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Book Two - Aspirant - Chapter 20

If Hunter wanted to be honest with himself, he didn’t particularly look forward to sparring practice. The way he felt about handling a weapon had been a veritable emotional rollercoaster - and not the fun, Magic Mountain kind.

When he first entered Elderpyre, he’d never handled a weapon before, and he looked like it. Fawkes had told him he wielded his glaive much like an old maid would wield a broomstick. He’d thought she was probably a bit over-judgmental.

Then had come the fighting. Hunter had had to defend himself against a variety of things that wanted to separate his head from the rest of his body.He’d handled himself adequately, more or less, and he’d felt great about it. Granted, he never thought himself a weapon master, but at least he thought he wasn’t a complete novice.

And then he’d met Elder Wroth and his fellow Aspirants, and realized how right Fawkes had been in the first place. And yes; compared to them, he did indeed wield his glaive like an old maid would her broomstick.

Now, after spending the last few days practicing forms, he felt he had a much more solid understanding of his chosen weapon. That must have been a bit of system magic, Hunter supposed. In Elderpyre, he’d found he could learn new skills and improve his abilities at a frankly astounding pace. If he had access to that kind of accelerated growth back in real life, he would have finished college by the end of his first semester. Hell, he would probably be a tech millionaire or something.

And yet, he was still lagging behind. Yuma, Tayen and Inago were going through those same forms with a kind of natural fluidity that made him want to give up. There were no shortcuts to take here, he supposed, no harebrained schemes to help him catch up. His skill was simply inferior.

That was what was occupying his mind as he materialized in the training grounds. The sun was barely up, and the chill in the air was biting, but Wroth and the other Aspirants were awake and expecting him. Yuma and Tayen were already doing some light exercises to warm up.

“There he is,” Inago greeted him with a smile.

“Hello, Inago.”

“Popping out of thin air like a khas-kraz,” Wroth shook his head. “Ancestors preserve us, you really are from another world, aren’t you?”

“And a good morning to you, Elder.”

“Gather round,” Wroth called, not gracing Hunter with a reply. “Now, Yuma. Yes, you too. You’ll have all the time in the world to practice in just a little while.”

They fell in line near the totem pole that marked the center of the Sacred Training Grounds, waiting for Elder Wroth’s instructions. He took a long look at each of the Aspirants, as if assessing them.

“Starting today,” he finally spoke, “we will start to focus more on sharpening your fighting skills. Forms are well and good, but it’s crossing blades that will give you a better measure of your ability to defend yourself from what’s out there in the Weald, lurking in the shadows, preying on your kin. Starting today, and every seventh day, you will face each other in combat in pairs. I will judge your performance.”

Hunter felt his stomach clench. He’d spent the previous night trying his best to psychoanalyze and convince himself none of that truly mattered. Only it did, for some reason. He found himself wishing Fawkes was there with him, and at the same time feeling relieved she wasn’t. He felt his stomach start to clench with stress, then tried to remind himself all he had to do was do his best. There were virtually no stakes here, after all. Were there?

He put a hand to his nose.

No blood.

Good.

He spied at the other Aspirants from the corner of his eye. Yuma looked as arrogant as ever, holding his head so high Hunter could swear he could almost see up his nostrils. Tayen looked sullen, as she often did. Inago noticed him looking and flashed him a big encouraging smile.

“According to the Brennai tradition,” Wroth said, “each one of you will face off with each other in a sequence of fights, until everyone has fought everyone. Is that understood?”

“You mean, like a four-team round robin, Elder?” asked Hunter.

Wroth raised an eyebrow, indignant.

“What in the Ancestors’ name is a four-team round robin, Transient?”

“See, a four-team round robin is when-”

“Enough,” Wroth cut him off. “Let’s start with you. Step forward.”

Hunter shut up and took a step forward.

Wroth eyed him, then Inago, then Tayen, then Yuma, then Inago again.

“Inago,” he finally decided. “Step forward. Face each other. Assume battle stances. The other two, give them some space.”

Yuma and Tayen stepped back a few paces as Hunter and Inago did as Wroth told them. Hunter was tense, his grip on the weapon too tight, his feet shifting nervously on the grass. Inago, on the other hand, stood with a relaxed posture. They locked eyes, and Inago flashed him another one of his friendly smiles. Hunter almost found himself wishing he was facing one of the other two instead. If he was going to get his ass served to him on a platter, he’d rather do so facing someone he could actually get mad at.

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He’d get his wish granted soon enough, he supposed.

“Ready?” Wroth asked.

Hunter nodded, his expression determined, and so did Inago.

“Begin, then!”

The two Aspirants circled each other for a few breaths, neither looking too willing to make the first move - though probably for different reasons. Inago was just trying to be nice, but Hunter found the wait dismaying. He never was one for patience, and it didn’t take long for him to crack.

He lunged forward, leading with a thrust aimed at Inago's midsection. The move was direct, but predictable. Telegraphed, almost. Inago sidestepped it with ease, his glaive coming up in a sweeping arc to parry Hunter's strike as if it were an extension of his body. The clash of dull metal echoed through the clearing.

Seeing an opening, Inago countered with a quick, controlled slash towards Hunter's legs. The strike was a conservative one, more a tap than a real attack, just enough to throw Hunter off balance without causing harm.

"Good form, Transient,” called Wroth, “but you're overcommitting. Inago, be more. You’re not doing him any favors."

“Yes, Elder,” Inago said, already shifting back in a relaxed combat stance.

Hunter grunted, stumbling back a few steps and recovering his own stance. Inago gave him a curt nod, as if telling him to take his time. He wasn’t too keen on making the first move himself, it looked like.

Trying a different approach, Hunter feinted low before bringing his glaive up in a sudden upward slash. He wasn't fast enough. Inago tracked the movement with his eyes and reacted instinctively, blocking the strike with the shaft of his glaive. He then twisted his body, using the momentum to spin the weapon in a wide arc. The blade of his glaive swept low, aiming for Hunter's legs once more.

This time, Hunter tried to dodge. He backstepped to get some breathing room, trying to remember not to lower his guard. Inago, though, was already on him. He thrust forward with the butt of his glaive instead, going past Hunter’s guard and tapping him lightly on his chest, dead center above his solar plexus.

“Again!” Wroth growled, not satisfied. “Inago, you make the first move now.”

They circled each other again. Hunter took a deep breath and tried to focus. With another overly nod to make sure his opponent was ready, Inago stepped forward with a deliberate, almost exaggerated windup. Hunter saw the glaive sweep through the air in a wide arc, coming straight at him. It was impossible to miss.

His mind raced, working double time to figure out the best way to counter. Should he sidestep and counterstrike? Or perhaps block and riposte? He weighed the different options in his head, struggling to analyze each one’s pros and cons in the split second he had until Inago’s weapon connected with his.

In the end, he decided that a block was the way to go, followed by a riposte. But the hesitation cost him dearly. By the time he’d doubled down on a course of action, Inago’s strike was already crashing through his half-baked defense. The impact sent Hunter stumbling backward, struggling not to lose his footing. Not missing a beat, Inago followed up with a thrust to Hunter’s now-exposed torso.

The training weapon’s dull blade barely stung Hunter, but the realization that he had been defeated by his own overthinking bit him deeply.

“Shit!” he spat, eloquent as ever. “Fuck!”

"You're thinking too much, Transient!" Wroth shouted, patience rapidly waning. "Your movements are hesitating because you're trying to predict the outcome of each strike. Let your body react. Trust in your instincts. That is the way of the White Cloud! And you, Inago! Take this seriously, or I’ll step in there myself and I’ll give you both a walloping!”

Hunter wiped sweat from his brow, wheezing. He knew Wroth was right. Knowing and doing, though, were two different things. Inago moved with such ease, as if the weapon was part of him. Hunter felt every ounce of the glaive's weight pulling him down with each motion.

Again, they circled each other. Hunter tried to relax his deathgrip on the glaive, let it rest naturally in his hands. Tempted to even close his eyes, he tried to set his mind not on what Inago might do next, but on the flow of the fight. When he moved, he felt lighter, the weapon in his hands more in sync with his body.

He stepped forward, feinting a thrust and then pivoting, bringing the glaive around in a horizontal slash aimed at Inago's side. Inago had no difficulty blocking the strike, but this time, the impact made him step back slightly.

"Better!" Wroth roared.

Inago went back on the offensive, pushing forward with a series of quick jabs and slashes. Hunter parried each one, his movements more fluid, less forced. The two glaives clashed repeatedly, a rhythmic dance of metal and skill.

As if to reward him for his breakthrough, a cascade of notifications filled the edge of Hunter’s HUD.

Your Glaive Expertise has increased to 2.

Your Polearm Mastery has increased to 21.

Your Close Combat has increased to 20.

There were more of those, but Hunter couldn’t afford to even register them. For a moment, he felt like he was truly matching Inago, their weapons finally moving in harmony. He was transfixed.

But then Inago shifted gears.

His movement became bolder, more aggressive. His strikes became faster, more precise. He stepped in closer, forcing Hunter to defend more desperately. In a blur of motion, he hooked his glaive around Hunter's, twisting it out of his hands and sending it clattering to the ground.

Before Hunter could react, Inago stepped forward, the dulled blade of his glaive resting lightly against Hunter's neck.

“That’s more like it!” Wroth roared. “Alright, that’s enough! Transient! It was high time you showed some backbone. You’ve a long way to go, but we may still make a proper Aspirant out of you. Inago! You’re good, son, no doubt about it. But, by the Ancestors, stop being so soft. You think your opponents are gonna thank you for holding back?”

Hunter said nothing, his head pounding from all the excitement and exertion. Still no nosebleed though. That had to count for something. Inago made some awkward excuse, promised Elder Wroth he’d try harder. Both men gathered their weapons and stepped back as Wroth called forth Yuma and Tayen.

Inago wiped the sweat from his brow, then offered Hunter a wan smile. “Not bad, friend. The Ancestors smile on you.”

“Yeah,” Hunter groaned. “Condescendingly. Look, Inago, I appreciate what you’re doing, but you really don’t have to. You’re much better than I am. That’s alright.”

“You are my friend, Hunter.” Inago shrugged, beaming. “Does it hurt to show kindness to a friend?”

It did hurt, Hunter thought, though he kept that thought to himself. It hurt his ego.