The clangs of our vicious swords echoed through the forest like an audible form of my fury. Clang, clang, clang, a vague echo of the church bells that had sounded as the coffin had been carried to the tomb. The anger helped: my muscles were slower to tire than my opponent's and soon he was lying on the ground, panting, transfixed by my sword as it hovered above his throat. Treacherous murderer, pathetic lowlife. My father, the ruler of this kingdom, was dead because this creature had wanted silver coins.
He begged for mercy. I chose not to hear him.