I brought up my blade to parry. I knew better than to try and take the full force of his swing. As big as his sword was and as strong as he seemed to be, there was no way I could stop it head on. Instead I let it slide along my blade as I danced to one side.

Even though I only had to deal with a fraction of his blow, it was still strong enough to nearly knock me own blade out of me hoof.

This old stallion was going to be trouble.

I recovered my balance and made a lunge for his chest. I fully expected him ta either dodge out of the way, or parry. Either way I’d get a measure of how fast he was, which was what I was after.

He danced to the side, and aimed a chop at my foreleg, all in one smooth motion. I quickly turned my lunge into a spin, pivoting on my rear hooves, and bringing my cutlass around in a sweeping arch. He was ready for me and blocked my sword. My hoof nearly went numb from the impact. Striking his blade full swing was like hitting an iron wall.

He didn’t so much as twitch.

I lept back into guard position, pivoting my foreleg to get some feeling back into it before his next move. Almost casually, he brought his blade up into guard position.

I dug out every bit o’ knowledge that I knew about sword fightin. Dancing forward, I feinted, dodged, hacked and slashed. First I went for killing strokes, then crippling wounds, then finally just any cut that I thought I could manage.

He countered every attack easily, then would casually sally a counterattack that I would barely manage ta dodge.

“You’re as quick as a weasel, I’ll give you that,” he said, a small grin darting across his muzzle. “If you were full grown, I might have had to take this fight seriously.”

“Ha!” I spat back. “And if you weren’t a broken down old moke, then so would I.” I said, trying not to pant.

“Oh dear!” Fluttershy exclaims. “You actually called him… the M-word?”

Summergale looks momentarily flustered. “Ah, well, y-see I was trying ta get a rise out of him. Make him mad an let his guard down sorta thing. It was a different age back then. More rough and rowdy.”

“Is that why you washed out Harmony’s mouth with ACTUAL soap the first time you heard her say that on the playground?” Discord says, crossing his arms.

“Look do ye want me ta finish tellin ye the story or not?” Summergale says defensively.

Everypony falls silent.

“All right then.”

“Well, he wasn’t fazed by a bit o’ foul language. He just stood there waiting for my next move. I took my time and considered.

He was good. Too good. Strong, fast, and obviously a more experienced fighter. But my blood was still up, and I was determined to make him bleed, at least once. I wouldn’t be satisfied any other way.

Then I remembered something me old captain once tole me.

“Summergale,” he said. “Sooner or later you’re going ta get into a fight that you ain’t got no business bein in. In other words, yer gonna find yourself on the losin end of it. Now when that day comes, an it will, I want ya ta remember one thing. The best swordspony in the world has nothing ta fear from the second best swordspony in the world. That’s because he already knows everything that the second best is going ta do. HOWEVER he can still be taken out by the absolute WORST swordspony. That’s because there is no tellin what some half baked amateur is going ta do in a fight. In other words, if’n yer in a scrap with somepony better than you, then DON’T try yer best. Instead, do something unpredictable. If ye catch him off his guard, he’ll give ye a chance ta strike.”

“Hmm,” I thought. “This is probably going to hurt.”

See the thing about a cutlass, is that it’s primarily a hacking weapon. It’s used as much for cutting rope, and getting through tough jungles as it is used for fighting. It’s curved a bit, an shorter than most swords, which makes it good fer close quarters fighting. Conversely, an epee, or rapier, is primarily used as a stabbing weapon. It’s longer and straight, an made ta be jabbed inta yer opponent.

Now there are particular styles of fightin that have been developed over the years fer using different types of swords. So naturally, only an idiot would attempt ta fight a seasoned pro usin the wrong sword, in the wrong style...

I readied my blade, and shifted my stance, preparing to attack. I could see him gripping his blade tighter. I moved forward, dancing from side ta side as I closed in. From the way I was holding my blade, there were only two options for an attack with a cutlass. Come in from high ta low, slashing downward from his shoulder ta gut, or sweeping across horizontally, a disemboweling maneuver.

There was no way that he didn’t know this as well. He would wait until I committed myself, then parry and counter accordingly.

I was counting on the fact that he still considered me green, and confident that I could manage ta be quicker than him. Then I’m sure he would counter strike and put me on the defensive.

Of course, that was never my plan.

Instead, I lunged directly forward, my cutlass extended like a rapier. He saw what I intended a second too late, as the tip of my blade cut a nasty gash from muzzle ta ear across the side of his face.

Of course, this left me wide open for his counter strike. I knew there was no way to move out of the way in time, still, I did me best. If I’d been any slower, he’d have cut me in half. Instead he only opened up me up from gut ta side, right down ta my giblets.

Now this all happened in a fraction of a second. We disengaged, and both danced back. Then the pain hit me, and it was all I could do not ta scream. It felt like me side had been ripped open by a hot iron cleaver, and I clutched it with me off hoof, trying ta hold in my stuffings.

The old stallion looked shocked. He brought his hoof up and touched the side of his face. It was bleeding freely. He stared at his hoof as if he’d never seen his own blood before.

“THAT’S FOR ME HONOR!” I shouted at him, my legs suddenly feeling weak. “H-had enough? Or are ye r-ready ta go again?” I asked, as my vision got a bit blurry on me.

Well, he stood there for a minute, watchin me wobble from side ta side. Then he throws back his head, spraying blood everywhere, an laughs. He laughs, an laughs, an laughs. Loud, long, and hearty.

“By the Sky Stallion!” He says, smiling down at me. “Twenty-two years! It’s been twenty-two years since the last time any pony, dog, or griffin, has bloodied me! By the gods Scudder, she’ll do. Aye, she’ll do very well!”

He takes his hoof, and draws it across his face. The wound I gave him seals up, leaving a nasty looking scar. He begins walking toward me.

“What… who are you?” I manage. I was about ta fall. I lost too much blood an I knew it. But I needed ta hang on long enough ta hear his answer. I at least wanted ta know the name of the pony that done me in.

“Ah, I suppose we never did have the time fer a proper introduction.” He says, flourishing a bow before me. “Captain Colt, at yer service.”

Then I died.