The Bound Knight Ch. 12

-

"All knights are fundamentally the same," Vassimir explained as they sat in the carriage. "Some may be a bit faster, some a bit stronger, but the total power in a crest doesn't really vary."

"So then, how does one knight beat another?"

"Skill, mostly. But sometimes, endurance. If your crest runs out, you're done. The fights over."

"That's why you had this cunt fighting without her crest," Eve said. "Alright," she began, thinking it through, "so, why don't knight just keep their crests low all the time? Then they just have to outlast their opponent."

"Congratulations Eve. In one thousand years of dueling, no one has ever thought of that."

Eve frowned. "This cunt thought that was what you were trying to teach her."

"It's a well-known strategy. Almost everyone tries it as one point or another, but it almost never works. Sure, you should conserve your power, but it puts you at a disadvantage. And in a fight between knights, even a moment of weakness can get you killed.

"But, in your case, in this fight, it just might work. I saw you fight yesterday. Everyone you went against was stronger than you, and you were too exhausted to use your speed. Also, you've sparred with me more than anyone, and I'm stronger and faster than you."

"Stronger sure," Eve said, "faster is maybe --"

"Quiet, I'm making a point. If anyone can fight with a handicap, it's you. It won't work in every fight, but against this Gastogne fellow, from what you've told me about him, and assuming you can survive his initial onslaught, it might just work."

"But, how will this cunt know he has less crest left than she does?"

Vassimir shrugged. "You guess."

-

At some point, the cheers of the crowd began to turn to boos. The first third or so of the fight had been what they came to see. Two knights, blessed with superhuman speed and strength, dashing across the arena as they traded blows. Sparks flying off armor as they moved at speeds the eye could barely follow.

Then, the black knight had tackled the other one, and they just started rolling over the ground. Fights between knights ended when one was incapacitated, or when one's crest was no longer visible. Normally, that meant getting hit with a weapon until the infernum could no longer absorb any more power. Not, Lopen sighed, whatever this was.

"The bishop won't like this," Ann said. He continued running his fingers in and out of her, but there was little passion in it. He had already ejaculated, and hadn't been able to work up the energy to get hard again.

"Why's that?" he asked.

"Do I have to say it? I was under the impression that two men doing this sort of thing was a sin."

He smirked. "Vassimir probably trained him, Anny. This is his secret strategy." They both laughed at that. He took his fingers out of her and began wiping them on her thigh.

"Don't stop, Loopy" she purred. "It's the only thing keeping me from paying attention to whatever this is."

He rolled his eyes, but in a playful way. "My hand's cramping."

"I'll make it up to you later."

"You could make it up to me now." He looked over the stands. They had started to empty. Some of the viewers seemed stricken by the same malaise that had taken him, and he noticed quite a few slave girls had finally gotten a chance to rest. The spectators that were going at it did so with a fervor though, channeling their annoyance into hammer-like thrusts.

Ann said, "Not where everyone can watch." She leaned close and whispered in his ear, "I think the stuff we're into would scandalize them."

He grinned, and his fingers began moving with a renewed vigor. She squirmed on his lap as he went faster and faster. He could see her growing closer and closer to orgasm, and he tried his best to prolong it. Finally, just as he could see her about to cum, she stopped him, and said, "Oh, I think they're done."

-

Gastogne lay sprawled out on the ground, his crest gone. Eve lay next to him, her crest a dull yellow.

"You fight like a fucking cunt," Gastogne growled. He didn't budge. He likely was too exhausted to lift his armor. She knew she was close to that. She had had the advantage when she started the grapple, but just barely. His blows to her armor had taken out a significant chunk of her crest. Combined with her hurt arm, he had put up much more of a fight than she had ever expected. Thankfully, crawling around on the ground was something of a specialty for her.

She stood. She heard the announcer call out her victory, but it sounded far off. The crowd jeered and booed. This was not how they had expected the fight to go. It was customary for the winner of a duel to a give a wave, or some other acknowledgement to the crowd. The Black Knight did not care. She let their jeers wash over her as she walked back to the tent -- a smile hidden under her helmet.