Although Diarmuid left the governor's palace without any further protests or pleas, he was not keen on giving up yet. If Oscar wishes to be tried at the arena, then he would never be his foe, the sword used to deliver him justice. It was not pride, but he knew very well that Oscar would not stand a chance against him, even with his restless advanced training. Not leaving his room, even as the dawn of the trial day began to glitter in the distant sky, he did not move from his bed, sitting with a frown on his face, and throwing his twin spears against the wall without care or caution, making Sextus who was losing his self-control as well in this turmoil, stumble by them. But he managed to regain his balance before making a bigger fool of himself than he already had after all everything that had transpired lately.
"I am not fighting Oscar, choose anyone else."
The lancer declared his intention before the man had the chance to speak. Sextus was not a heartless man despite his trade, but he could not defy orders. He was in a similar sense to the lancer an obeying servant albeit of a different kind.
"You know now that I have no power over you, and that I cannot force you to do anything. I even believe the governor would not be mad if you did not show up… but the crowds are waiting for you, they want you!"
"Did they not have enough of me yet? I have nothing more to offer."
Disputing this fact was not the reasonable approach, and Sextus was left at loss of words, turning right and left as if inspiration would grace his thoughts suddenly but nothing of the sort happened. When Diarmuid watched him standing silently, he commented with a mucking smile.
"Did you not just say you have no power over me, why are you still standing here?"
"Please Diarmuid… I know he is your friend… maybe you can plead for forgiveness after you defeat him… the governor will listen to you…"
"The matter is out of the governor's hands, he said so himself."
It was Sextus this time who frowned; no matter was out of the governor's hand, but it seemed the lancer believed this, not realizing that Germanous probably did not want to lose his regained popularity by sparing someone who murdered esteemed soldiers. However, it was not the time to get on the lancer's nerves, so the merchant fumbled with his next words.
"You do not know, he might change his mind if the two of you made a spectacular performance…"
"You keep repeating how you admire and respect me yet still insist on making me act like a jester."
The lancer answered disdainfully, the same way he eyed the troubled man whose neck was at the stake now; the stake of the angry crowds if their favorite gladiator did not show up to exact justice upon a shameless traitor.
"They will kill me Diarmuid, they will turn into an angry mob and shred me to pieces if you do not appear!"
"I could not care less."
Sextus knew very well that the respect and adulation he held toward the knight were not mutual, and that he definitely looked down on him but still, the words cut deeply and wounded his heart. His face fell down with a disappointment he could not allow to persist for long. So, he resorted to the last card he held, and which he wished the lancer did not have to twist his hands into using it.
"It is Lady Sabina's wish."
Even when he used the word "wish", Diarmuid knew it meant "order" but he was not bent on satisfying that woman and his defiant eyes spoke without having to move his lips in refusal to acknowledge this "wish".
"Actually, I have a message from her…"
"You mean a command?"
The Celtic sarcastically retorted but Sextus shook his head and relayed the message.
"She is telling you that it is Oscar's wish to fight you, to stand as your equal and that you have no right to refuse him this… if you truly believe in him! Your refusal to fight him would only affirm his certainty about you looking down on him."
"When did I ever look down on him?!!"
The Celtic stood up, shaking angrily at the thought Oscar harbored, or had been harboring for long as the subsequent accidents suggested, with no logical explanation to verify this preposterous claim. Everything he had ever wanted was to protect him, save him, return him home because all these days he was never freed from the guilt he felt toward him.
And as if Sabina foretold this to be the lancer's first reaction, Sextus went on with her message.
"Dotting on him like a fragile doll, overprotecting him like a weak bud. Your mere refusal to fight him today confirms how little you think of him and of his training and the efforts he went through to match you…"
Diarmuid remained silent, and Sextus perceived the man patiently though he was running out of time.
Did Oscar really think this way? He wanted his mentor's approval and praise and it was is rightful claim. However, he was demanding it in the cruelest way possible. Why did he chose this method to gain it? Should he feign loss against the boy so he would be satisfied?
No, Oscar would know if his strikes were slacking, and it would truly seem as if he was looking down on him, looking down on the sole pupil he took under his wing.
How fast did that young pupil grow up and turn into a man.
"He idolizes you, that is why he want to do everything like you, to trudge the same path you had…"
Diarmuid could not tell if these words were the rest of Sabina's message or Sextus's hunch but nevertheless, the lancer walked to his forsaken spears and held them, deciding to oblige his pupil's desire. The last lesson he would be teaching him.
The steps Oscar wanted to follow after were not honorable and pure. The path looked up at was not noble or worthy but it seemed that if anyone wanted to trail the same path the lancer had walked through to follow on his steps, he would have to take that hateful turn.
First Grainne, a princess fallen from grace, and now Oscar, a kind – hearted soul burning with envy and desire for power and approval.
***
Lady Sabina arrived earlier than her habit at the arena. Her seat was placed next to the governor as she was the owner of the trialed slave but she refused the invitation, declining any involvement in the matter and chose to take her usual seat amidst the rowdy crowds who were parched for avenging their fallen soldiers by the divine spears of the godly gladiator. She was wearing a deep red color, that contrasted beautifully against her pale skin, a color she had never liked to wear before, braiding her hair and allowing her golden yet simply designed earrings to show and frame her face gracefully. She was donned in red as if foreshadowing the massacre about to play itself soon.
Oscar, granted an armor and holding the weapon of his cursed crime, his long red spear, was standing at one end of the arena. The smile he was wearing since he was in jail still latching to his face until it turned into a serious expression when Diarmuid, without an armor, holding his twin spears walked in. An idea crossed the latter's mind; what if he just stood there and allowed Oscar to kill him? But as he saw the freighting determination that shone brazenly in the once pure blue eyes, he could not allow himself to be weaker than his disciple. He decided to fight, praying Oscar would surprise him and defeat him. This prayer did not stem from pity or over - protection, but rather from his new view of his student, and from his belief in him and his potential.
From his high decorated balcony, Germanous sat watching the two opponents staring at each other with determined stares that despite the resolve shaping them, seemed to him devoid and empty except of hesitation and sorrow. He eyed the dual wielder. Believing this morning as prepared himself for the event that the Celtic would refuse to take any part in this trial but the man never failed to surprise him.
"So, he decided to show up."
The governor spoke and turned his head at a standing Laurentius whose face did not show the same surprise as the blond. knowing he will find no expression there anyway, the latter had to ask for one.
"What do you think, Laurentius? Is this not a bit cruel from the lancer?"
"He is respecting his pupil's wishes and giving him the right to surpass him."
The counselor seemed to have more in his mind to say, but refrained from going on until witnessing the end result of the match. When Germanous realized he could not drag any more words out of the man, he simply remarked.
"What a brutal test this is."
"It is what makes men."
Surprised at the answer and Laurentius continuation of the conversation, he turned at him once more and asked.
"Are you betting on the young lad?"
"I am betting on the two spears."
"Huh… this is new…"
But Germanous had misinterpreted the counselor's meaning; the man was not betting on a winner or a loser, he was betting on an entirely different thing, a concept which he did not find necessary to explain to the sitting blond ready to enjoy the show, and preferred to wait patiently until the end of the match.
The two lancers; one with two spears, the other with only one, stood facing each other leaving a considerable distance between them. Neither had the intention to take the first step, the first out of hesitation, the second out of caution and tactic. Still, the crowds did not understand this, they cared only for this unique battle between two kin with similar styles and weapons, with a shared past and an entertaining present that brought them to this arena.
"Are you satisfied now, Oscar?"
"I could not be happier that you have accepted my invitation."
Diarmuid asked wishing to find any hint of wavering or blame in his pupil's eyes but failing as the latter was smiling happily and confidently.
The silence that accompanied no movement from both men, was not pushed into expressing itself despite the crowds' complains and urging. Their shouts and cheers did not reach the two men who were completely isolated from their noisy surroundings into the maze of torment fate had led them into, dominating their minds and souls. But this did not last for long, for Oscar's smile grew from cheerfulness into irritation as he witnessed his mentor's lack of true resolve, so gripped his crimson spear and dashed.
The air that was imitating the stillness of the lancers, now stirred into a storm as Oscar launched his first attack, and the wind started to dance with the lances and the steps and gestures guiding them. The beginning of the battle was dull, Oscar thrusting impatiently, trying to provoke Diarmuid to no avail, as the latter repelled his attacks easily and without any enthusiasm. The blond boy's rage boiled as he spat while continuing his attacks.
"Are you looking down on me? Are you still trying to protect me? Then why did you come? You should have just hid away like a coward!!"
Despite his former resolution, Diarmuid could not muster any true will to fight wholeheartedly. His hands failed him, and his knees shook without anyone's notice, including himself. But then the warrior inside of him grew bored of this effortless movements and meaningless game of tag. Replying to Oscar's anger, he smiled remarking:
"I see you added nothing new to the moves I have taught you. I am still unimpressed and waiting for you to surprise me."
Oscar's rash thrusting stopped at these taunting words, frowning at the insult meant for teasing, but he was not in a suitable mood as he took this fight seriously, ready to decapitate his own master if this would give the same attention and fame the latter's had obtained in his trial at this same arena. He knew he lacked the older man's charm but he did not believe he lacked the same strength or talent anymore after his rigorous training and few battles. However, he was suddenly cornered, defending rather than attacking as Diarmuid went on with his confident smile.
"Maybe you need a little push to shake your new acquired skills!"
The two spears carried by the dual wielder were attacking simultaneously from every open angle, even penetrating the ones Oscar thought he had secured, and his sole long spear was blocking the constant thrust aimed at his person and which retreated without the boy's awareness at the last decisive moment before reaching his flesh. After a few rounds, the prisoner's lance fell prisoner to the two spears as they captured it as they crossed, trapping it between the two blades of gold and red. The audience sighed in disappointment as they deemed the show to end too soon but that was not the dual wielder's intention. He did not want to hurt Oscar, resorting to Sextus's idea; defeating him then asking for mercy, still believing Germanous would not fail him if he humbled the bratty attitude of the criminal, and believing he was capable to charm the audience into forgiving him or lessening the punishment of death... he was determined to go through with this plan even at the cost of his own life, threatening to kill himself if his pleas were not answered. He was ready to act like a foolish Roman at the brink of defeat, ending his own life, throwing it at the edge of his own blade.
Oscar struggled to free his lance whose tip was slightly stuck in the ground and hindered from being freed by the pressure applied by the two spears and the relentless hands the holding them.
"Is this not enough?"
Diarmuid demanded, eyeing the lad strictly as he used to when he made a mistake or slacked at his training, but Oscar could only read this as a humiliation he was not prepared to endure. Today he was fighting to gain respect and popularity and when his foe was about to pull his two spears away and ask for the governor's forgiveness, Oscar smiled as he noticed the subtle movement, and to Diarmuid's dismay, he did not allow him the time to do this, as he swiftly instead of trying to free his spear from the ground, dug his weapon deeper into it, until it was stable enough, then to his mentor's surprise, he realized his wish, performing a somersault using the stable spear as a pillar of support, and jumped over the head of the dual wielder lithely, drawing his weapon along with a firm grip. Diarmuid turned around immediately, dragging his spears with his body anticipating a quick retaliating attack, but Oscar had jumped few feet afar from him and when he observed the other's unnecessary quickness and caution, his fear flamed as he commented:
"Did you really think I will stab you from the back, Diarmuid?!"
"It was just the fighting instinct."
Diarmuid justified his action while shrugging his shoulders, but Oscar's anger did not subside. How lowly does his master think he have become? As for the dual wielder, his instinctive reaction was nothing more than a reflection of his own self – betrayal. When he could not even trust himself anymore, how could he trust anyone else?
The crowds were amazed by the nimble movement, and as Oscar kept his strikes determined and resolute. He bent his mentor's hands into taking the fight seriously, and moment after a moment, Diarmuid's zeal and fighting spirit began to trail out of his control, his strikes and movements becoming more serious and dangerous, as if the reason of the battle, the wished outcome, the foe he was facing, were slowly fading from his insight, and replenished instead with the thrill of fighting and the desire for winning he had never abandoned unconsciously.
The three lances interlaced like a painter's brush drawing a stunning picture, so vivid and unearthing something new with every strike. It was not until the red spear of the dual wielder penetrated the armor of the his opponent, leaving a shallow stab that did not hinder the one receiving it, that Diarmuid realized he was losing control of himself, suddenly coming to a halt and stepping backward. His cursed hand began shivering at the dreaded outcome that was about to become a reality. On the contrary, Oscar was overjoyed by getting his foe and former master's full attention at last, grinning like a rewarded child for his mischievousness.
"You are the one who had not changed at all, Dia!"
Oscar proclaimed, replying to the dual wielder's former comment. He took a different stance, one the addressed lancer had not seen before and in few minutes, the boy was storming the arena with so much agility, using acrobatic moves to distract the two spears hunting his lonely one. But the dual wielder's attention was not drawn to the perfectionism and mastery of these movements, or how well did Oscar reign over his weapon like an experienced knight, it was the similarity of said movements to the "Justice Pallbearers" tricks and techniques. Laurentius was the only one beside the fighting man to notice this, since he had fought them as well, and both men's doubts about the boy's true affiliation surfaced once again. Even it was a pure coincidence, Diarmuid could not allow it to go for long. Frowning in a serious warning he hoped the lad would understand, he chided:
"I thought I was fighting a knight, not a clown!"
"Do not belittle my technique just because you are too old to perform it!"
Oscar boasted not heeding the warning message, unknowingly rooting his feet in the muddy swamp he created for himself deeper and deeper, forcing Diarmuid to end the battle as soon as possible. And just when Oscar was bragging about himself and accusing the dual wielder of becoming repetitive and dull, even old, the man who did not care for the insults was all of a sudden few feet away from the blond boy, moving across the arena as if he was riding the wind, and maneuvering his two lances like the winter's sharp freezing breezes. He thought to stab Oscar in the leg and end the match there, but Oscar agility shielded him. Diarmuid would have been have been so proud if these movements did not resemble the criminals' style, and if it were not directed at him with a faithful spite that shone clearly and daringly in the lad's eyes that became clouded with anger and envy. The crowds did not cheer for him, he was a ruthless criminal in their eyes, and only now did he realize the truthfulness of his mentor's words when he compared the two's crimes but this did not weaken his determination. He remained bent on winning the crowds, getting a pardon and replacing his master as the new hailed gladiator who brought beautiful savagery to the arena earning him everyone's hearts, including the governor's.
"You cannot touch me!"
Oscar provoked, priding himself with his youthfulness and swiftness but he was so mistaken, as the dual wielder proved to be faster than the rage of hurricanes and wrath of waves, leaving the youngest of them panting and sweating while he barely shed a single drop of sweat. The boy was not spared a moment to breathe in relaxation, his mentor deciding to end this game before it was too late, only invoking the boy's irritation and self – doubt before he regained his composure, still willing to win at any cost amidst the cheers bearing Diarmuid's name but he denied the chance when he found his long spear trapped by Diarmuid's equally long one, then waved away by the shorter one. The dual wielder could easily kill the boy now, and for a moment he almost forgot himself again before opening his mouth beseeching Oscar to declare his defeat, but the latter had no such intentions, jumping backward and to the sides to evade the ceaseless strikes that continued to pour down on him like a chain of hail and rain. The boy was fast indeed, and everyone could testify to that but he still could not surpass the older lancer's agility and to top this fact, his spear was far from his reach and all what he could do was evading and retreating in the direction of his thrown spear. Albeit, Diarmuid was cornering him with the two shining tips, preventing him from moving to where he desired. Never having to endure such a long battle, tiredness began to show on the boy's face as he panted loudly with an open mouth while Diarmuid kept his breathing composed but slowed the rhythm of his attacks a little, his heart softening and eyes beseeching the boy to do as he was telling him; declare defeat and let him deal with the aftermath.
"I misjudged you… no one can match you Diarmuid, honestly… "
Oscar professed before he added.
"But I have a way to counter this disadvantage!"
Diarmuid's face darkened as he saw Oscar taking off what he considered a hindrance to his speed, his armor. The lancer shook his head in disapproval that mattered nothing to the boy, even when it turned into a serious warning, as he was bare now to the two spears weakest thrusts.
"Oscar, don't!"
"Are you afraid of harming me for real now? Then do it! I am waiting!"
Oscar spoke excitedly as he raced against the wind the lancer seemed to be riding, more freely and faster without the weight of his armor. Diarmuid contemplated if he should throw one of his shafts and skewer the boy's leg, but he estimated the damage inflicted by this movement to be too grave, and this second of hesitation enabled the criminal boy to reach to his spear and take possession of it once again, sneering at his mentor, confidant the scale was leaning toward his favor now with his unhindered fastness and movements. Indeed, like a bird, he flew across the arena to meet the two blades, exchanging blows and strikes with same furiousness and strength. Diarmuid was in no position to belittle Oscar anymore or soften his thrusts for his sake, his blood started to boil with the excitement of fighting a truly worthy though reckless opponent, a recklessness that reminded him of his younger self. The knight no longer thought of the fighting circumstances or place or outcome, he fought for the notion of fighting, for its thrill and exhilaration. The fields of green and oak trees extended once again in front of the dual wielder's eyes, a scenery he thought he had forgotten yet this fight had brought it alive with every minute detail; the serious training, the jokes and laughter, the innocent smiles, the scent of freshly blossoming flowers and gently pouring rain but the dark grimness dominating the eyes and blows of the one with whom he had shared these memories and moments brought him back to the dim reality as he received a flesh wound in the arm.
"I am here Diarmuid!"
Oscar protested, not allowing the flame of the battle to be extinguished for a single second. Answering his call, the dual wielder attacked, continuing their fiery dance of lances. It seemed that Diarmuid had the upper hand as he kept pushing the boy into retreating steps, until Oscar hastened his feet backward of his own accord, not due to the chain of attacks he was being subjected to, leaving the desired distance between himself and his foe. Then, to everyone's surprise, he dug his spear tip once again into the ground firmly, but the heat of the battle that made the dual wielder feverish did not stop his advance at the foe who seemed vulnerable like an easy prey. Once Diarmuid feet reached a certain point, aiming the tip of his golden lance at the boy, Oscar jumped in the air, holding to the thrust shaft and twirled around it kicking the golden spear with a strong blow to his mentor's wrist, denuding his hand from the golden radiance. Everyone gaped at the stunning movement and could not deny it precision and smartness. Left only with his red lance, Diarmuid advanced to attack with it, but Oscar kept flying like a bird, extracting his own weapon before he descended quickly to the ground, squatting to avoid the crimson tip aimed at him. The table turned quickly; with Diarmuid spear still plunging in the air, Oscar, kneeling, pushed his weapon aiming to deliver a fatal blow. Diarmuid quickly draw back, measuring the distance he had to retreat to avoid the upcoming attack and repel it as he knew very well how far his red lance could reach, but this quick maneuver proved useless, as Oscar though still half kneeling now, pushed his spear with one hand, then added his other hand on the shaft extending its length reaching to the dual wielder's flank and shredding his clothes and flesh alike. Oscar smiled widely at his unforeseen tricky spear, leaving everyone in the stadium fidgeting in their seats. The injured man merely stepped backward dizzied by pain, he did not fall. Such a wound was not enough to kill or hinder a man of his caliber.
Germanous fidgeted the most in his seat, breathing a sigh of relief as his beloved lancer did not succumb to this wound that seemed from afar lethal and fatal.
"Could we be losing our bet both today, Laurentius?"
The blond spoke with trembling lips, trying to calm down his nervousness with a humorous comment that was answered with a contrasting serious statement.
"The dual wielder is not even using half of his strength yet."
Although Germanous could not discern that as he was not a fighter himself, he trusted his uncle's experience as a warrior and waited impatiently for the miracles the dual wielder was known to perform at the last dire moments.
Standing now on his two feet, Oscar was preparing for his next and final attack. However, his optimism dwindled, as he was paralyzed within a moment following the one of confidence and seeing the stars of victory and fame by the feral smile that showed on his mentor's face as the latter ruffled his hair and combed his falling bangs backward, revealing an alluring and charmingly thirsty for blood – shed smile. His canine teeth glittered like honed tusks of ivory ready to tear any prey in their reach to shreds, his eyes glazed with excitement, dangerous excitement. His body was standing still, but a masculine energy mixed with a beastly verve emanated through every pore and muscle, ready to dash and turn into a bolt of lightning powerful enough to set the entire place on fire. Oscar unconsciously retreated few steps backward before he regained his self – confidant believing that the changed man he was facing now was still his mentor, and that he did not become a renowned knight, feared and revered by many back home and now here, without this energy he dominated the place and captivated the people watching him with. But, before Oscar could carry on his attacks, the dual wielder reached to him faster and more furiously, not only retrieving his golden spear as he charged toward the staggering lad, but managing to land more serious strikes on the boy's body awakening the latter from his dazed amazement at this transformation never seen by him personally before. Fear and excitement took over his heartbeats as he awakened and took his role back as a fighter and returned the strikes; repelling a few, taking a lot, and evading some. Oscar bitterly realized that taking off his armor served no advantage against Diarmuid's true speed, and that the latter's warning was a sincere advice but there was no way to take that back and reverse the situation. His sole advantage now was the length of his red spear that he controlled, surprising the dual wielder with thrusts that wounded him from a different distance every time. He held his spear with his two hands, shortening and lengthening the shaft the way it seemed most appropriate to land a stab or a scratch, moving the deceptive spear like a serpent pliable to his will, hoping his attacks were equal in amount and pain to the ones the dual wielder was inflicting on him mercilessly. For the next half hour, the two gladiators seemed to be standing on equal grounds, dizzying the audience with their speed and movements. While Oscar's eyes did not part from the twin lances, analyzing their direction and intent, Diarmuid's eyes seemed to be fixed on his opponent's face that held no expressions other than concentration and determination. The few times their eyes met, made the boy wonder how did he look in his mentor's blazing eyes now? Was he a vague face he could no longer realize in this zealous state? Was he a mere ghost of the past that meant nothing? Was the past even present in his mind at these moments? Was he focusing on his face, trying to remember who was he fighting and what his real intention was? How he had planned to end the show with a plea for mercy?
He felt his reflection there was being scorched by the fire held within the orbs of sun – kissed orbs.
Only the lancer could affirm these doubts or refute them, but part of this fixed attention at the opponent's face was a deceptive strategy, taking advantage of the younger gladiator's turmoil of emotions. Although the bronze orbs seemed to pour their attention solely on the blonde's face, they mendaciously sneaked quick glances at the length changing spear, finding the hinge responsible for the trick and as he spotted it, the red spear stabbed painfully at one of Oscar's arm while the golden shaft descended upon that hinge with a thunderous strike breaking it. Oscar screamed in pain as he hugged his wounded arm left without us and with a shorter stable spear that he could only cling to it like a mother clinging to her infant, letting go of the tip – end of it that fell on the ground. Refusing to declare defeat, he started maneuvering the broken weapon vainly with his dominate uninjured arm to ward off the devilish fighter that erupted suddenly from nowhere. Realizing he could not escape this situation, he slid down the ground bruising his knees to escape the siege the two lances forced on him and his broken weapon.
"I never underestimated you, yet I still believe I can win… and I will… because you are my example, my idol!"
Oscar panted through tired lungs and parched lips yet Diarmuid was deaf to these words, as the beholders kept shouting and glorifying him, comparing him to a miraculous human, a descendant of the gods themselves.
In the heat of that moment that was rife with maddening innate desire to win and claim victory, the foe's identity was forgotten, the plan of his rescue was wiped away, the humble and humiliating pleas and beseeching that were conjured in his mind, ready to flow on his tongue by the battle end had become an unrecognizable language, one that was never heard of or brought to the existence of memory , only remembered when the golden blade penetrated through the youth's heart while the red shaft stopped the counterattack of the broken shaft.
Oscar's eyes widened in disbelief, blue eyes staring directly into the bottomless depth of his mentor's and killer's eyes.
He was prepared to die, as much as he was willing to win, but when his death was truthfully delivered, despite his belief that Diarmuid will never kill him or take the battle seriously even with his continuous provocation, all what he had believed were proved wrong with a single stab. Not the many ones he had received throughout the battle, thinking of them as a mere show of not disrespecting his resolve, but this particular lethal one that put a blood - written end to his brief story that was cut short before reaching fulfillment.
The boy's taunting provocations, meant to assert his dominance and will awakened a beast he had never imagined to be dwelling inside the knight who abandoned his vows and knighthood to elope with the woman he faithfully loved, defying his king and tainting his reputation for her sake. Despite the fountain of blood that sprouted from the boy's body, the two men, mentor and pupil could clearly see each other, and the sole hint Oscar could find of what little had remained of his mentor's usual self was the quick change he performed before stabbing him. He was charging toward him with the long red lance, intending to repel the other's weapon with the golden one but he flexibly and swiftly changed the two spears' positions, in a moment of conscious or instinctive unconsciousness to end the boy's life with the golden one. Oscar could not tell why the dual wielder had chosen to make this change. Only the former knight knew the reason behind choosing to end a beloved's life with the sun - crafted spear.
Diarmuid, knowing he could not stop his attack, convincing himself he was incapable of doing so, did not want to dishonor the boy's final moment with the tarnished red spear and preferred to deliver him death through the sun colored lance still pure and untainted till this moment, the moment when Oscar's final declaration of admiration finally reached the mentor's ears and heart.
Amidst the fountain of blood that strangely only dyed Oscar in its color, sparing the ax that erupted it, in a poetic sight, the dual wielder was not tarnished by single drop of blood other than his own, as if fate wanted to assure him he had committed no mistake and that he was still clean and pure as the day he was born, while Oscar drowned in his red thick blood, the price of his own mistakes and hasty ambition; fate telling the dual wielder that the boy was the one at fault and that he had only delivered him justice through a noble death on the battlefield. Oscar's smile faltered taken over by pain, while Diarmuid looked at the dying man hung at the tip of golden spear, his blood refusing to seep along the yellow shaft, hands paralyzed too catch him as he fell down ungracefully and without a sole whimper. Crashing against the arena's ground like a sack of bones that shattered the same way the dreams the boy looked forward to were torn and scattered. And behind where the boy was breathing his last breaths skewered at the golden tip, the shadow of Grainne appeared, stunned and afraid, drowning in the same blood that dyed Oscar from head to toe and fading slowly into the sun beams that did not reach the dual wielder who let his spear fall down with the boy's body.
This was his last vision of Grainne, he did not see her anymore after this. Neither in a dream, nor in a vision, even in a called for memory.
In an instant that did not conform to the laws of time and change, the fields of green no longer swayed in the distance, they were sieged with walls of stones and bricks and that erupted suddenly out of nowhere, molding the oak and willow tress into their hard exterior, incorporating them into the lifeless rocks that gradually took the shapes of stairs for people to sit on. The jokes and laughter of groups of shapeless knights echoing in the distance dissipated into the air which although it had the quality to run freely cross any barriers, became now confined within these walls and seats, no longer refreshing and blooming with the scent of primroses and shamrocks, only burdened with the smell of blood and decay.
The lancer was not transported in time and space as he had thought in moments in dizziness, he had always been in the arena. It had always stood where he was standing. There was never fields of green and lands of primroses.
Not since a year ago, not anymore.
The crowds stood in awe then erupted into cheers of adoration glorifying the arena's god. Sextus stood from his watching place shocked, it was a splendid battle indeed, which the dual wielder dominated and artistically painted but even though the lancer did not disappoint him, horror filled his heart for few seconds at the monstrous resolve the knight possessed when it came to winning, killing his own friend and student but as he watched the lancers similarly shocked face, blind to the audiences clapping and deaf to their cheering, pity filled his heart believing this was the life path of a knight, never underestimating his opponents while never allowing them to win at the same time. It was the cruel path, not a monster residing inside. The admiring old man believed firmly so.
At the governor's balcony, Germanous remained seated, his heart beating quicker than a fluttering bird. He did not know how to describe his feelings; part of him was glad that the battle ended the way it did, sparing him failing to answer the lancer's pleas of mercy and putting him in a difficult situation, and the other part was similar to Sextus, horrified yet enchanted.
He understood very well how bloody and painful the path toward one's dream could become, so he held no grudges toward the lancer who had just slain his friend and disciple. Calming down a few seconds later, he turned at Laurentius whose face had darkened for reasons the governor did not understand. Germanous said to call for the counselor's attention.
"What should we treat ourselves to tonight, since we have both won our bet?"
"I cannot indulge you, for I have lost mine."
Laurentius left the balcony, the disgust written on his face not visible to anyone.