapped to his waist… and no shield? Quite strange… Most knights entering the major typically carried shields as an obvious means to defend themselves, and most knights donned heavy armor or it covered their entire body. Was this Ben feeling confident in his approach that he forgone such? He did not strike him as a figure to forget such a weapon either.

His eyes held a modicum and level of indifference to the crowd's cheering, barely addressing them, but Andrzej recognized as he politely nodded. Though he swore as the crowd cheered louder and louder, that a tinge of red was on the younger of his kind and his face morphed into something that was akin to aggravation, almost discomfort, but whatever chance he had to discern it, it vanished immediately after, for a placid look formed on his face as he nodded respectfully to him after.

This Ben wasn't a fan of much attention, or perhaps wasn't used to such? The announcer did state he was a rookie after all. This was Andrzej's second run in the major after all, his second was of three years he was still getting used himself of the attention received. He supposed it would be embarrassing.

He thought of something to say, perhaps a question to the younger Kuranta but instantly pushed that aside, for the drowning of voices made it clear that neither were to possibly converse until after their match.

Regardless, it was nothing personal of course as he returned an even gaze and a respectful nod back. The audience and people wanted to see a match, and thus, they would have to give it to them. For Andrzdej, it was simply a way to move up the competition.

The announcer's voice rang an octave high once more, deafening them both as he boldly announced their names once more to the crowd. Both knew immediately what it meant, and now both stood at the opposite ends of the arena.

Andrzej waited, lowering his stance into his own personalized fighting style. He wanted to see what his opponent could do after all. He would not go easy, but he would also not be overzealous and reckless in an approach against a fellow knight. That was what led to his prior loss.

His adversary named Ben Kenobi simply dropped into his own stance as he drew his own blade, angled up and pointed directly at him, while his other arm was also angled alongside his body, two fingers pointed at him.

Andrzej attempted to recall any form of swordplay with what his opponent's stance was, his eyes narrowed underneath his helmet. It was completely unfamiliar as he studied the stance with a cautious gaze. This Ben did not move yet.

And, at the announcer's voice ringing out, the match between Andrzej Bosko and Ben Kenobi began.

—

Most swordplay of the Kazimierz Majors had always been of magnificence, of spectacle, and grandiose displays of action.

Andrzej lunged with a ferocity and speed that was not dissimilar to more renowned knights of his era and of a bygone past. His blade moved in stabs and slashes, a natural extension of his being. He and his opponent moved in a blur of speed that belied their races' natural biological advantages.

Yet even despite every slash, stab, and stroke of his blade. Every footstep and even the sweeps and posture stances and minor changes to his form, his blade never touched his foe. Not a single cut was made, barely simply gliding off in a shower of sparks and ringing of metal. A slash was halted by his adversary's blade that his foe precisely knew, even predicted, even before he committed to it.

It shouldn't have been possible, but it very much was.

"I…I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT I'M SEEING! IS EVERYONE WATCHING?! ANDRZEJ BOSKO ATTACKS FEROCIOUSLY, BUT BEN KENOBI PARRIES AND BLOCKS EVERY ATTACK HE MAKES! THIS IS SIMPLY INCREDIBLE!"

Andrzej continued his volley of attacks, before he stepped back, briefly stopping his assault. Closing his eyes shut and murmuring a chant, many of the audience gasped or hushed themselves in the awed spectacle. The announcer himself was excited, very much on the edge of his seat figuratively and literally.

Ignoring the surrounding voices, Andrzej calmed himself as he channeled his energy down his blade, flicking his fingers across his sword as he could very much feel it change shape into something entirely else. It seemed he had to activate his Arts. He had been training, wishing and wanting to preserve it until the very last match or hold it off until when the situation had been critical.

Now, it very much was a critical time to do so.

His chant finished, his sword glowed, transforming into a longsword, expanding by half a meter. The end result was the audience roaring madly with an endless craving and appetite to see far more.

Ben Kenobi, however, did not feel fear or surprise or shock. His eyes glanced across from the field, simply raising a brow before narrowing it, falling back into the very same defensive posture and stance. Unlike the audience or even the overexcitement of the announcer, the expression of his face remained calm and placid, never registering the display of his weapon changing or Arts as something more than what it was. It was a challenge, yes. But nothing more than a parley trick.

And, upon seeing this look on the face of Ben Kenobi, Andrzej felt something hot and brimming within him, an indicative frustration and anger at the very look that seemingly didn't mean anything more than a minor annoyance.

With his Arts active, he lunged as his foe once more, raining down volleys of powerful strikes, hoping to pierce through the defenses of his foe.

"CAN THE KNIGHT OF WILL PIERCE THROUGH THE DEFENSES OF HIS FOE WITH HIS ARTS NOW?!" The announcer cried out as did the audience.

One slashes became three. Three was five. His strikes amplified faster than he could even process it or think. Faster until he finally forced Ben to move, and now, Ben Kenobi was dodging, his body turning and twisting at where he struck, in danger of being hit, but never touched, no longer simply blocking or parrying but also evading now.

Andrzej did not realize it until moments later, believing he had simply forced his opponent back, not realizing until he began to quicken his strikes, slash upon slash as they moved across the stadium, and the announcer's voice above the Kazimierz Major as his voice traveled across for all to hear, that he had been quite literally, suckered, as his breathing grew more ragged as he exerted himself far more, hoping to end the duel quickly as possible before it was prolonged any further. Frustration and fatigue melded into one where he attempted once more to break through his foe's blocks.

His foe did not need heavy armor, for it wasn't entirely necessary to don such. Armor gave protection to one, to prevent any form of danger on their being. That was its purpose and purpose alone.

He did not need one.

A shield acted as a way for defense, to prevent any projectiles or other weapons from its wielder.

His foe did not need a shield. For his blade alone acted as his shield.

For this Ben Kenobi, he must've had enough experience, enough training and dueling and sparring, wherever it came from, self taught or from a forgotten or long practiced art, from losses and victories and far more, that it gave him all that he needed.

Andrzej did not recognize this until he was breathing heavily. Andrzej did not recognize it until exhaustion was overtaking him. Andrzej watched as his foe, as he struggled to gather his energy, stopping his assault, suddenly in a blur of speed, switched to offense so astonishingly fast and mind numbing that he had no time to rest, his prior assumption of his foe searching for openings to counter attack was far off from what his primary tactic.

Faster than he knew even then he was suckered, faster than Andrzej could even process it any further, that he had no energy left to defend. With exhaustion settling in, and Ben Kenobi, having done nothing but block and evade, still able to keep fighting for possibly hours, Andrzej could do nothing but move his fatigued weathered body into a defensive posture, forcing himself to parry and block the blows, taking on a stance that his foe Kenobi had once took.

It was simply too much for Andrzej Bosco. He attempted to use the greater surface area of his own weapon, trying to attempt quick parries to perhaps even find an opening that he believed his foe was attempting, only to find none, and with his exhaustion already crippling him, he could not bear it any further.

He could only watch as his longsword was struck out of his grasp, the dimensions of it changing back to a regular blade as his Arts vanished, flying and rattling as it hit the ground, and Kenobi's blade pointed at him.

Stunned silence followed, accompanying as Andrzej fell over, Ben Kenobi standing triumphantly over him with a look not one of arrogance or smugness, but an assured look that told him to surrender, for he had lost. Their voices were caught in their throats in disbelief, many placing bets on Andrzej for his experience already in the Majors and being an up and coming renowned favorite among those like Degenbrecher, had been beaten by a rookie knight in his seemingly first year, where many were under the belief that those who entered would undoubtedly lose in the qualifying rounds. Following Andrzej's Arts, being able to manipulate the extensions of his weapon further, was not as powerful as Arts from other more experienced knights, with Ben Kenobi seemingly displaying no aptitude or ability for Arts, and their assured assumption at his victory was not.

It was far too mild to say it was an understatement that they were shocked.

Then, a thunderous applause roared. It slowly began to sound out as clapping from a few of those in the stands, then grew and grew until it was deafening once more as with many of Kazimierz Majors.

Andrzej gasped breathily as he could now barely register his loss with the announcement of his elimination from the Major. Loss to a new knight of his first year. For a moment, he felt himself upset, but then came relief and then amusement. He had much left to learn.

Ben Kenobi watched the stands above, and Andrzej swore, as his focus returned, perhaps his mind and body still in a defensive stance that belied his own experience that allowed him to study his foe, he thought he saw an exasperated look upon the rookie winner's face.

Very strange. This Ben Kenobi. Andrzej was certain that this Ben Kenobi despised attention now. Why perhaps did he then enter the Major, if he did not revel in such? These Majors were to provide entertainment to its people and garner such attention. Was there another purpose?

What more, was how did not one of his blows pierced through his defenses? This Ben had fought like a master of his own swordplay that was completely unfamiliar. While Andrzej had experience adapting to various forms of styles in his past runs, this was entirely different. He had found no openings, no cracks or no missteps to take advantage of. He was quite literally fighting against a moving shield.

He watched the stands above, recalling the match. He indeed had been suckered in. He chuckled with an exhausted exhale.

"A hand?"

Ben offered his hand with a polite smile. Andrzej took it.

"It was a good match. You were incredibly well skilled… Sir Andrej." There was no mockery within it or even boasting. Just simply humbleness, as if the match wasn't tiring at all. Andrzej was certain the duel lasted more than thirty minutes, and he didn't seem to be exhausted. He was as fresh as he had been from the start, brimming with energy.

He shook his head as he was helped up by his adversary. "You as well… Ben Kenobi." For a moment, he considered questioning him about his style, helping him to adapt and learn from this new experience now, but shut it. Perhaps after, when Ben Kenobi would have ample time to possibly treat him for a drink.

He was even sure that this Ben would perhaps even prove a challenge to famed Degenbrecher or even the Whislash Knight.