The silence stretched on. Atop the platform, the herald kept glancing at two Olsandre men in the middle of a conversation. They were both looking at Jon. Finally, one of them turned his head to the herald and nodded.

“The rules are simple,” the herald resumed his announcement as if nothing had happened. “Those who fail to get back to their feet after being downed will be disqualified and removed from the field, same for those who yield. Anyone who receives an injury considered life-threatening by any of the various officials on watch will be similarly disqualified and sent to the healers. The melee will last until there are only a thousand contestants left standing. Now, put your helmets back on.”

There was a general sound of metal clanking against metal as the contestants followed the orders. The helmet felt stuffy while the narrow slit of the visor limited his vision. Nothing could be done, though, as he wouldn’t last long in this sort of battle without the additional protection. In this sort of environment, protection took precedence over agility and field of vision.

“Draw your weapons.”

Jon’s longsword slid out of its sheat. After a few hours to get reacquainted, the blade once again felt like an extension of his arms rather than just a tool in his hands.

The herald raised a hand high into the sky.

Heartbeats drummed in Jon’s ears, though his sword remained steady. Combat had been an integral part of both his lives. He would not be fazed now.

The hand came down.

Jon pivoted on his back foot, sword slashing at an enemy’s open visor. It first clanked against the edge of the visor before destroying both of the man’s eyes. He collapsed to the ground, kicking, screeching, and horrifying those nearby.

While those who witnessed it were too stunned to move, Jon was only getting started. He stepped over the man’s body, sword raised high to hit a gawking enemy. Then the sand under his metal shoes began to shift, and Jon immediately jumped back to where he started, bracing himself for the magical attack.

Instead, the sands continued to move from under the collapsed man as the ground literally swallowed him whole. That gave even Jon pause. From across the field, a bleeding woman’s body levitated away from the giant mass of people fighting.

The herald’s words immediately came to mind. The old man had indeed said that those who were injured would be removed from the field. Jon hadn’t really stopped to wonder how it would be done though.

With the initiative now lost, he found himself squaring off against a man in a red gambeson. To his back, he had the hard stone wall, atop of which were the thousands of cheering spectators. To the left and right, he had the absolute chaos of other contestants fighting against one another, even worse than the actual battle he took part in. In here, there were no friends, only enemies.

The man in a red gambeson brought his steel blade down towards Jon’s head. Jon answered with an upward slash of his own. The clash reverberated through his arms and almost forced him to one knee.

Noticing that, the man attempted a kick against Jon’s leg in hopes of bringing him down.

Jon was faster. As the man rose one leg off the ground, a quick foot to the side of the knee forced his other leg to bend. Gravity took care of the rest and the man ended up face down on the ground.

Before his enemy could react, Jon reversed his grip on the sword and stabbed down with all of his weight. The blade punctured the gambeson along with whatever cheap armor there was underneath. The man let out an anguished wail, prompting the sands to start shifting once again.

The large mass of people began to thin down as contestants were disqualified and removed at a steady pace. A contestant in a full suit of rippled steel armor was being forced back towards Jon’s direction. His opponent, a woman in ragtag and mismatched pieces of armor, made up for the difference in equipment through sheer ferociousness.

The man, seemingly too afraid to let his armor deal with some of the attacks, continued to block and parry, being forced back with each passing second.

Jon yanked his weapon free before it was swallowed down along with his fallen enemy. Then, not one above taking advantage of someone’s lack of attention, he set his sights on the armored man. As the duo kept getting closer, Jon let go of the sword hilt, gripping the blood-stained blade instead.

The murder-strike, as Marleya taught him, essentially turned a sword into an improvised mace. While not as effective against lightly armored enemies, it worked wonders against armor that couldn’t be stabbed through.

As the man entered striking range, Jon brought his weapon down against the back of his helmet. The crossguard hit its mark with a dull clank, stunning the man and bending his neck forward. Jon followed up with a second blow that finally brought him down.

The woman’s surprise lasted for barely a second. Her blade stabbed straight towards Jon’s heart. Rather than dodging or blocking, Jon did what the man should have done in such a situation and allowed the strike to hit. Her sword tip harmlessly glanced off his cuirass, leaving behind nothing but a scratch.

The time she lost with that attack was the time he had to change the grip on his blade, closer to crossguard for a more focused strike. The pommel smashed hard against her helmet, forcing her to take a step back. Jon’s gauntleted hand against the back of her head made sure she wouldn’t go very far. For a second time he brought the pommel down, then a third, and a fourth.

Her blade fell lifelessly from her hands as she lost consciousness. Only then did he let go of her, allowing her body to collapse to the ground.

The field was noticeably emptier now as almost half of the contestants had already been eliminated. It wouldn’t be much longer now until the melee ended.

A contestant was sent flying like a ragdoll as a mountain of man hit him square on the chest with a two-handed greatsword. He then looked for another opponent and set his sights on Jon. Almost in synchrony, a woman came charging from the right alongside the wall, her shield held high.

Jon stood his ground, his head spinning left and right so as not to lose track of the two enemies. The large man arrived a second before the woman, his greatsword held high to strike. From the size of the weapon alone, Jon knew he wouldn’t be able to block it. So, as soon as the man brought the weapon down, Jon jumped to the side.

The weapon bounced off the wall, missing Jon’s shoulder by only a couple of inches.

Unable to change courses, the shieldwoman crashed against the large man.

Having dodged the blow, Jon spun around with a swing of his sword, catching the large man on the back on the back of the knee. The thin metal protecting the joint gave way under the momentum of Jon’s sword. With a grunt, the man fell to one knee, a small stream of blood coming from under the armor.

Without any mobility left, the large man was no longer a threat. The shieldwoman realized the same thing as Jon and the officials; the large man began to levitate in the next instant. She circled around Jon, her shield pointing towards him at all times. She bent one knee, ready to do another charge.

“The melee stage is over,” the herald’s voice once again echoed through the arena. “A round of applause to those who have passed to the next stage.”