Arno had a twin brother whom he treasured dearly. The brothers spent their entire childhood together, playing often and knowing no sorrow. But years passed, the young men grew up, and then their father died at a knight's tournament, leaving them orphans and without a will. Unable to agree on which of them would inherit the inheritance, the brothers quarreled and drew their swords. A crimson sunset illuminated the castle courtyard, glinting off their blades, as if anticipating a duel. Arno stood motionless, looking sternly into his twin's eyes, as if possessed by an evil spirit.

That's it, my twin brother, the evil hour has come. Our father has fallen in single combat, not judging us. Since there is no elder among us, let the dispute be settled by swords! You desire blood? Well then, go ahead, enough of these empty words. The family castle will be inherited by the worthiest among us.