Aristide

Aristide was the kind of person that put their all into everything they did. The kind of person that worked hard to push every little detail about something into its proper shape. This hard-working habit had made its way into his fighting techniques, and it had become evident in his skill.

He was exceptionally talented in fighting, specifically sword fighting. You’ve been forced to come to him every day for the past two weeks to be have a duel, usually resulting in a long drag of his unappreciated criticism. Day by day went by without a single victory for yourself, and your frustration and hatred only grew larger each time you saw him.

This match was reaching your breaking point. He’d been especially rude today for no apparent reason. Yet he always plastered that calm, put-together smile on his face. As you neared the end, it was obvious that you had lost. Your body was roughly knocked onto the ground, and you weren’t even sure if it was his or your fault.

You looked up at him, propped up by your elbows at your sides, seeing the tip of his elegant yet sharp sword only inches away from your nose. He looked down at you with what could’ve almost looked like pity, but he rarely ever showed any emotion on his face besides a smile. You panted as you tried to catch your breath.

Ari chuckled, “Looks like I may have won again, hm?” He said, speaking in a superior manner before withdrawing his sword with a stylish spin. The sword was clasped by the handle in both of his hands as it laid stiff in front of his legs.

“I hope you don’t need help getting up, though if you did, I wouldn’t be very surprised.” He remarked calmly. The smile on his lips remained still.