As the truth dawned on him that he was now powerless, I raised both hands and summoned a sphere of water from the air. It hovered for a beat—then slid over his head like a shimmering helm. His distorted features gaped behind the liquid shell. He could still breathe—barely—but every shallow breath reminded him who was in control.
I could close it,my expression told him.I won’t. But I could.
"Yield," I said, my voice calm and unwavering, wondering if perhaps Mordred needed to hear Balan say the words in order to call me the victor.
Already, those in the stands were chanting "Lioran" and clapping their hands, reiterating the fact that I had won. So, why wasn't Mordred calling the duel?
Balan's face flushed deeper, his eyes wild with fury and shame. He strained against the ice shackles holding him in place, his jaw clenched, veins rising on his neck.
"I refuse to submit to a commoner!" he spat, his words bubbling through the sphere.
I leaned in over him and whispered, "It looks like you have no fucking choice."
I was sick of these pompous and entitled bastards who thought their title and status made them better than everyone else.
With a guttural roar that reverberated through the arena like thunder, Balan summoned every ounce of his considerable strength into one explosive, desperate movement. The muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged against his torn tunic as he strained against my magical restraints, veins standing out like cords beneath his flushed skin.
The water sphere around his head simply popped out of existence as the ice shackles, which had held him so securely mere moments before, suddenly gave way with a sharp, crystalline crack that split the air. They shattered in a spectacular explosion of frozen fragments.
Sharp shards flew like deadly glass projectiles in all directions, some spinning high into the air while others skittered along the ground with metallic scraping sounds. The spectators in the front row—nobles who had been leaning forward to get a better view—ducked instinctively as the larger fragments struck the shimmering magical barriers that protected the stands, creating brief flashes of blue light where ice met enchantment.
"If I can’t beat you with magic," Balan growled, yanking a short blade from his belt, "then I’ll break you with my hands!"
And then he charged at me.
What came at me now was raw, unhinged fury—a man unwilling to accept defeat.
This should not have been allowed. The duel was about magical proficiency and physical prowess, not brawn against brawn. So, why weren't Mordred or Arthur calling Balan's foul? In fact, I could hear Percival calling out to Mordred and saying something similar. But I couldn't focus on him long because Balan was nearly on me.
I sidestepped his charge, pivoting on my left foot while gesturing downward with my right hand. The arena floor beneath Balan's thundering boots transformed instantly into a slick sheet of ice, perfectly transparent and treacherously smooth.
His momentum betrayed him.
His eyes widened in the split second that he realized what I'd done, arms going out to his sides as his feet shot out from under him. He crashed down with a bone-jarring impact that echoed throughout the arena, his short blade skittering away across the ice.
Before he could recover, I closed my fists tightly. Water from the surrounding air condensed and froze around his wrists and ankles, forming glasslike manacles that glittered in the sunlight. The ice thickened with each passing second, securing him firmly to the ground, despite his furious struggles.
I approached him then with measured steps, my boots finding perfect traction on the same ice that had just felled him. With deliberate slowness, I placed the tip of my sword against his throat, applying just enough pressure so he could feel the cold steel against his skin.
His eyes met mine, rage giving way to bitter resignation.
"Admit defeat," I growled.
He glared at me.
"For God's sake, man!" Lancelot yelled from where he stood beside Arthur. "You've been bested!"
Balan glared at me.
"Don't make this any worse for yourself," I whispered.
"I…" Balan began, glaring at me. "Submit."
"The duel is concluded!" Mordred's voice rang out across the suddenly silent arena as I breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Sir Lioran advances!"
The final verdict echoed through Camelot's Grand Arena as I stepped away from the massive man. He still lay disarmed and immobilized beneath me, mainly because I was nervous he might attack me the second I released him.
Silence hung over the arena for a breathless moment before those in the stands erupted into thunderous applause. The assembled nobility of Logres—having witnessed the complete dismantling of one of the realm's most feared warriors—responded with astonishment followed by approval. Even those who had wagered against the relatively unknown borderlands knight seemed impressed by this display of tactical ability.
