Grunts and the thuds of wood smashing against each other resonated from within the fortress’ inner courtyard, with the sun’s rays obstructing any direct visibility into the courtyard and yet the ongoings were clear.

It were only mere moments since the sword arts commenced but the participants’ dreadful state would guise it under the pretence of at least a single hour's worth of training. While some fared better than the others, none would be able to withstand the full width of the session.

With the merciless instructors trading blows in duels against each individual boy, they stood with zero chance of success pitting the bodies of underdeveloped fighters against full fledged adults. And yet, each boy tried in fear and failed to no avail. It was not a mere test of skill, it had proved to stand as one of endurance.

Eventually, Vasil’s turn to duel arrived.

With quivering hands, he lifted his waster, pointed up towards the clear sky, eventually coming to face against the prideful Instructor Gethin, his face indiscernible through his iron helm which accompanied his gothic style armour. Vasil cast a wide-eyed gaze, revealing his lack of concentration, while in truth his mind raced, attempting to recall any and all his past training.

His efforts were swiftly rendered futile by Gethin’s approaching longsword. Regardless of his abilities, it was apparent that the overhead swing which he had performed would leave even Vasil enough room to escape it by a hair, with falling to the ground as a result.

“Lift your spatha, boy!” Gethin’s shout resounded through the crowd in spite of the constant clummer of swords and clashes. “Do you bear no desire to live?!”

Those remarks rang deeply into Vasil’s psyche; it had been true that he had paid little attention to his own life. To this point, each day had been stacked with more torment. Growing accustomed to his hellish surroundings caused him to lose sight of a brighter future, and it was only through Gethin's words and Reiziko's perspectives that he was able to regain it.

The new instructor’s words bore a foundation of care for the children, one that was in stark contrast to William’s uninterested and callous approach. The lure of a new way of life brought motivation.

Vasil supported himself with the waster. Standing up, he changed his grasp, and despite his weak arms, his grip on the hilt of the wooden sword got firmer. A change took place in his subconscious that had planted its roots since the beginning of his life in the fortress. This new perspective enabled him to make more extensive observations of his opponents, which came as a result of his previous torturous training.

But the outcome of the battle would be evident: one misstep and he would lose his precious life by the double-edged bladed sword that was firmly held in Gethin’s hands and no padded tunic would be able to stop it. His armour permitted no stumbling sword to penetrate it; fortunately, his armament did not include a blade but rather a blunt instrument.

Despite the opportunity he uncovered, he remained crippled by his inadequate strength; his alternatives were not just restricted, but nonexistent. In the end, the only question was how long he would be standing.

He stood there, with his shaky waster in hand, expecting to be cut down.

Gethin observed the boy, the same as he did to him, and in a twist he threw his longsword to the side, the sound of metal hitting the ground echoed. Chatter broke out from among the crowd, as if in response to the instructor's unusual antics. In return, Gethin answered to the gathering’s pleas with a simple statement issued in a calm tone: “It would be a disservice to the company to let young soldiers die.”

He quickly adjusted his stance to accommodate unarmed fighting, bending his knees to meet his opponent head on. Vasil felt a feeling of relief wash over him as he witnessed the change. He exhaled deeply and tightened his grip on his wooden sword. With newfound confidence, he tackled his previous approach.

His expertise with the sword was limited, but during the length of his stay, several fundamental ideas that were drilled into his subconscious by innumerable prior tries and observations.

Vasil stepped forward to close the distance with the opposing instructor, preparing a standard over the shoulder swing, with the knowledge that it would be unable to inflict any serious injury unless it carried the full power of his weight and might.

As he proceeded to carry out his assault, a cold sweat ran down his back. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward with his right leg, lifting his rough weapon above his shoulder at head height with both hands.

The sword approached Gethin at a steady rate, and rather than evading it, he chose to stride forward with his left leg while keeping low, meeting it halfway. He raised his right hand and with his reinforced forearm calmly parried the oncoming swing, dissipating the force of the impact in one swift movement.

The parry opened Vasil’s guard, giving him little time to react. Gethin grappled him with his right arm by neck, and performing a quick throw, he flung him to the ground with considerable force. A sharp ache shot through his spine, barely somewhat alleviated by the cushioned tunic he was wearing and the soft ground, causing him to cough in misery.

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Even as he lay on the ground, battered and bruised, Vasil's spirit remained unbroken. I have to not drag them down.., he thought defiantly, forcing himself to rise once more.

Gethin raised himself up after the whole ordeal concluded, his expression behind the helm remained indifferent, leaving Vasil to writhe in agony on the grass. He turned his head towards the gathering and began to yell, “Make a line everyone, I need the nex-”

His demand was cut short by the slight sound of thud hitting against the ground that resounded near his surroundings. Gethin turned around to witness Vasil pitting his wooden sword into the ground, hoisting himself up once more.

With swollen cheeks and grit in his blonde curly hair, he said in a louder tone than his voice could handle, “I a-am not down yet.” He'd look down at the teacher through his iron helm, determined. Still remaining unable to discern the face of his new instructor, he had begun to worry.

His concerns were quickly put to rest by Gethin’s excited remarks, “I can see that you speak the truth!” He lifted his arms in the air, filled with enthusiasm. “Well then, fight for as long as you are able!”

Vasil grasped the wooden sword in his hands again, holding it with both and placing the right one in front of the left, this time devoid of any tremor. He stepped forward, unwavering in his intentions, putting his whole soul into each swing.

But as it would stand, his simplistic strikes were too wide and predictable, failing in all of his attempts to flow with the heavier-than-usual wooden sword and allowing Gethin to easily parry each attack.

Exhausted, he performs a desperate lunge at the instructor in a sluggish manner. His strength became, his strike feeble enough to be caught midswing.

He yanked the fatigued boy closer to him, causing him to stumble with an open back. In one rapid stroke, he drove his elbow on the boy’s back, sending shockwaves down his spine once more. It was clear that this blow was less compassionate compared to the previous ones, serving as a mark to the end of the session.

“I admire your resilience boy-” Gethin remarked as he removed his iron helmet from his head, revealing his sweat drenched blonde hair and his calm expression, pausing only to correct himself “No… Vasil, but you severely lack the necessary amount of knowledge to…” His words faded from his tongue as the spectacle of Vasil’s resilience shone once again.

As Vasil struggled against the forces compelling him to lay on the ground, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions raged within him. I can't fail... not now, he thought desperately, his muscles burning with fatigue.

The volatile young man lifted himself one last time; the time had arrived for his final stand against a purely defensive foe. He extended his left leg, dragging the waster around by the hilt, preparing to strike once more with all his might. However his gaze wasn’t directed at the instructor, it appeared to be cast on the person making a brief appearance behind Gethin.

There she stood, the same beautiful young maiden that dressed in a brilliant white chiffon that complemented her slim figure; her curly blonde hair stood at shoulder’s length but in a cruel twist, the shadows obscured her face.

It would only take a blink for her to vanish again, and that short period, along with the waves of tiredness that struck Vasil would be insufficient to raise questions.

He nauseously raised his wooden blade, whirling it from side to side, and with a heavy dash he rushed his opponent. In preparation, Gethin put his arm out to stop the same swing he had blocked so many times before, which laid the groundwork for a deadly blunder.

For the first time in his series of movements, Vasil heads for the faster side swing instead of the standard overhead strike which he had abused so many times before. Of course his power would be massively subset by his fatigue.

That’s when at the peak of the side swing, the freeing feeling of being carried forward from behind by a gentle push propelled him forward, increasing the tension in his mind and sharpening his senses in spite of his exhaustion. The unknown force that provided this sensation would make the swing that much greater.

The next moment his mind along with his increased senses activated an exhilarating feeling that had been kept dormant in the darkest reaches of his mind. His feet felt firm and planted to the ground, the surroundings became clear and he could feel even the tiniest of changes in air pressure.

His previously bright blue eyes went bloodshot and his swing accelerated with such speed that it reached the point of being barely able to respond to it. Along with the case that for Gethin this was unpredictable behaviour, it truly stood as a surefire hit.

Vasil’s mind bore no thoughts; the only thing he was capable of processing at that moment was the motion of his swing. His vision blurred at the intensity of the moment.

As the waster fast approached Gethin, it truly became an unstoppable weapon. In anticipation of the strike, he brought his left arm near to his face and used it as a shield to absorb part of the impact.

As the wooden blade collided with the metal plates from Gethin's armour's vambrace, the wood continued to shatter into tiny fragments with each passing moment. The vambrace withstood the impact of the waster but not without damage. The armour bent inwards causing a small cut on the instructor’s forearm.

Vasil's fatigue overcame him once more, the last blow solidifying his loss. Falling to his knees with the remaining hilt of the sword in his grasp, his face soon descended on the soft grass ground.

The impact of the duel reverberated throughout, yet the audience remained hushed, still it remained obvious that it would transform into the talk of the group for quite a while.

Gethin’s gaze remained fixed on his arm, until it became time to announce the results. “V-Vasil landed a hit… He passed.” With a shaky voice, he announced towards the boys. The crowd silently cheered, finally freed from the burden of doing extended torturous work.