This is Chapter 35 From The Book The Rogue Scholar The Rogue To Victory. Chapter 34 is here.

Freighton wiped the sweat from his brow with the inside of his bicep. One thing he didn't need in this fight was his eyes to sting and blur. Hercules was, by far, the toughest opponent he had ever faced. Freighton had been accustomed to battle and to the initial locking of weapons after a charge. He had also come to realize that battles were, more often, won on the initial charge. The strength of the other person would waiver for just a moment as the reality of what was happening began to bite in. In that moment, Freighton had slain many adversaries. His axe had found their insides and spilled them on the ground.

When Freighton ran towards Hercules and locked weapons,(Hercules simply used his hands) he found something he had never experienced. Hercules was a warrior unafraid of death. After Feighton got a closer look at him, he understood why. He was already dead. Of course, even in life, Hercules had not been afraid of death. His demigod status prevented him from having the same fears average mortals had. Death had only served to make Hercules an even fiercer adversary. He literally lived for the fight.

It had been Freighton who had flinched as he understood what he was up against with Hercules. In every other battle Freighton had been in, he had never been particularly worried about his life. It was only in battling Hercules that he started to wonder why. Freighton had never been worried because he knew, on some level, that he was far more skilled than his opponents. He had nothing to worry about because the playing field wasn't even. It was not that he was arrogant in this assessment as he was hardly aware of it in the first place. Hercules, though, was not like any other opponent he had faced. Whereas Freighton was a mortal embodiment of Aries in a way, Hercules in his current form was the essence of Aries.

As Freighton had flinched, he became aware that Hercules was pressing his axe back toward himself. Hercules was gaining the upper hand because Freighton's will had wavered. Before Freighton could regain his composure, Hercules had shoved him backward as though he were little more than an annoying child.

Freighton had expected an aggressive attack after Hercules shoved him back. Normally, most fighters would take the fact that his balance was off as a sign of weakness. An aggressive weight-forward thrust of some kind was usually to be expected. The person who moved unsteadily back, however, had an advantage if he realized he was already moving away. As opposed to trying to resist the thrust, it was better to often just go along with the momentum established and allow the attacking person to over-extend themselves and thereby throw themselves off balance. Likely, one's own balance would be recovered long before the attackers, and so what had seemed a clear disadvantage on one side before reverses to the benefit instead.

Hercules, however, did not push his advantage. he seemed content to bide his time--to allow his opponent the best possible chance to fight. Freighton knew this either meant Hercules was really generous, or quite good. Hercules wasn't going to win without obtaining the maximum amount of honor from his victory. He wanted the other person to know they had been bested because he was the best, not because the other person had lost their footing in a panicked moment. It was with this realization that Freighton had wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He thought back to his early training. His tribe had been different from the rest of the Metheons. They believed in the power of language, but they kept alive the old nomadic ways. It was important for a warrior to understand hand-to-hand combat. He might be able to kill with words, but should words fail his axe would not. His memory flashed to an early training session where his mentor had stood still and poised. Freighton had run at him full force only to have his mentor side-step him and whack him across the ear as he ran past. He remembered the tears of frustration and pain. His mentor asked him why it had happened. Freighton pensively considered the question through sniffles and finally said "Because you are better than me." His mentor began to laugh much to Freighton's annoyance. Then he spoke.

"I was not the one who ran headlong into combat as though I were about to skewer every man who ever held a sword. I simply moved out of your way, and smacked you across the head. You were bested not because I was bigger than you, but because your passion blinded you."

Freighton could still hear those words in his head now. Passion, in combat, would eventually get a man killed. It was not about glory. It was not about honor. It was about two forces with distinct ways of fighting coming into contact with one another. It was about one of those forces discovering something about the essence of the other--about discovering something about the self not known through the reflection of the other--and vice versa for the opposite party. It was about taking what you learned about this person, and adapting your own fighting style so that victory was more likely. If you found your opponent to be physically strong, maybe more than you, then you fought such that the battle was not a test of strength. Perhaps it should be a battle of endurance instead. If you found your opponent to be swift, especially swifter than you, then you did not make the contest one of speed. Perhaps it should be one of the powerful strikes instead. Being a warrior was not at all about loving to fight, but dancing. It was, no doubt, a deadly dance, but it was a dance. The goal was to be the only one left on the dance floor.

Freighton considered the words of his mentor. A fighter like Hercules was good in every way. He was strong and fast. He was, true to his form, super-human. Yet, Freighton had realized something in that initial foray with Hercules. He was still afraid of death--still weak to its influence. As long as he feared death on any level, his fighting would always remain impaired. As he considered this, for the first time Freighton felt the weight of his axe in his hands. The axe was good in battle where two people were using weapons that were sharp. Against Hercules, though, the axe was a liability. Hercules would catch the handle before the blade and force Freighton back as he had done before. Freighton realized that even though he wielded the axe, in truth the axe wielded him. It limited his mobility. It would dictate that his strikes would be slower, and that the advantage of having a weapon in this instance would actually be a weakness. As this thought occurred to him, his grip loosened. He flung the axe on the ground. He hadn't fought in a literal hand-to-hand combat in a very long time.

Hercules stood by, seemingly patient. Freighton picked his eyes up from his axe which rested on the ground. He raised his hands in an attack posture, then extended his index finger in a come here motion to Hercules.

Hercules obliged him, coming in slowly, casually. Once he was within range, Hercules quickly moved his arms as if to grapple Freighton by the neck. Freigton caught his arms with his own, and the two stood locked with each holding the other's arms. Neither man budged.

Freighton could feel the force of Hercules pushing against him like an elephant. Every cell of his being pushed back. He could feel his heels sliding and his bones grinding. Every sinew in his body screamed in unison. Hercules was tearing him apart. he knew it was only a matter of time before he yielded. then it dawned on him--he could simply yield now. His body became like spaghetti almost instantly, and Hercules stumbled as he suddenly found himself in the position of being able to push Freighton's flaccid body wherever he wanted. This was the moment Freighton had hoped for. As Hercules stumbled, it allowed Freighton just enough time to cast off the grip that Hercules exerted on his arm. As he did so, he allowed Hercules's forward momentum to continue to move forward. Freighton extended his foot at an ankle level and stepped out of the way. Hercules had his foot catch across Freighton's. He tumbled to the ground.

Loud laughter began to peel like thunder at this spectacle. As it began to taper off, Aries spoke.

"MORTAL, YOU FIGHT LIKE A WOMAN. YOU DO NOT USE YOUR STRENGTH TO OVERCOME YOUR OPPONENT, BUT INSTEAD USE HIS STRENGTH AGAINST HIM. SINCE HERCULES IS NOT MORTAL, THIS WAS THE ONLY STRATEGY THAT WOULD HAVE SAVED YOU. IT IS NOT ALWAYS DISHONORABLE TO FIGHT LIKE A WOMAN AS ALL FIGHTING IS A COMBINATION OF YIELDING AND PRESSING AN ADVANTAGE AND ONLY A FOOL DOES ONE AND IGNORES THE OTHER. I SHALL NOT DESTROY YOUR TRIBE, AS YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF TO STILL BE A WARRIOR. THE FATE OF THE OTHERS HERE, HOWEVER, WILL BE THE FATE ALL COWARDS FEAR THE MOST AND EXPERIENCE FREQUENTLY. I MUST HONOR MY WORDS WITH THE MORTAL SAL."

Freighton seemed to absorb these words. Behind him, Hercules had gotten on his feet again. Freighton half-expected an attack from behind, but yet Hercules did not move toward him. Freighton cautiously retrieved his axe. He cast a look at the remaining Metheons. They were still fleeing or hiding. Something twisted in his gut. He was repulsed by the conduct of those who were supposed to be his countrymen. He had come here to defend them. Perhaps he might have pushed the issue before his struggle with Hercules. He might, because he had still been afraid of death himself then, have shown bravado for others who were cowards. Yet, now, he only had a bitter taste in his mouth from seeing them flee. They cared for no one but themselves, and they had no honor. On some level, Freighton felt like they were going to get what they deserved--not because they had lost, but because of how they had chosen to handle their loss--like scared mice. Just as scared mice would find themselves the plaything of a deadly cat, so too would these Metheons. Freighton turned his eyes toward the lands of his tribe and began to slowly exit the field of battle in that direction. He appeared not to either notice or care about the cries the remaining Metheons made as Hercules systematically slaughtered them.