As Baron Rivelle and the Knight Commander closed the distance between themselves and their opponents, the Goblin and the Minotaur instantly sprang into motion. The Minotaur tore toward the right, while the Goblin darted left, giving each other ample space for the battle about to erupt.

Baron Rivelle and the Knight Commander neither spoke nor exchanged glances. No words were needed, no gesture, no nod, not even a whisper. They understood each other perfectly, bound by decades of brotherhood, countless battles, and mutual respect forged on blood-soaked fields. Their coordination was seamless, born not from practice but from instinct honed by shared survival.

Without hesitation, the Knight Commander surged to the right, his armored frame blurring forward with impossible speed. His target was the Minotaur, an enormous beast of muscle and rage. The two were perfectly matched: both colossal, both wielders of devastatingly heavy weapons, and both brimming with mountain-like strength.

The Baron, on the other hand, veered left, streaking toward the Goblin, whose lean form contrasted the Minotaur's massive build. Where brute power met power, Rivelle's fight would be one of precision and cunning.

With two earth-shattering stomps that sent tremors racing across the battlefield, the Knight Commander and the Minotaur raised their weapons high, their muscles tightening, veins bulging with raw tension. Their arms, forged by numerous battles, flexed beneath the strain of their weapons' immense weight. Then, with a synchronized roar, they swung, each blow capable of tearing mountains apart.

In that instant, a gigantic broadsword and a massive double-edged axe met at a single point in space. The air itself seemed to pause, time halted, as though Crymora, the world, struggled to register the sheer magnitude of the strike. Then, with a thunderous echo that split the skies, a shockwave burst forth. The explosion of power carved a ravine into the ground, splitting the battlefield as dust and rock spiraled into a storm. The wind screamed in protest, the battlefield trembling from the violence of their collision.

Yet, despite the apocalyptic force, neither combatant faltered. Feet and hooves remained firmly planted in the shattered earth, backs straight, eyes sharp, and presences blazing. Killing intent surged upward, reaching for the sky, clashing invisibly above them like storm clouds ready to burst.

With a low, rumbling snort, both man and monster retracted their weapons in a flash of silver. The broadsword rose once again; the axe mirrored it, gleaming in defiance. And without hesitation, they clashed anew, this time with greater force, as though both refused to accept equality. The impact was titanic.

Violent gusts of wind ripped through the battlefield, carving trenches into the ground and painting the rocks with scars of their duel. Sparks and debris scattered in all directions as their contest of strength and dominance continued. Their strikes were heavy, each one a calculated risk of life and limb, yet neither relented. It was no longer just a battle, it was a test of pride.

Despite their enormous size, their movements were anything but sluggish. Their torsos twisted with astonishing speed, their arms blurring through the air as steel clashed against steel in rhythmic destruction. Each swing carried the weight of intent; each parry, the sound of fury. Yet no matter how the battle raged, their eyes never left each other's. Their wills collided as their blades did, their pride colliding with every blow. Both sought not only victory but recognition, a warrior's acknowledgment that the other was worth the effort of defeat.

Soon, however, the tide began to turn. The Minotaur could feel it, a subtle, creeping loss of ground. Its hooves dug trenches into the soil, the earth groaning beneath its weight as it was slowly, almost imperceptibly, pushed back. Its axe met resistance stronger than anticipated, and for the first time, it felt the tremor of doubt.

The Knight Commander didn't waste the advantage. His eyes burned with determination, his broadsword flashing in a streak of silver as he pressed forward. His weapon collided against the Minotaur's axe with metallic rhythm, sparks scattering like dying stars.

Though by nature and blood Minotaurs were physically superior to humans, the Knight Commander was no ordinary man. His strength had been his pride since his young days, the foundation upon which his legend stood. And now, he would not allow a beast to best him in the very domain he had mastered.

The Minotaur, towering at nearly eight feet, was a monstrous figure of muscle and rage. Yet the Knight Commander matched that height, his armored presence no less imposing. His every movement resonated with power and confidence, as if the battlefield itself bent to his will.

With a final, thunderous clash, the Knight Commander drove his opponent backward. The Minotaur skidded several meters, its hooves carving deep grooves into the soil as it fought to regain balance. Dust and rubble erupted around it, the air thick with the scent of iron and sweat.

The beast raised its head slowly, its nostrils flaring, its eyes glowing with confusion and fury. For a moment, silence settled between them, a quiet acknowledgment that transcended words. The Minotaur, once certain of its superiority, now faced the staggering reality of defeat in a contest of raw strength.

Yet the Knight Commander did not strike. He could have ended it then and there, but honor bound his blade. This was not a slaughter, it was a duel between warriors. Even though they stood on opposite sides, there existed an unspoken code. He would not strike down an opponent in a moment of vulnerability. That was not the way of a knight.

He simply stood tall, watching as the Minotaur straightened itself, allowing it the dignity to recover. It was not mercy, it was respect. The Commander's confidence was absolute; he needed no cheap victory.

Still, in the back of his mind, he knew that if Baron Rivelle had faced the Minotaur instead, the Baron would not have hesitated. Rivelle was not a knight bound by honor but a warrior bound by results. He would have capitalized on the opportunity without a second thought, ending the fight in an instant.

The Minotaur's aura flared suddenly, its killing intent doubling in ferocity. The ground beneath its feet sank, cracks spiderwebbing outward in a violent web. Rocks shattered under the sheer pressure of its renewed might. The air distorted, thickening with invisible energy.

The Knight Commander did not move. He met the challenge with calm demeanor, his own aura surging to meet it. The two forces collided, invisible yet overwhelming. Their wills met in the middle, exploding into bursts of pressure that rippled through the surroundings like detonations.

Then, without warning, the Minotaur moved. It took a single step, and vanished. The earth shattered beneath where it once stood, the air rippling in its wake. In less than a heartbeat, it reappeared before the Knight Commander, its axe descending like a meteor.

But the Knight Commander was ready. His body moved on instinct, his heavy armor doing nothing to slow him down. In a blur of silver, he shifted, his form fading for a moment, almost phantom-like. Steel screamed as it met steel again, and the very terrain erupted in madness.

The explosion of force tore through the valley. Trees splintered, rocks disintegrated, and the wind howled like a raging beast. Dust clouds rolled outward in waves, swallowing both figures as they continued their brutal dance, each strike echoing like the toll of a divine bell.

And within that chaos, two silhouettes moved as one, man and monster, bound by pride, strength, and an unquenching desire to prove supremacy. The world itself seemed to hold its breath, watching as two titans clashed beneath the shadow of devastation.

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