Hunter spent another quarter-hour trying to focus and meditate. He’d almost succeeded, too, when Wroth stood up, patted himself down, and turned to the Aspirants.
“Hunter. On your feet. Tayen, you too. Grab your weapons and assume positions.”
Hunter almost wished Wroth would finally pit him against Yuma and be done with it. He didn’t expect to win against Tayen either, but Tayen wouldn’t try to crush him. Probably.
Yuma definitely would.
They faced off a few paces away, glaives in hand. There was no sound around them but birds chirping and the stiff morning breeze rustling the leaves of the nearest trees. Hunter tried to find some measure of peace in that. Whatever happened, it would be okay. He would be okay.
In stillness, he told himself, I find my strength. Another of Mort’s corny mantras. He tightened his grip on his glaive, feeling the familiar weight in his hands, the ash wood of the shaft grounding him.
Across from him, Tayen stood still, her expression as unreadable as ever, her glaive held lightly at her side. She looked almost relaxed. She was a mystery to Hunter. They’d barely exchanged a handful of words during these few days, despite spending almost every waking hour training together. There was something standoffish about her, which made him want to, well, stand off.
“Begin!” Wroth said, already watching them with arms crossed.
Hunter seeked Tayen’s eyes, as if to ask her whether she was ready. She simply gave a small nod, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It was all the confirmation she was going to give.
Hunter took the initiative, lunging forward with a half-hearted thrust. He knew she would dodge, but he wanted to force her to move first, to set the pace of the match. As expected, Tayen sidestepped effortlessly, parrying Hunter’s strike with a quick flick of her glaive and redirecting it harmlessly to the side.
Hunter meant to follow up with a second thrust, but before he could recover, she was already on the move. She circled around him, her feet light as the wind, probing his defenses with quick, precise strikes. He tried to match her, turning to keep up with her movements, but it was like trying to catch smoke. Every time he thought he had an opening, she was already gone, her glaive a blur as it darted toward him from unexpected angles.
“Too slow!” Wroth shouted at him. “You need to anticipate, not just react. And you, Tayen! Stop playing cat and mouse and be done with it!”
Hunter gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance, trying not to fall behind. He knew Wroth was right, even if he did not like it. He needed to adapt, to figure out how to counter her relentless mobility. He found himself wishing he had learned that Adaptive Defense ability and made a quick mental note to take another look at it.
He waited for the next strike, then moved to intercept it, bringing his glaive up in a sweeping arc. Again, too slow, too clumsy. Tayen was already in motion, her weapon slipping past his guard and forcing him to backpedal to avoid a solid hit. She didn’t press the attack, though, instead dancing away to maintain distance.
“Tayen!” Wroth roared, frustrated at her lack of aggression. If she heard him, he didn’t show it. Her expression remained as impassive as ever.
Frustration began to mount in Hunter’s chest. He was used to facing different kinds of opponents, where cunning and quick thinking could tip the scales in his favor. None of that would work on Tayen. Her fighting style was different - fluid, evasive, always just out of reach.
Hunter pressed forward, hoping to catch her off guard, but she was too quick, too precise. Every attack he launched was met with a flawless defense, every attempt to close the distance was thwarted by her superior speed. In fact, he was lucky she just dodged and evaded. His own stance was full of openings, he knew, opening she could exploit anytime.
Hunter took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He forced himself to slow down, to stop reacting to every feint and movement.He had to somehow find a way to make her come to him. Instead of pursuing Tayen, he planted his feet, glaive held ready in a defensive stance, and waited.
Tayen circled him for a few moments, her eyes studying him, weighing his intent.
“Don’t hold back, girl,” Wroth barked from the sidelines, his tone hard. “He won’t learn if you keep coddling him. Finish it!”
Tayen’s expression remained unreadable, but just for a moment, there was a flicker of reluctance in her eyes. That was what Hunter had been waiting for. Hefting his glaive in an overhead guard position, he planted one foot closer to Tayen and launched his weapon’s butt at her head. When she quite predictably dodged, Hunter took another step closer and swung again, the business end of his glaive descending on Tayen blade-first.
She raised her weapon to parry, locking it with his, and for a split second Hunter thought he had her. Then their eyes met, and he knew he was screwed.
Tayen disengaged and simply stepped to the side, too quick to follow, leaving Hunter overextended and off-balance. With a quick, decisive movement, she swept his legs out from under him, the shaft of her glaive hooking behind his knees and sending him crashing to the ground. Hunter landed hard on his backside, the impact jarring.
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“Enough,” the Elder called. Tayen took a step back, her glaive held loosely at her side once more, her face a mask of calm.
“That’s more like it,” he told her, all but ignoring Hunter, who was still on the ground. “In a real fight, you can’t afford to hesitate. And you’re not doing the Transient any favors either. You’ll only sparing his feelings, for all that’s worth.”
Seeing that nobody was going to offer him a hand, Hunter climbed to his feet, clinging to his glaive and patting himself down as best as he could.
“And you,” the Elder turned to him. “Ugh… good job. You’ve got some fire in you, I give you that.”
“...but?” Hunter asked. He could see a but coming from a mile away.
The Elder just shrugged. He’d still have preferred it if Hunter had dropped out, it seemed.
The storm passes, Hunter reminded himself. I remain.
As they walked away to take their place on the sidelines again, Tayen caught up with him.
“Pay the Elder no heed, Transient,” she told him, her voice barely louder than a sharp whisper. “You fought well. You’re improving fast.”
Surprised, Hunter turned to thank her, but she’d already walked past him.
“You two!” Elder Worth called at Yuma and Inago. “Your turn!”
The two Aspirants stood up, grabbed their weapons, and headed to the patch of ground near the totem pole that had become the unofficial Sacred Training Grounds dedicated sparring area.
They squared off, assumed fighting stances. Inago offered his opponent a friendly smile and a nod, which Yuma refused to even acknowledge.
“Begin!” Elder Wroth called. Behind his bushy beard, his face remained expressionless. His eyes, though, flicked between the two Aspirants with keen interest.
For a moment, nothing happened. Yuma locked his eyes onto Inago’s own with predatory intensity, as if trying to demoralize him. It worked, too; nervous, Inago adjusted his footing. That’s when Yuma chose to strike, aiming to catch the other man off-balance.
He exploded into motion, launching into an aggressive assault without a shred of hesitation. He swung and thrusted and whirled his glaive with precision and power, a flurry of strikes aimed to push Inago's defenses to a breaking point. Each swing was calculated, relentless, designed to overwhelm rather than simply outmaneuver.
His approach to this sparring match, Hunter noted, was wildly different from the previous one. Against Tayen, had been more reserved. More civilized. Against Inago, each strike came with a force that made it clear Yuma was going to hold nothing back.
To his credit, Inago parried the first few strikes, his arms straining under the force of Yuma’s blows. He stepped back, trying to create distance, gain back his footing. Yuma, however, pressed forward with the ferocity of an enraged beast. Every time Inago tried to shift the momentum, Yuma was there, his glaive already in position to counter, to push harder.
“Is this all you’ve got, Inago?” Yuma taunted, his voice low, dripping with disdain. He swung his glaive in a wide arc, forcing Inago to frantically step back to avoid the blade. “I thought you were better than this.”
“No talking,” Wroth warned.
Hunter felt his anger mounting as he watched from the sidelines. Yuma was making it clear that this wasn’t just about practice - this was about putting Inago in his place. It made no difference that Inago wasn’t one to seek the spotlight, to challenge for dominance among the Aspirants in any way. Which made Hunter shudder as he wondered how much more brutal Yuma was going to be in their own upcoming fight, given their past grudges.
Yuma’s assault continued unabated, his attacks becoming more and more forceful, as if he was determined to batter Inago into submission. He didn’t seem to tire, either. Inago’s breath, on the other hand, was coming in short, ragged gasps. He was still able to block or dodge almost everything the other man threw his way, but the merciless pace Yuma was setting was clearly taking its toll.
Finally, he switched to an overhead guard stance and swung his glaive in a massive downward strike. Inago barely managed to block, the impact driving him to one knee. He gritted his teeth, trying to push back, but Yuma didn’t give him the chance. He followed up with a swift kick to Inago’s chest, sending him sprawling backward.
Wroth decided he’d seen enough.
“Stop,” he called. “Lower your weapons.”
Yuma put his glaive on his side, lips curled with grim satisfaction. He walked to Inago, who was still on the ground, looked down on him for a breath, then offered him a hand.
“Well fought,” he said as he helped him back to his feet.
“You too,” Inago offered, smiling weakly despite very obviously being in pain.
Wroth walked up to the two of them too.
“Are you alright, son?” he asked Inago.
“Yes, ugh… fine.”
“Good, good,” the Elder patted him on the shoulder with his massive paw. “Well fought.” He turned to Yuma, eyes narrowed slightly. “Want to explain yourself, Yuma?”
“How are we to become the best that we can, Elder,” Yuma said, returning the stare, “if we do not push each other to the limit?”
“Hmmm,” Wroth grunted. “Just remember this is not a competition. We’re brothers in arms, not enemies. Sisters, too. Tell me you understand that.”
“Yes, Elder.”
Wroth put his hand on Yuma’s shoulder, looked him in the eye.
“A good leader is one who uplifts his companions. Not one who subdues them. Remember that.”
“Yes, Elder.”
“Good. Go rest for a while now. We’ll continue with the final sparring matches in a bit.”
As Hunter watched Yuma’s sudden show of humility, he felt a cold rage beginning to mount in his stomach. He shouldn’t be surprised, he supposed. The Wroths of the world would always have a soft spot for the Yumas of the world - regardless of what world that was, Earth or Aernor.
He glanced at Tayen, who was also watching the exchange. She did a good job masking her own disapproval behind a mask of impassivity. The furrow of her brow betrayed her, though, and so did the thin, pale line of her tightly pressed lips. That came as a surprise; Hunter had thought the two of them tight.
Inago came to sit next to him, all but collapsing on the ground.
“Are you alright?” Hunter asked.
“Yes, yes!” Inago flashed him an unconvincing smile.
“The man’s an asshat.”
Inago said nothing, acting as if he hadn’t heard that.
“No, seriously,” Hunter went on. “We’re supposed to be sparring to get better, not trying to murder each other.”
“It is as Yuma said,” Inago shrugged, still wearing that stressed smile. “How are we to become the best that we can, if we do not push each other to the limit?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. Why are you defending him?”
“Quiet,” Wroth cut him off as he took his place with the Aspirants. “Meditate. Focus your mind. The day’s training is not over yet.”