[RP] Le duel

The city of Montpellier welcomed them, in his own way, and now they roamed its streets, sharing their own part of activity and movement to the capital of the occitans. Miku's accent could be heard in different places that day, as everyone got ready for the next trip, and, of course, for the big event of the night. Rumours travelled fast. Every soul with a pair of ears could have heard about it, and he witnessed with a smile that bets had started to run. This was a city of many taverns, though by some strange reason every inhabitant seemed to spend his free time in a different one.

It was time now, and all was ready. L'ibère had arranged everything in his hand to turn the fight into something to remember for a long time. Something to keep in his heart when the bitterness of the previous days became reduced to nothingness. No, he was owed a fight. Perfectly synchronized with the exact moment the cathedral of Montpellier marked midnight, a row of torches lit up with the pleasant smell of a warm fire. The wooden sticks stood tall, in a circle, as if inspired by some ancient pagan ritual. Centered in the main square, the shape limited the invisible wall that would separate the two duelists from the growing crowd.

- People of France! - He shouted, with the low and thundering voice of a man who has commanded on the battlefield. - People of Helvetia! Travellers! Free men and women and everything in between!

Ah, what was life without theatricallity? He was just in his element. Tall, strong, he stood in the middle of the circle and opened his arms wide at both sides. He stood like that for a few seconds, as if expecting a hug. Waiting for the whispers to stop while the red flames danced with the shadows born out of his blond hair and long moustache. A quiet laughter escaped his lips, clear evidence of how much he was enjoying the moment.

- Did you hear the cannons yesterday? - He gestured, pointing to his ear, and started walking in circles to have a look at every pair of eyes in the public. He knew europeans were often colder than the average southerner, so a bit of encouragement was in order. - Oh yes! Battle raged in this city, cannons roared! That proves those three wooden skeletons you can visit in the port, full of holes like big pieces of swiss cheese.

- And suddenly, all stopped. - Miku hit the ground hard with his boots, ending his walk. Again, he raised his two hands, palms up, as if he was a scales. - A deal was made. Peace! No ship would explore the bottom of the sea, no lives would be lost in the attack and we will walk home as if nothing ever happened. Good enough for the common man, a good reason to bring the wine, throw confetti and make the local band play a happy tune.

His tone changed through the latter sentence, evolving from childish happiness into a bitter, sarcastic grin.

- Treason. A deal made without consultation on those who, like me, stood in that ship with naked steel in our hands. Ready to destroy our enemy no matter what, ready to die! People of Montpellier, the reform only speaks one language, and that language is the total destruction of Rome. No sacrifice is too small, no life is too expensive to offer to our ultimate goal, to free mankind from the chains of the church. - Miku took a little break to remove the heavy cloak that protected him from the mediterranean winter breeze. Scars and deep ink painted the stories of a life sculpted by war, and only the cross of the reformation protected his exposed chest. - My name is Miku Espinosa, if you never heard of me before. Tonight I fight the man who took that decision, and with that, I take back the fight that he stole from me.

But now, after his last words, the unmistakable feeling of imminent action made him feel alive. He looked at the sky for a moment, smiling again, and his lips pronounced in prayer the syllables of a single name. All the rest had already been said. The castillian raised his sword to heaven and his shout over all other noise.

- Give your best ovation to the ugly bastard! Let's hear your voices, people of Montpellier! Archibald, step forward!

- Oh, here he is! - He nodded enthusiastically, welcoming him to the center of the square. - Come, I'll give you something to eat.

The time to shout to the audience had passed. Miku had tried his best, but apparently the occitans were very quiet people. So quiet that when he had entered the most active taverns of Montpellier to announce the duel the majority of them hadn't even heard about what had happened. What kind of citizen doesn't worry when he hears cannons on his port? Perhaps they were so accustomed to being attacked that they didn't care? In any case, his friends were there and that was more than enough. The warm feeling of the wolf pack filled his heart.

That was how it started. Young against old. Violence against haggling. South west against north east. The castillian, now in silence, changed his proud posture to a combat stance. It was almost an instinctive reaction - slightly bent knees, stable feet and relaxed shoulders which followed the orders of a focused mind. The Espinosa moved around him, prowling like a lion, and moved his blade slowly behind his back, letting it rebound against the wooden pillars of the torches. Like a jail guard crossing the bars of a cell with his baton.

But there was no need to create more tension. The stakes were high, there was no way out after the decision had been made. Confident on his skills, Miku moved fast against Archibald. His sword traced a blurry arc through the air, coming from behind to move up and down again. It wasn't the fastest cut, but it didn't need to be. The helvetian defended himself successfully from a blow that would have otherwise chopped his head in half, and steel clashed against steel.

That had been the plan since the start. Busy with his big attack, nobody could have seen the left hand of the iberian appear from nowhere. All his weight dropped in the shape of a tight fist. The punch had so much force into it that it almost damaged his own arm, and both fighters separated from each other. He could feel it, he had won the first round. He roared like a crazy man.

Longer weapons had always had an advantage on the battlefield. Jokes aside, there was a reason why pikes and lances had always been the main weapon of every cavalry and infantry soldier since antiquity. Swords, sabers and daggers were secondary tools, employed once the first choices were discarded, broken or shot. But this was not a battlefield, it was a duel. Honor and pride had an equally important part of the affair. In any case, fighting against an opponent with an advantage would only make his victory more glorius in case he won, and his defeat more respectful if that was the case.

Perhaps it was fair. After all, Archibald was an old man, and nobody could escape from the consequences of time and excess weight. But as soon as he thought that, Miku was proven wrong. The helvetian moved with skill, combining distance and speed to create a barrier that was impossible to breach. He tried, and failed.

His experience meant he had a few cards up his sleeve. And the perverted captain chose the right one. The castillian couldn't foresee the stab at his foot, and his opponent pinned him to the ground. A general "Ouh!" sounded through the audience, so obvious was the pain to everyone. Miku gritted his teeth this time to avoid screaming, but his reactions were damaged. His sword fell from his hand, and his healthy leg trembled and fell to his knee.

Those were the moments were fanaticism shines. When all is lost, when pain is too much for a man, it takes a very special kind of madness to rise again. Miku did not admit defeat. He grabbed, with both hands, the handle of the weapon that was stuck in his foot. His head spasmed back with violence, and he pulled with all his remaining strength. It was his turn to surprise Archibald. Instead of freeing his leg, he pushed towards him, causing the spike to dig deeper in his foot but throwing his rival off-balance.

The stick was his now, and he spun it furiously around his head to smack the old guy behind his knees. He fell, and when he did, he had his own weapon pointed against his neck. The crowd exploded into applause, and Miku smiled, not paying too much attention to the fact that his vision was beggining to become blurry.

- That was a good fight. - He said, regaining his breath after the hard earned victory. Miku removed the weapon and offered a hand, although it was not clear who needed more help to get up. - And a good fight needs two good fighters. What you took from me is now mine again, and you've earned my respect. You should eat, rest, and find a big pair of tits to do both things tonight. You earned that, old bastard.

He laughed, and stood to take a deep bow facing the public, searching for a specific pair of eyes. All torches were silenced, and he disappeared, happy and limping a bit, in the midnight of Montpellier.