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The fights continued, but they were becoming more and more drawn out. The weakest combatants had all been culled in the first three rounds, and now the remaining warriors were going at it with everything they had. Eventually, Noah’s first target entered the arena. He was a young man, spirited and garbed in plate mail, having won his fights with hard-won determination and effort. His name was Falco. Noah followed him outside, the warrior unaware of his presence. On the other end of the ring, his opponent arrived, another man, a few inches taller and years older, wearing dark clothes and an amused smirk upon seeing Falco. Both were brawlers, entering the ring without weapons.

After exploiting a gap in her attack, Noah lunged and swung at her, his blade coming within inches of her throat as she backflipped beyond his reach, kicking his sword to try and knock it out of his hand. He succeeded in hanging on and went in for a thrust, but she parried his attack and countered with a diagonal slash, stopped by him catching her blade with the guard of his sword. The two of them went back and forth, launching attacks at each other while struggling to endure the onslaught they were both receiving.

Displaying tremendous patience, Sarah waited a minute, carefully watching her father’s breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. When she was sure the sheet wasn’t causing any issues, she pulled it back all the way to the end of the bed, she didn’t want it getting in the way.