I draw the sword from my side
And clean it with a piece of hide
My foe approaches, I stand to greet him
He only thinks to himself: I will bleed him
Now our match has begun
I spring forward like a gun
He parries the blow; I step aside
And circle to attack him from behind
But he is too smart for that, just as I thought
And our blades engage in another lock
I twist my sword and the crossguard catches
His blade; quick as lightning flashes,
I grab both his wrists and pull down hard
And send his sword flying several yards
He retrieves his sword; in disgrace
He thrusts the sword tip in my face
With practiced ease, I parry the blow
His follow-through stroke comes from below
But he doesn't land a hit; instead
I block, and flip it over my head
My sword point then lands inside his chest
As I finish him off like the rest
My opponent crumples to the ground;
I hear his friends' jeerings resound
They draw their weapons and rush at me
As I brace myself for the ensuing melee...
