The Final Battle

Liber's mount was spooked by the gunfire and grew restless, leaving him no choice but to dismount.

Theodore also dismounted from his fine steed and walked toward the center of the battlefield.

The two men, each accompanied by his standard-bearer, stopped ten paces apart and exchanged formal bows.

Theodore said earnestly, "I will honor our agreement."

Liber bowed. "Thank you for your mercy."

The priest of Hawthorn Village forced himself to remain calm as he stepped between them. Holding a copy of the Holy Scripture, printed and published in the Duchy of Weissen, he turned to the relevant passage and presided over the oath-taking ceremony.

The priest stepped aside and took out a slightly rusty copper coin, then tossed it high into the air.

The instant the coin hit the ground, the two men moved.

Liber's sword came down with a rush of wind, swung with all his strength.

Theodore raised his shield steadily. With a dull clang, Liber felt a violent jolt run through his arm, as if he had struck a block of steel.

Liber's swordsmanship was vicious. He put all his strength into every blow, trying to tear through his opponent's defense.

Theodore had been trained by renowned masters since childhood. Though now nearing sixty, he was still strong and fit. Years of experience had made his defense as solid as bedrock. He blocked, redirected the force, and counterattacked with precise movements backed by tremendous strength.

Every clash of weapons sent pain through Liber's hand as though his palm were splitting open, while the numb ache in his arm grew heavier with each blow.

Sweat soaked his hair and ran down his temples, blurring his vision.

After more than twenty exchanges, Theodore keenly spotted a tiny opening after Liber's full-force slash. His mace deftly slipped around the