Much information would be gathered from a simple strike. Iolanthe had never encountered a dragon in her homeland, there were different monsters under her belt of expertise, and thus she did not recognize the texture of her enemy's shield. Through trial and error, she discovered her enemy's strongest point of defence in her very first strike. Although she aimed for his chest, at the side of his shield closest to his weapon arm, she'd also learn that he was indeed proficient on guard. It would've taken half the time to deflect her sword to his right, angling it between them both, which she would've capitalized on, instead he made the correct move of making sure that weapon stayed locked to his shield.

One might think only fools rush in, but how else was the front line recognized for its bravery? Iolanthe lived in a time where wisdom and foolishness were hard to differentiate, the wise argued they knew nothing, and the confidence of a fool could lead armies. Sure, Iolanthe would not blindly go in, she had no weakness yet to capitalize on, but she had some tried and true tricks to breaking down an enemy's guard. She'd have made an incredible archer, if Hyperion hadn't chosen her for the front line.

Like any Greek, Iolanthe beckoned the clinch, and by stepping forward once more with her left foot, she'd begin to close more of the gap between herself and Sigurd. After having her spear deflected, she'd showcase how swiftly she could swing her blade, by retracting her arm once, re-adjusting the weapon's aim low, and pointing the tip between her foes legs. When heated up, Hyperion as heavy a weapon should be, with that kind of length, but even so, one good stab could shishkabob three men. In the same motion as unsheathing her gladius with the blade pointing downwards, she'd spring forth, whilst awakening her left arm from its dormant state, punching outwards with the sharp edge of her hoplon shield. She aimed at Sigurd's torso again, this time closer to his right shoulder, which she kept in focus at all times, for the pauldron's shadow would reveal where his sword traveled, after having been cut off by the shield bash. She had little worries related to that sword, as long as she could keep it on the outskirts of her hoplon. By the time Iolanthe got close enough for such an audacious attack, her spear would've already found its way between her foes legs, since the weapon's length was something difficult to manage around, even in such close-quarters combat. Sigurd would feel a warmth nearing his crotch unlike any a woman before Iolanthe dared thrust against him; if he did not deflect the spear or dodge backwards, he'd risk having his thigh artery sliced open, or his groin castrated and cauterized.