The battlefield was littered with the dead and dying, but the fighting raged on all around him. Sword in hand, Thesus sought out his next victim - there were many to chose from, though a quick glance around showed him that the battle seemed to be going their way, which was always a pleasing thought. It was one that bolstered him, despite his tired limbs. He was, truth be told, exhausted. He could feel it right down to his bones, but he refused to let that stop him - nothing would stop him, save a killing blow to his person. He would carry on fighting for as long as it took.

He whipped around to clash steel. Thesus held the blade even, a perfect, undaunted horizon; always levelled with the nose, just as his master at arms had taught him. He had stalled the man’s strike, but watched a wretched, stained grin split the other man’s lips as his blade shivered under the brutality of his compelling strength. The assailant throatily crooned words Thesus either didn’t understand or was to tired to process, as he was pressing closer to his face. The blade flashed as he brought it over his head and hummed a low, swift tune when he brought it down.

Thesus barely managed to parry the blow of his opponent, ducking left, though he tripped on a stone barely jutting through the ground and he fell to the floor. Instinct took over and he grabbed his sword once again to bring it up to meet another blow from his attacker with a grunt. Footwork had never been his forte, even when he was young and training with blunted weapons against others, the master at arms had always had something to say about his damned footwork. Not for the first time, he wished he had listened to the ageing man.

Drawing his sword low, he sliced at the other man’s shins, and the man jumped backwards - enough time for Thesus to test his ankle and scramble up to stand again. There was no injury except wounded pride at having been bested by a thrice-damned rock. But he was up again and aimed low. He was done with playing, done with bandying about and waving his sword around without and purchase. He was gaining ground, pausing only briefly to stab at another attacker who was fighting a different foe and had his back turned to Thesus. If he could help out his countrymen, where was the shame in attacking from behind?

But his own quarry was a little harder to kill - older, more seasoned, wise to the world and definitely battle-hardened. It was like the sword he fought with was an extension of his own arm, the way he moved so fluidly. Thesus was no novice on the battlefield, but he had certainly met his match. They continued to dance around each other, each thrusting forward and backing away in synchrony as each man tried to tire the other one out. Thesus was growing tired of this game. He lunged, feinting right with his sword whilst his other hand retrieved a dagger from his sheath and went hard in on the left. His quarry couldn’t defend on both sides and the dagger entered the man just below the ribcage. He stumbled, and Thesus didn’t waste any time in using his sword to slice across the man’s chest as he fell forward, clutching at his wound.

The man was on the ground kneeling before Thesus finished his killing blow, and the rest of him crumpled forward, heading for the ground. Thesus stepped back and spat out bloodied saliva on the ground next to his fallen enemy. He glanced around again, searching for one person in particular. He had not been fighting far from his King and the man was easy enough to spot, there just some ways off. Thesus made his way towards the other man. Through the throng of fighting soldiers, Thesus only raised his weapon to attack those enemies who got in his way, instead of actually taking on a new foe directly. “My King,” he called through the cacophony of steel meeting steel and men screaming, shouting and grunting, “Ares smiles down on us today.” He met a new opponent with a sharp slicing jab of his steel against the man’s armour as he finished speaking.