Every head lifted, hope a fragile flame in their eyes.
"New rules." He announced, pointing a blade-tip at his own chest. "I go on the defensive. I won't attack. Not once. I'll stand right here."
He stamped a foot for emphasis, nearly tripping over his own sword-arms.
"And I'll defend with everything I have. Your goal isn't to disarm me. It's to land a hit. A single scratch on my skin, a tear in my clothes, a nick on my hair—heck, if you're feeling ambitious, go for a limb or my head—" A collective gasp. "—and it's your win. All of you. Bet over!"
The younger knights erupted in excited chatter.
"We can do that! We can definitely do that!"
"He can't attack back! We just have to get through!"
"We have forty swords! One of us has to get lucky!"
"Surround him! Overwhelm him!"
But the older knights and Sigrid, however, exchanged uneasy glances.
This felt like charity, and it grated against their honor. Sigrid stepped forward, her voice stiff.
