“To stay alive was one of the most common motivations for why a person who usually never fights, actually did so. I have to say, however, that when staying alive was no longer an issue, or on the table at all, things did get a bit more complicated to ponder about.” - Aideen deVreys, the Silver Maiden.

Unlike the first time she fought two days ago, Celia had some idea on what to do this time around. Like Aideen taught her, she kept the sword-staff’s blade pointed at the two men, and threatened them with quick, short thrusts when they tried to get closer. The men had more experience than her by far, sure, but even then their training was poor, their moniker of “knights” more a point of pride than reality, and they were little more than overpaid thugs who dressed better than their ilk.

While they had no issues abusing their “station” to tread on those who did not dare to fight back, when faced with someone who not only fought back but was clear on their intent to take their lives, they flinched back as their innate cowardice took over their normal bravado. It helped that Celia had a much longer weapon, with which she kept both men at bay.

Had she been the nervous and scared girl from last time, the result of the fight would have been little different. She would have been disarmed and controlled by the men in short order, while barely able to resist. The only reason she had managed to kill the man at the time was because he had looked down on her, and had not expected her to still resist after he had injured and pinned her to the ground.

Instead, she kept them away, her sword-staff’s sharp point threatening to skewer them whenever they approached a bit too close. As Aideen taught her, Celia was more focused on not presenting openings to the enemy, rather than going on the offensive. First was the capability to defend oneself, before one learnt how to attack, Aideen had said.

The man with the mace tried to lunge at her after he batted away her sword-staff with his weapon, but Celia reacted faster than he had expected as she pulled her weapon back and spun it around to slash at his legs. The slash forced the man back with a cut visible on one of his thick leather boots, from which a small wound bled.

His compatriot tried to take advantage of her preoccupation with the maceman to strike, but she swiftly reversed the swing of her weapon as she struck a backhanded slash which also forced him back. The blade of her sword-staff scraped against his chainmail and caused some sparks to form, but had nor injured the man at all.

Even so, the surprised man flinched back and ceased his advance, which gave Celia time enough to withdraw out of his range. Both men continued to pace around her warily, eyes locked to the tip of her weapon, while she was somewhat emboldened by the nervous way they paced around.

Finally, Celia gathered her courage and went on the offense. She struck towards the maceman, her blade swooping towards his face. The man blocked her strike with the metal shaft of his weapon even as he instinctively leaned back, while the dagger-wielder attempted to move to her side and strike from there instead.

Celia did not force her swing, but instead leaned into the recoil as she swung her weapon around her in a wide circle. The dagger-wielding man was forced back once more by the swing, but the maceman seemed to have gathered his resolve as he blocked the blow with his weapons as he pushed forward.

Contrary to his expectations, Celia had not flinched back or withdrawn as he rushed towards her. Instead, she tried to control his mace with her own weapon, held one-handed with her left hand while she pulled out a long knife and met him up close. The man managed to free his weapon from the bind and swung it at her, but Celia took the blow to her left shoulder - even as the mace broke the bones on the joint - without hesitation.

Even as she screamed out in pain, Celia’s right hand continued unerringly as she stabbed at the surprised man’s left eye, where the blade of the knife pierced through his eyeball, halted for a brief moment when it struck the eye socket, then broke through deeper into the man’s brain behind. The man’s other eye gave a brief look of surprise, then glazed over as his body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

As the man fell - and took Celia’s knife with him as she failed to dislodge it from his skull while he dropped - his dagger-wielding compatriot tackled her from the side, even as he pierced her stomach with his weapon. Celia felt the sudden and sharp, searing pain as his blade entered her abdomen, then he pulled it out and stabbed her again, and again.

She ignored the pain, and tried to bring out her other long knife, only for the man to bat it away angrily. Then she tried to move her left arm - which still held her sword-staff despite the broken shoulder, but found that she could barely do so. She fell under the weight of the man that tackled her, even as he wildly stabbed at her on the way, until her groping hand found something hard and metallic.

It was the dead man’s mace, which had fallen out of his hand, and she took hold of it as she wildly swung it at the man who kept her pinned to the floor while he stabbed wildly at her. The mace struck the man’s head from the side, hard enough that a sizable dent formed on his skull from the blow, and he tottered over for a moment, as if he had no idea who he was and what he was doing at the moment.

Celia had not paused, and landed another blow at the same spot. This time the man’s head broke under the blow, and he slumped down over her, even as disgusting, gooey, grayish brain matter leaked out from the head wound Celia gave him.

His dead weight kept her pinned down where she was until Aideen came to extricate her from her embarrassing predicament some time later.