[Kratos's thrust is diverted, but he pushes his advantage of even that momentary stun, pressing hard. Fury doesn't cloud his judgement. Not this kind of fury. Instead he's grim and stone-faced, steel ringing again and again. It's not the kind of pitched battle which happens all that often. There isn't usually the space for it.

[He doesn't answer that snarling demand. He doesn't answer to this man. Instead his face is nothing but hard resolve, his sword darting and shield distracting. He already knows he's going to win -- but will he win in time for Yuan? Two minutes is far too long; and he doesn't know what's happening with the other tent.

[For once, he's grateful that Adrasteia occasionally tests how much autonomy he prefers in his subordinates. He feels her more than hears her, the light tap of her step as she rushes through the tent-flaps, sword already flashing. The second sudden combatant is enough; the commander turns to block her as well, and Kratos draws his eye with his shield, and runs him through under his arm.

[His sword scrapes on bone as Kratos yanks it free and he's already turning on his heel, leaving Adrasteia to guard his back as he moves for the tent-flaps.]

Bring in a medic! Tell the mages to hold off on this tent.

[He needs Ka-Fai alive, if only to stop the idiots in the other tent from rioting.]