"That old coot Oswald nearly dueled me on Skyblade Cliff three centuries ago over a single shard of star iron," Blaine uttered, tipping back a horn of blood-red liquor. "Once he sets his mind on something, there's no budging him. And you want him to join forces with outsiders? Hah! Not a chance!"
Blaine thumped the cup down, embers popping In the fire as he turned once more to Jared.
Winslow stroked his beard. "Stubborn he may be, but Oswald is no fool. Malevolent Path Hall is getting too powerful. Even he should understand that Heavenly Sword Pavilion can't hold out by itself."
Blaine snorted, "You want to reason with that sword-obsessed madman? There's nothing in his head but swords! Unless you can beat him at the sword, you could argue till the heavens fall, and he'd dismiss every word as nothing but noise."
Jared murmured, half to himself, "Beat him at the sword?"
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