Thud, thud, thud ~ Iolanthe could hear her heart beating fast within her chest, her adrenaline was kicking in. Her iris's, like chestnuts rolling, followed the steel sword as it began to sweep beneath her shield. Time began to slow down, but only in her mind, it was all a side effect of neurotransmitters between her heart and brain. Sigurd likely felt the same sensation in battle, the thrill of do or die.

That sword had to be stopped at all costs, and Iolanthe didn't need to think hard on how to do so, her body was already lowering, she need only let her right leg buckle, and she'd save her exposed lower thigh. Her greave hit the dust, as she knelt before her opponent briefly. The double-plated armoured skirt would catch the tip of Sigurd's sneaky blade, and its loose form would absorb what little momentum swung her way. There was no gap in-between the skirt and her cuirass, so she would take no damage to her stomach if the sword slid further up.

In tandem with the change of stance, Iolanthe saw an opportunity arrive in the splitting of that second. At this time, the tip of her gladius would be pointing outwards, revealed by a glimmer under the sun sticking out from the far side of her hoplon, it pointed straight at Sigurd's neck. The weight of her shield and sword would suddenly stop and come crashing down on the northman's hand at an angle where the blade-point would meet his wrist before he could fully finish drawing his sword out from the shield's shadow. Although Iolanthe had been struggling to outspeed her opponent thus far, she had the advantage of gravity on her side here, making the falling weight of her hoplon extremely dangerous, and quick, without having to put much shoulder muscle in to the maneuver. Regardless of if the gladius stabbed him or not, he was slashing towards the shield, the two steels were bound to clash, and if the longsword were to redirect and dig in to the ground before being drawn back, it might bend.

All the while, Iolanthe's right hand could not hold idle whilst the rest of her body was fighting so hard to survive, she had to kill or incapacitate her opponent to win, and the clenched fist that held Hyperion quivered impatiently unable to wait out that moment. Trickles of blood tarnished bronze, but her veins were saved, she'd fight through the pain. She needn't put to much mental effort in to it, rather instinct took over the second her lance pierced Sigurd's guard. Iolanthe began saw-hacking at his legs almost wildly, whilst transitioning in to her new defensive stance. He could not escape her weapon's range with ease, so she angled her wrist so that the spear's tip began pointing upwards oh so slightly mid-swing, endangering his knees with the next strike, and if unsuccessful, and he backed up more, the length of her blade and its angle would instead begin to saw at his thighs. All Iolanthe had to do was slowly continue to sweep Hyperion towards him, pressuring the burn against Sigurd's legs whilst jabbing her hand in and out from the outside of her shield. Her new stance was a stable one, thus the next series of saw thrusts would be more powerful than the first.