Sir Kit’s eyes darkened with rage. “They are mine!” he screeched, flailing with his sword. His anger seemed to have driven whatever training he had right out of his head, and he chopped haphazardly at Sir Isaac for a few moments before turning around and grabbing Summer by the wrist again.
Laughing madly, Sir Kit pulled her in front of him, with her whimpering in terror. He groped her, watching Sir Isaac with a crazy light in his eyes. “You’re too decent to stop me,” he said, sword still wavering between them.
Sir Isaac’s eyes widened ever so slightly as the other male appeared to lose his sanity right before him, and it was only due to his rigorous training as well as his desire for self-preservation and survival that he effortlessly continued to duck and weave his way through each of the oncoming attacks.
But as the girl was grabbed, Sir Isaac momentarily cast aside his Knighthood and became just an ordinary man with a sword, hell-bent on protecting the innocent civilian being victimised before him. Without any further hesitation, he tore his sword through the air to slice the blade clean through the thumb on Sir Kit’s right hand, wincing internally as the blade sawed through bone.
“Y-you cut me!” Sir Kit whimpered, letting go of Summer. She collapsed to the ground in a dead faint while Sir Kit dropped his sword in the dust to clutch at the spurting stump. “You can’t do that! Y-you — I’m telling my father!” He scrambled away, abandoning his sword and leaving little drops of blood in the dust. It took him a couple tries to mount his horse, what with the horse objecting to the smell of the blood and Sir Kit being very ginger with his right hand, and then he tore off down the road, accompanied by fading yelps of pain.