Outside the towering walls of Asline, an uneasy hush lingered over the gathering. On one side stood the highest-ranking members of the Frostbane army, their cloaks catching the cold wind; on the other stood Windstride officers, their stern faces set in grim lines. They were separated by mere feet, yet their blades remained sheathed, bound by an unspoken pact that no sword would be drawn—no matter the day’s outcome.

  Two men stepped into the middle ground, each bearing the weight of many battles.

  “I, James of Frostbane, stand here as witness to this duel,” James announced, his voice echoing across the open field. “On this day, let no blood be shed except by those who accept the challenge. May honor guide the hand that wields the blade.”

  “And I, Edrin of Windstride, stand as witness,” Edrin declared, his gaze sweeping over the assembled warriors. “Let all present know we come to settle this siege with only two, rather than thousands. Neither side shall interfere once the duel is joined.”

  A tense silence followed, thick with anticipation. Frostbane and Windstride officers eyed one another warily, but not a blade was drawn nor a hostile shout raised. When James spoke again, his tone was somber yet resolute.

  “For Frostbane’s champion, I present Kaldar Ravengard,” he said, gesturing to a warrior who stepped forward. Clad in dark, frost-forged armor, Kaldar’s breath misted in the chill air. He struck his hand over his heart with a firm, resonant motion, lowering his head in the Frostbane salute to James, then turned toward the Windstride contingent with calm, measured confidence.

  Edrin allowed himself a moment to scrutinize the Frostbane champion before raising his voice. “And I name Leron Swiftblade as the Windstride champion,” he announced. A figure in lighter armor strode forth, the hilt of his sword gleaming in the dim winter light. Leron offered a slight bow to Edrin, then fixed his gaze on Kaldar, silent resolve etched upon his features.

  As the two champions squared off in the center, James and Edrin stepped back to their respective lines. Eyes narrowed and knuckles white, the assembled ranks of Frostbane and Windstride waited for the duel to begin.

  A sudden whoosh cut through the silence as a single fireball arced high into the sky. For an instant, time seemed to freeze—the blazing orb floated like a slow-moving comet. Then BOOM. The fireball exploded in a burst of sparks and heat, and in that same heartbeat, both champions launched into motion.

  Kaldar’s weapon, forged from near-pure Frostbane steel, seemed to devour the light of midday. Any lesser warrior who gazed upon it might have felt an icy chill grip their spine. Opposite him, Leron’s blade—fashioned from a pale metal favored by Windstride smiths—caught the sun’s rays like a star. Dark vs. light, cold vs. heat. The contrast set the tone for their clash even before steel touched steel.

  Their first exchange happened in a blur, each warrior moving with practiced speed. Kaldar lunged low, aiming a precise thrust at Leron’s ribs; Leron twisted aside, parrying the Frostbane blade. Sparks rained down as cold power met the faint, shimmering warmth of Windstride steel. The collision rang out with a sharp clang that rippled across the battlefield, prompting onlookers from both armies to tense.

  Kaldar pivoted, planting his back foot in the churned earth, and swung a wide arc toward Leron’s shoulder. Leron’s reflexes proved equally keen—he ducked, feeling the chill pass mere inches above his head. In retaliation, he slashed upward, his blade trailing a faint heat. Kaldar raised his sword in a deft block, the two blades grinding together in a flash of sparks and a hiss of steam, as if raw frost were clashing with sudden flame.

  They separated for only a moment, boots sliding across the half-frozen ground. Wisps of fog-like breath trailed from Kaldar’s lips, while a subtle glow of warmth clung to Leron’s blade. Neither champion spoke—they communicated in feints and strikes, eyes locked, each reading the other’s intent. Nearby, Frostbane and Windstride warriors watched in hushed awe, uncertain who might seize the advantage.

  With a sudden surge of energy, Leron’s stance shifted. A faint glow radiated along the length of his blade as he poured mana into the steel. The Windstride champion lunged, aiming a powerful slash at Kaldar’s midsection. Kaldar reacted a heartbeat too slow—though he twisted his torso to evade the brunt of the blow, he couldn’t entirely escape it. The blade carved a shallow cut across his side, and a ribbon of crimson stained his dark armor.

  A gasp rippled through the onlookers. Undeterred, Kaldar hissed in pain but raised his sword once more, the frost-infused metal gleaming with renewed vigor. He retaliated with a sudden flurry of strikes—thrusting high, then low, in a relentless assault. Leron countered, sparks dancing between their blades, each clang resonating like a war drum across the field.

  Sensing his foe’s mounting aggression, Leron planted his feet and pivoted, launching a diagonal slash that crackled with mana. Kaldar met it head-on, their blades colliding in a brilliant flash of frost and arcane light. Steam hissed around their crossed swords, as if the very air struggled to contain the opposing energies.

  The champions broke apart, circling warily. Kaldar’s breath came in ragged plumes of mist, and a thin line of blood trickled beneath his armor. Leron’s eyes blazed, his weapon still faintly glowing with residual mana. The Windstride warrior pressed the attack again, darting forward with a series of precise jabs that tested Kaldar’s defense. Yet each time, Kaldar’s frost-tinged sword snapped into position, metal meeting metal in fierce bursts of sparks.

  A heartbeat later, Kaldar seized his opening. He smashed his shield into Leron’s blade, knocking it aside, and drove forward with a ruthless slash aimed at Leron’s helm. Leron just managed to duck, feeling the whoosh of cold wind pass over his head. He countered with an upward thrust that might have found Kaldar’s heart, had Kaldar not twisted away at the final moment.

  They locked eyes—wariness mingled with grudging respect. Around them, Frostbane and Windstride alike held their collective breath. Each warrior’s next move could tip the battle’s balance. But despite his wounded side, Kaldar showed no sign of yielding, and though Leron’s chest rose and fell with strained breath, the mana within his blade still flickered with lethal intent.

  Then Kaldar struck with a fierce shield bash, forcing Leron to lunge sideways in a desperate dodge. But the maneuver left him vulnerable—Kaldar’s sword came sweeping up in a swift arc, and Leron only realized it a heartbeat too late. Steel tore through his armor, opening a wide gash along his torso. Though the wound didn’t cut deep, it drew fresh blood and elicited a sharp hiss of pain from the Windstride champion.

  Gritting his teeth, Leron staggered back, hand flying to the damaged plating. Kaldar pressed his advantage without hesitation. He lunged forward, hacking down in a diagonal slash that crackled with frost. Leron deflected the blow at the last second, sparks flying as their blades connected. Still reeling from the injury, Leron struggled to stay on the defensive, pivoting clumsily to evade another whistling strike aimed at his ribs.

  “Stand firm, Windstride!” someone shouted from Leron’s side, but the words barely penetrated the whirl of steel.

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  With lethal precision, Kaldar launched another flurry of attacks—a low slash at the thigh, followed by a sudden upward cut that flared with icy energy. Each impact jolted Leron’s arms, his own blade rattling from the force. He managed to parry the worst of it, but only just. The ground beneath them was slick with churned mud, and every step felt precarious, as if either fighter might lose footing at any moment.

  Snarling through clenched teeth, Leron mustered the focus to counter with a quick thrust toward Kaldar’s abdomen. Kaldar twisted aside, letting the tip glance harmlessly off his frost-forged breastplate. The Frostbane champion then lashed out with a backhand slash, forcing Leron into a hasty sidestep. Another strike hammered down, and Leron met it blade-on-blade, creating an eruption of sparks. Steam rose between them, remnants of frost colliding with the lingering warmth of mana.

  Panting, they broke apart again, swords raised, neither giving ground. Kaldar’s breaths came in frosty plumes, the chill around him growing more intense by the second. Leron’s chest heaved, sweat mingling with the slow trickle of blood from his fresh wound. For a few seconds, neither moved, each waiting for the other to make the next move. Soldiers from both Frostbane and Windstride watched in hushed tension, riveted by the deadly dance unfolding before them.

  Both men seemed to realize at once that this duel had reached its final crescendo. Kaldar dropped his shield, letting it thud heavily onto the half-frozen ground. A frigid aura began to gather around his sword, the Frostborne power crackling in the wintery air. Icy tendrils spread from his feet, creeping across the muddy earth and solidifying it into patches of ice. Even Leron’s exposed wound grew stiff with cold, fresh blood freezing before it could drip to the ground.

  Yet Leron refused to yield. He drew a long breath, rallying the mana within him. A soft glow pulsed along his blade, the metal heating until it shimmered like an ember. Where Kaldar’s frost advanced, Leron’s heat pushed back, water hissing into steam as the ice melted—only to re-freeze moments later in a clash of opposing forces.

  Their gazes locked. The world around them seemed to contract, leaving only the small circle of frozen, steaming ground and the two warriors within it. Frostbane and Windstride soldiers watched with baited breath, uncertain whether to expect a final surge of frost or a scorching blaze. Some whispered silent prayers to their gods, while others simply stared, transfixed, by the elemental duel unfolding before them.

  Without warning, Kaldar lunged. His sword, wreathed in biting cold, cleaved through the air, trailing a faint aura of frost. Leron stepped in to meet him, his blade radiating waves of heat that met the oncoming chill with a sharp hiss. Steam burst around them as steel scraped steel, sparks and droplets of ice scattering in every direction.

  Kaldar snarled, pressing forward with raw strength. Their blades locked, and for a moment, he forced Leron back a pace on the newly formed sheet of ice. But Leron rallied, twisting his stance to break free. He pivoted, bringing his heated blade around in a sweeping arc that threatened to slice deep into Kaldar’s flank. Kaldar retreated just enough to deflect the blow, the clang of steel on steel echoing across the field.

  Now it was Leron’s turn to advance, launching a series of rapid thrusts and slashes. Each blow carried a pulse of searing heat, droplets of molten ice spattering across Kaldar’s dark armor. Kaldar grunted, staggering under the force of an overhead strike, yet managed to pivot and catch Leron’s blade at the last instant. Another flash of sparks and steam lit the space between them.

  Realizing he had a momentary opening, Kaldar channeled more Frostborne power into his sword. The temperature around him plummeted, and frosty mist coiled at his feet. With a guttural roar, he cut diagonally, aiming for Leron’s sword arm. Leron parried, but this time the icy chill seeped through his guard, numbing his fingers. He gasped, nearly dropping his weapon.

  The ground beneath them cracked as the frost thickened, making movement treacherous. Leron tried one final, desperate assault—he feinted high before dropping low, hoping to slip past Kaldar’s blade. Kaldar half-turned and brought his sword down in a decisive block, the collision sending a shockwave of cold through Leron’s heated metal. Steam and shards of ice erupted, cloaking them in a brief cloud.

  When the air finally cleared, Leron found himself off-balance. Kaldar seized the moment without hesitation. Lunging forward with both hands gripping his sword, he deflected Leron’s blade, wrenching it aside in a violent sweep. Pivoting on his heel, Kaldar followed through with a low strike, the razor-sharp frost of his weapon carving into Leron’s thigh. A pained cry tore from Leron’s throat as his legs buckled, forcing him to his knees. Blood crystallized in a matter of seconds, staining his armor a deep crimson as the frost consumed it, turning his leg to solid ice.

  Gasping for breath, Leron clutched his wounded leg with one hand, the other stubbornly clinging to his blade. He lifted his gaze, and though agony twisted his features, a fierce resolve still burned in his eyes.

  Kaldar towered above him, breath steaming in the cold air, his sword still crackling with frost. With measured calm, he spoke in a voice like distant thunder. “You have lost this battle. Yield, and I shall spare your life.”

  Leron’s response was immediate. “I will never surrender,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Now finish this.”

  A flicker of regret, or perhaps simple acknowledgement, passed over Kaldar’s face. Then the Frostbane champion raised his sword high, channeling every ounce of his icy power. For a heartbeat, it seemed as though the world itself had frozen in place—time stretched to an impossible stillness, and no one on either side dared to breathe.

  In a single, fluid motion, Kaldar brought his blade down with lethal speed. Before anyone could blink, the edge bit into Leron’s neck, the frost devouring flesh even as the cut was made. The wound froze instantly, sealing away any blood. Leron’s head never had the chance to fall—he died in a moment so swift, so cold, that the body was all but consumed by the hungry ice. A faint smile, that of a warrior accepting his final fate, lingered on his features until the frost claimed it, too.

  Kaldar lowered his gaze to the sword still gripped tightly in Leron’s frozen hand. The once-radiant blade glowed faintly, but as the frost that devoured its master crept along the metal, the last remnants of its warmth sputtered out. A web of fractures formed across the steel, fanning out from the hilt to the blade’s tip until, with a faint crack, it splintered.

  The breath caught in Kaldar’s throat when he heard a soft whisper of wind. In that gentle gust, the frozen remains of Leron—man and blade alike—gave way and dissolved into glimmering shards, scattering across the field like snow blown off a winter branch. For a moment, it was as though time slowed, allowing every onlooker—Frostbane and Windstride alike—to witness the warrior’s final dissolution.

  Without a word, Kaldar drove his own sword into the ground where Leron had fallen, the blade piercing the frozen earth with a resounding thud. Frost still clung to its edges, a silent testament to the respect to the fallen great warrior. Then, in a single, decisive gesture, Kaldar raised his arm high, fist clenched in victory.

  A rolling cheer erupted from the Frostbane ranks, echoing off Asline’s towering walls. Battle-worn soldiers banged their shields and raised their swords, their voices carrying across the field in triumph. On the Windstride side, many bowed their heads in wordless grief, while a few gazed upon the vanquished champion’s remains with disbelief.

  High above, the sun’s waning light burned through the haze, illuminating Kaldar as he stood like a statue in the cold air. For that one stirring moment, the culmination of ice, steel, and Unwavering resolve was laid bare.

  With that, the two gathered forces parted, leaving only James and Edrin standing in the snow-dusted field. The air between them carried the lingering tension of two men bound by a fragile truce.

  “As agreed, we’ll withdraw from the city,” Edrin said at last, his voice clipped but steady.

  “It’s good to see you’re still a man of some respect,” James replied, his tone carrying a quiet disdain. “Though I doubt your lower classes feel the same,” he added, a bitter edge coloring his words.

  Edrin’s expression hardened. “I would be careful, James. The Blackbears are already on the move. For all you hate how we govern, they’re far worse—brutes who know nothing of honor.”

  He turned to leave, casting one final look over his shoulder. “Just know this war is far from over.”

  James watched him go, tension etched into the lines of his face. “We’ll finish this war,” he said under his breath, voice low with an undercurrent of hatred. “And free them all.”

  With that, James spun on his heel and walked away, leaving only the hush of the battlefield as testimony to their unfinished conflict.