The spear's blade hovers a breath away from grazing Joshua's throat, yet still he does not flinch. He has to admit, as he did the first time the king confronted Clive, that Barnabas' swordplay is not only impressive, but masterful. Precise, yet adaptable. Confident, but tempered. Joshua wonders how he fought when he was a complete person - was he more passionate, then? Did he make more mistakes, leave more openings? Or was he just as much a killing machine as he is now?

"You know nothing of what I am. A flame may flicker, but so long as its embers remain, it can be reignited again and again. You speak of hope, yet you are no longer capable of understanding it. Any words I might use to answer your question would be wasted. Cast into the void, just as you have done to yourself."

His brows lift to see the spear vanish, but he's hardly one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pushes himself to his feet, wiping his lips with the back of his glove. "Why came you here, King of Waloed? Is this all you wanted - to best me yet again? Your prowess with the blade is unmatched, aye; but there is far more to life than that. Would that you were able to see it."