Adventure of Jecht

Tankards pause as the tavern door crashes inward. A lean, weather-stained young adult man with a narrow, sun-browned face and a dark wool coat belted over scuffed boots stands there, brown hair tied back, a blood-marked sleeve, and a tournament notice clenched in one hand. Behind the bar, the broad-shouldered middle-aged keeper, a ruddy-faced man with graying hair and a leather apron reaches for the door beam while several patrons turn toward the disturbance.

The keeper slams the beam into its brackets. The announcement bears a crimson seal and a rough sketch of crossed swords, its ink still fresh enough to shine in the firelight.

Chairs scrape across the rushes as the challengers rise together. Hands close around sword hilts, hatchets, and cudgels, while the swordsman steps into the open space and points straight toward Jecht.

The tavern keeper wrenches the beam free. The blood-sleeved swordsman leads the armed patrons through the doorway, and the packed tavern spills into a cold, lantern-lit yard where frost silveres the trampled earth.

The challengers spread into a rough circle, lowering their weapons as instructed. The blood-sleeved swordsman steps opposite Jecht, his blood-marked sleeve stark beneath the moonlight, while the tavern keeper watches from the threshold.

Jecht crosses the threshold into the frost-bright yard and takes the open space offered to him. The lanterns throw long bars of gold across the trampled earth.

The Tavern Challengers widen their rough circle, boots crunching softly as they give him room. Their weapons remain lowered, but every face stays fixed on the ring.

Jecht waits opposite the swordsman, shoulders squared and hands ready. Behind the circle, the tavern door hangs open, spilling warmth and firelight into the night.

The yard settles into expectant silence. Frost gleams beneath Jecht's boots, the lantern flames stir in the wind, and the contest waits for its first move.

The blood-sleeved swordsman rolls his wounded shoulder and draws his sword in one clean motion. The blade catches lantern light as he steps into the center of the ring.

The Tavern Challengers retreat another pace, boots grinding frost, while the tavern keeper folds her arms beneath the doorway's warm spill of light.

The circle opens fully around Jecht and Rovan. Rovan lowers his point toward the frost between them, ready now, and the night falls silent for the first exchange.

Jecht seizes his two-handed sword and drives its point into the frost-packed earth. The impact cracks through the yard, scattering silver crystals around Rovan's boots.

He throws back his head and roars a challenge that rolls across the tavern walls. Lantern flames shiver, and the watching circle falls utterly still.

Rovan's grin flashes beneath the moonlight. He shifts his wounded shoulder, then plants his feet more firmly and raises his sword into a guarded line.

The Tavern Challengers lean forward as one, their breath pale in the cold. Between them, the buried blade stands like a challenge made solid, while Rovan waits for Jecht's next move.

Jecht wrenches the two-handed sword from the frost and swings with both hands. The buried blade tears upward in a brutal arc, meeting Rovan's guard with a ringing crash.

The force snaps Rovan's sword apart. Its broken length spins into the frost while the remaining hilt jolts from his grip, and Jecht's blade finishes its sweep through empty air.

Rovan stares at the ruined weapon, then slowly lifts both empty hands. His wounded shoulder sags, but his expression holds astonishment rather than anger.

The Tavern Challengers recoil as one, boots scraping backward. A broken shard lies between the fighters, glittering under the lanterns like a severed sliver of winter.

Rovan steps out of the ring and leaves the broken blade behind. The circle remains open around Jecht, silent now, waiting to see who dares answer him.