“None shall enter this town. Army or not.”

As the words drifted on the summer’s breeze, a lone armored man stood boldly before a hundred or more men. He stood defiantly, eyes as cold as the bloodied steel of the longsword in his left hand.

A man bearing a black and gold helm, with a rather ornate dragon crest, stepped forward and examined the bridge before him. His upper lip trembled as he glanced from body to bloodied body, soldiers and their weapons scattered like leaves in the wind. “You dare deny us the right to this paradise? Who are you to do such a thing?” He stared at the stone bridge, wide enough for five men across, but not wide enough to flank the man before him.

“This… paradise… is not your right.” The man shifted slightly, his crimson armor shifting atop the midnight cloth below. “For you to think that it is, Grand Master, is why I am here at all. Those who believe they are entitled to the world will crash upon me like waves at the shore. For I am Kiralti, the Guardian of Irabagi.”

“Even waves wear away at the shore bit by bit.” The man grunted and spun to his army, his head held high. “And we shall do just that. To the man who brings me his head, I will give him nobility and ensure he does not want for anything!”

A single man stepped forward, slightly shaking.

“Good, go fetch your legacy boy.” The Grand Master said, his flowing red cape drifting as he walked past the boy, opening up the path to the bridge.

The boy stepped carefully over the bodies before him; Knights, thieves, barbarians. He glanced up to his opponent who stood opposite him, a single longsword gleaming with fresh blood in his hand. Swallowing hard, the boy suddenly stumbled over a body, his sword tumbling loudly along the stones of the bridge. As he lay face down, the laughter of the army behind him did nothing to build his confidence. A tear in his eye, he began to pick himself up, when he realised a hand was extended before him. His eyes followed the hand up the arm to the guardian, as he stared down at him.

“You do not have to do this boy.” The guardian’s words were truth, and his voice echoed both concern and authority.

“I-I do…” The boy said, taking the guardian’s hand. “I’ve nothing to go back to… this is my chance.”

Pity filled the guardian’s eyes. “There can be others. It needn’t be this way.”

“If I go back… they’ll kill me for being a coward. If I fight you, at least I have a chance at something.” The boy glanced to his sword which was past the guardian. “I am nothing, who has come from nothing.”

The Guardian smiled. “I knew a boy such as you once. It tends to be the ones who have nothing to lose, are the ones who are most dangerous.” With his sword and a flick of his wrist, the boy’s blade leapt from the ground and into The Guardian’s free hand. He spun it quickly and examined the blade; its dull edge wouldn’t cut bread, let alone his armor. He tossed it to the boy, who fumbled to catch it. “Then I am sorry for what I must do.”

The army stood silent like the red forest behind them, watching with bated breath as the Guardian waited patiently for his opponent.

The boy nervously gripped the sword and lunged once, the two swords clacking together weakly and the Guardian waving his attack off with a simple parry. As the two danced, it was if the Guardian knew the lay of the bodies and weapons below him, his nimble footing always landing solid and on the bridge floor. Lunging, the boy missed his target and the Guardian let another opportunity to end his opponent slip away.

“Stop toying with me! Fight!” The boy yelled in frustration.

With a snort of derision, the Guardian stared angrily through his helm. “Fine.” With a lunge, the boy dodged to the guardian’s right, where a solid punch with an armored fist laid him out flat and motionless.

The Guardian glanced down to the boy before him, as blood trickled from his nose and mouth. “Come on then, one at a time?” He yelled in anger and stepped past the boy. “Or all at once? I care not, this bridge will be your grave!”

Suddenly men were rushing past the Grand Master onto the bridge toward the Guardian in droves. Men fell over the side of the bridge, men fell beneath other men, limbs rained down upon the bridge as the Guardian cut a bloody swath through rank after rank. The Grand Master watched as the Guardian played the role of an artist, painting his army in the blood of their comrades. It seemed as though the Guardian has an unnatural speed and precision about him as the sword seemingly cut through weak point after weak point in his men’s armor.

Kiralti pushed forward, his feet meeting dry bridge and his sword cleaving through armpits and necks as if they were made of water. A sword skimmed through his parry, and he deftly knocked it away with his armored glove, instead guiding it into another man’s visor. Pushing the impaled man over, Kiralti spun his sword effortlessly through the man’s throat. He forced the dying man’s arm down to defend against an incoming low attack, and with his fist, drove the man’s weak visor into his face. Wave after wave came, crashing upon the Guardian in all of his glory. He had been trained to fight up to ten men by his master, and he remembered every lesson. He remembered that sometimes a free hand is more dangerous than one with a sword. He caught a blade mid swing and disarmed the poor soldier holding it; the sword used as a javelin to take out a man in the next advancing rank. Deftly cutting the soldier down, Kiralti pressed onward until no more than seven men stood before him. Six men stood, mouths agape, heartbeats pounding in the sudden silence of the bridge. The Grand Master stood behind them, shaking his head in shock.

“What is it Grand Master? Do you feel fear?” The Guardian smirked beneath his helm.

“Kill him! I demand you kill him!” The Grand Master screamed as his men considered a hasty abandonment of their duties.

One man leapt forward with a battle cry, and Kiralti knocked the sword attack away and spun to split the man down the center of his back. Two others charged only to be dispatched by their own swords in each others throats. The other three turned to rush past the Grand Master who executed them as they tried to pass. As the bodies all slumped to the ground, he stared at the Guardian before him, standing at his end of the bridge. “Fine then… I suppose I must do everything myself.” He boasted with confidence, but his voice cracked as he trembled ever so slightly with fear.

The two men stood opposite each other, the smell of piss, iron and blood heavy in the air. As crows fluttered in to inspect the day’s pickings, the Guardian shook his head. “So much death, and for what?”

“For that which God intended for the rest of us… Eden.” The Grand Master snarled. He pointed his sword at Kiralti and rage drew hateful lines upon his face. “And you, you are the only thing standing between me and that perfection!”

The Grand Master charged, his sword cutting the air hard and heavy. Kiralti grimaced as the weight of the blow pained his wrist, surprising him. The swords sparked as they clashed and the two spun in unison, swords coming to a clash once again. Kiralti pushed into the weight of the Grand Master’s sword in order to force him off balance, but found him to be of sure footing as well.

“Ha, you’re good, but maybe you’re tired.” The Grand Master grinned. “It seems you may have met your-” Suddenly his chain mail was pointing toward Kiralti, through his chest, as blood spurted out and doused his white coat in red. From behind him, the boy withdrew his dull sword from the Grand Master’s back and watched as his master fell lifeless to the stone floor at his feet.

The boy stared down at the body before him, his left eye was swollen shut and face bloodied from where he had been hit earlier. Through his one free eye, his gaze shifted from the Grand Master to Kiralti. “Did you mean to kill me?” He asked quietly.

The Guardian lowered his sword and sighed heavily. “Either that or remove you from the fight. You aren’t meant for men like that.”

“What do you mean?” The boy’s voice had a bit of a lisp, most likely from damage to his face. “What now?”

“You have two options, you’re free… do as you like.” Kiralti said bluntly. He stepped over bodies until he laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Or you could come with me, and I could train you to replace me as the Guardian.”

The boy perked up, and grimaced when he tried to smile. “If you would have me…”

“Then come… and see the utopia beyond boy.” Kiralti said with a smile. “And let your training begin.”