The silence stretched, broken only by the faint whisper of the wind and the soft crunch of sand under their feet. It was a battle of wills, a silent contest of observation and anticipation, a prelude to the storm that was sure to come. William knew he couldn't afford to be passive, to simply wait for Yegun to make his move. He needed to be proactive, to control the pace, to dictate the terms of the engagement, however limited his options might be. But he also knew that any rash action, any premature attack, would be suicidal. He had to be patient, to be cautious, to wait for the right opportunity, to exploit any weakness Yegun might reveal. He kept his eyes on Yegun and prepared.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to thirty seconds, Yegun made his move. He exploded forward, closing the distance between them with astonishing speed, his short sword darting out in a series of probing attacks, aimed not to inflict serious damage, but to test William's defences, to gauge his reflexes, to assess his skill level.
William reacted instinctively, his body moving without conscious thought, his training kicking in. He parried the first thrust, the blunt steel of his sword meeting Yegun's with a dull clang, the force of the blow vibrating up his arm. He sidestepped the second, narrowly avoiding the whistling blade, his heart pounding in his chest. He blocked the third, positioning his sword like a shield and using one arm to help absorb the impact, his body recoiling slightly.
It was a flurry of motion, a whirlwind of steel, a test of speed and reflexes that William, by all rights, should have failed. But he didn't. He held his own, his defensive stance solid, his movements surprisingly fluid, his reactions quicker than he'd expected. He was drawing on everything he'd learned, from Edward's patient instruction, from Julia's guidance, from his own meticulous observations of Yegun's fighting style earlier, having used EMMA to help analyse Yegun’s patterns. Yegun was faster than William, but the predictive edge that William had earlier from his observations was helping to bridge that gap.
Comparing the attacks of Yegun and Edward, William felt a notable difference. The strikes from Yegun were indeed quicker, averaging 6 attacks per minute compared to Edwards 4 attacks per minute, but they lacked the sheer power, the bone-jarring force that characterized Edward's blows. Parrying Edward's sword often sent a shockwave through William's arms, a testament to the veteran warrior's strength. Yegun's strikes, while faster, were easier to deflect, as long as William could react in time. It was a trade-off, speed versus power, and William, with his defensive strategy, was better equipped to handle the former.
Having completed his initial assessment, Yegun unleashed his true assault, a relentless barrage of attacks that left William with no room to breathe, no time to think, no opportunity to counter. The short sword became a blur of motion, a silver streak that darted in and out, probing for weaknesses, seeking any gap in William's defence. Thrusts, feints, parries, ripostes – the attacks came from all angles, at varying speeds, with unpredictable rhythm, a chaotic dance of death designed to overwhelm, to disorient, to break the opponent's will.
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But William held firm. He remembered his observations, the subtle patterns he'd identified in Yegun's fighting style. He knew that Yegun favoured his right side, that approximately 75% of his attacks originated from that direction. He knew that he tended to lower his guard slightly after a successful parry, a momentary lapse in his defense that lasted for less than 0.1 seconds. He knew that he blinked rapidly just before initiating a feint, a micro-expression that betrayed his intentions.
These tiny details, imperceptible to most, were William's lifeline, his edge in this seemingly impossible battle. He used them to anticipate Yegun's movements, to predict his attacks, to react just a fraction of a second faster, to parry blows that should have landed, to dodge strikes that should have found their mark. He was still on the defensive, still overwhelmed by the sheer speed and ferocity of Yegun's assault, but he was surviving. He was holding his own, against all odds.
Yegun, however, was not a man easily deterred. He was a veteran, a warrior who had faced countless opponents, who had overcome countless challenges. He remembered William closely observing him during his earlier spars, guessing William gained some subtle advantage that allowed him to anticipate his moves, to counter his attacks with surprising effectiveness. He couldn't identify it, couldn't understand it, but he knew it was there. And he was determined to break it.
He switched up his tactics, abandoning his usual patterns, mixing in unexpected moves, throwing in attacks that he rarely used, anything to disrupt William's rhythm, to break his concentration, to expose his weaknesses. He feinted left, then thrust right. He parried, then immediately followed with a kick to William's knee. He lunged forward, then abruptly shifted his weight, delivering a shoulder charge that sent William stumbling backward.
William, caught off guard by the sudden change in tactics, struggled to adapt. He'd been relying on his observations, on his predictions, on his understanding of Yegun's usual fighting style. Now, he was facing a new challenge, a more unpredictable opponent, a warrior who was actively trying to disrupt his analysis, to counter his counters.
The first solid blow landed. A quick, unexpected kick to William's left shin, just below the knee, a strike that bypassed his sword entirely. It wasn't a powerful blow, not enough to break bone, but it was enough to disrupt his balance, to send a jolt of pain through his leg, to momentarily break his concentration. Yegun pressed his advantage, immediately following up with a thrust towards William's exposed shoulder.
William reacted instinctively, parrying the blow, but the force of the impact, combined with his off-balance stance, sent him staggering backward. He managed to regain his footing, but he knew he was in trouble. He'd lost his rhythm, his momentum, his confidence. Yegun was closing in, his eyes narrowed, his sword poised for the finishing blow.
