Size up your opponent.

You wield your short sword across your body, looking at your opponent. He's shorter than you, less muscles, using the same type of short sword you have. He has a huge scar to the left side of his belly button, most likely a stab wound. He's wearing a cloth wrap around his head, covering one of his eyes "Good for me" you think aloud. After the many years of training you are quite the handsome, muscle toned young man now. Your arms, chest, stomach and legs are full of muscle, yet you're still slender enough to have good mobility. Fighting in the slums, you're just wearing some torn cloth shorts and some shoes. Your shirtless, why bother ruining a good shirt.

You step forward, going on the offensive. Slashing toward your opponent as he pulls his blade up, blocking the slash. You keep on the offense, spinning around swinging your blade from the other side, which is quickly blocked again. You go for a quick jab, he parries it as he jumps to the side.

The fight goes on like this for a couple minutes, you staying on the offense while he just keeps parrying, blocking & dodging your attacks. You start to breath heavier, moving around in this dirt pit is starting to wear on your endurance. You keep your eyes looking at his movements. You attack from the right again, he blocks and jumps to the left. You back up, looking at him "Come on punk!" he shouts at you. You attack from the right again, he blocks and jumps to the left.

"Ah hah..." you smirk to yourself. You attack from the right one more time, he blocks it, you take your left hand and swing from the left toward his face. Like clockwork, as he blocks your blade from the right, he jumps to the left. Unfortunately, this time your fist meets his temple. "UGH...." he falls to the ground.

You throw your sword to the ground. Normally all these "slummers" want to watch you kill a man, but that's just not your style. You jump on his chest and start raining blow after blow into his face until he's beaten and broken. Your fists, sore and bloody as well.

"AND OUR WINNER...." The Faux-Judge leaps into the ring, grabbing your wrist and holding it in the air. "Darien!!!!!!!!"

The crowd cheers.