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A low murmer ran through the assembled group of men, and the large Vagaran's eyes grew wide with anger at the statement.
"Who is this son of a dog who speaks to Erik Hammerhand? He speaks like a man who thinks himself able stand against the Hammerhand's might. Tell me, little flea, are you the right size to fight me?"
Cyrus smiled thinly, his cobalt eye already alight with the prospect of the challenge. For a moment, he considered telling them who he was; the new Sword Daekin from Aelyria Prime sent to reclaim Narim and bring the Empire's war to Ire's doorstep. However, he stopped himself before speaking, for it was not in him to let his rank dictate his interactions with the enlisted soldiers. His father had been a commander in the Prime provincial militia, and he had raised Cyrus to believe a leader to be no different from the men he commanded. Protocal and structure had to be maintained for discipline, but an officer who lost touch with the enlisted ranks lost touch with the men, and Cyrus would never ask a stranger to die for him without sharing every risk himself.
"Just a new soldier in the Manjet," Cyrus replied casually, "and I am absolutely the right size to fight someone like you."
The Vagaran smiled broadly, exposing several gaps where teeth had been broken or knocked loose in what must have been a very violent life. His nose was crooked and showed signs of repeated breaking, and faint scars crossed much of his lower arms and hands. Cyrus himself bore the scars of blade and barb across some of his flesh, yet much of his skin was still smooth and unblemished, evidence that his skill had prevented the most devestating of blows from ever reaching home.
Erik made a beckoning gesture, and Cyrus knew then that the fight between them would be hand to hand, free of any weapons or impliments of war. Cyrus frowned slightly at this revelation, but he tried to maintain as stoic a front as he could display. His skill lay with a blade in his hand, even more so with a blade in both hands, but his natural aggression and inclination towards martial applications gave him a fair chance in a knock-down brawl. As Cyrus entered the ring of soldiers however, he knew he would need more than a fair chance against a man the likes of Erik Hammerhand. The Vagaran's size alone made him a formidable opponent, and by the swift and brutal way he had defeated his previous foe, Cyrus knew that the large man had far more experiance and training in unarmed combat than he did.
The circle of men had swiftly closed behind him however, and Cyrus found himself facing off against the monsterous Vagaran. The large man slid into a stance with more grace then the young legionnaire would have belived possible from a man of his size, then he began to advance steadily towards where Cyrus stood, moving slowly and deliberately, as if already enjoying the fight to come.
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