Tertius' hard, combat-lined face holds no pity. It is doubtful he has even been informed of how you ended up here. You are another competitor. That is all. He doesn't even look at the crowd as he sheathes the dagger that had been held by his non-sword hand and reaches up with a swift motion to unclasp his leather breastplate and let it fall into the dust. It lands with a clang, a cloud of dust spreading from the impact. The statement is clear. You have no armor. He will fight fair.
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