I am here at my playground. This is the place where I got myself flourished and bulked up. I meet the welcome of my brothers-in-arm with smiles and gestures of manly contacts - high fives, fist bumps, chest-to-chest bumps, handshakes, and whatever one can imagine how to establish a masculine greetings that one could think of.
"Want some partner to spar with, Lord Aisla?" says the woman boldly proclaims to contend with me.
I concurrently nod and scoff in chuckles, implying: "Yeah." a brief pause ensues where I follow up with an: "Five. Five able bodies to challenge me. For a warm up, oh yes." audacious call.
The seniors, whom I govern with and below me, give each one of their representatives to spar with me. All of those five newbies confer their salutations upon me before we begin the session. Stutter. Stoic. Anxious. Admirer. Ambitious. That's how I illustrate them after the interview. I am standing in the center of the training grounds. I am surrounded by a circle of soldiers eagerly waiting for my next move. I take a deep breath, eager to prove myself once more and show off my skills with a wooden sword to my men and to his young fellas. I feel a 'lil rusty now and then. I reckon it is a good chance to revert back wherein I could dominate people with all sorts of advantages against me - size, numbers, swordsmanship, and other expertise. No questions, I can defeat them - all of them with a whimsical wish. No hyperbolism intended. However, age is catching up.
The first soldier strides forward one at a time, with his wooden sword in ready position. We exchange a few strikes and parries before he is able to break through my defense and land a clout on my shoulder. However, I was about to get hit. On an impulse instinct, I grab the sword. Luckily, I wrapped my hands with linen clothes to minimize the transpiration of minor accidents. Vambraces on both of my wrists and of my forearms. Safety measures, no one wants to get injured during practices. Meanwhile, I dismantle the weapon of the assailant, rendering him disarmed. Due to him being unarmed, he is retreating in style. Prancing, in the style of how a chicken would run. He yelps: "Hey, help! Help!" for distress. In just a matter of luck, the woman who was calling me to challenge me just a while ago saves the ass of the man.
She thrusts the stave at me pinpointing my grappling arm. During mid-engagement, I evade the plunge and cinch the middle of the staff with both of my chelidon and the tip of the vambrace. Disarmament completes. I kick her towards her gut, sundering her incapacitated, where she holds the place where the trauma is. One down, four to go. I, in a spurt of grunt, pounce the tag team together splitting them up. 'Beware of this, beware of that' advised by the mentor himself - Clyden. Of course, I would never have doubted my adjutant's caveat. And since they (the duo what Clyden refers to) are away from each other, they bow and kneel in a concurrent fashion tantamount to their elimination.
It is between me and this fellow… then a man sweeps in on my periphery. I manage to elude the assault. Evading such a lame and sloppy attack. I shrug my shoulders in complaint. Looking at the crowd. That's an unmanly way to play the game! The umpire states 'Proceed' denoting by the motion of his hand. Ah! The guy, who screamed like a witch a while ago, gets his reentry to the fight. It looks like a two versus one bout then, as per the arbiter's verdict. The zest in me tells me to make a move first. I can't think discreetly, but. One thing comes to my mind is to rush. I dash towards them and when I am about five steps proximity, I throw a dropkick at them. Hitting both of their faces, where the soldier from my left hand view flings his wooden replica trident out of his hand. I catch the fork mid-air and brandish the weapons near to the throats of my opponents. The umpire lifts his hand in the air. I help them up, raising to get back on their feet after the referee's conclusion.
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They bow to me in respect and take a step back, allowing the next wave of challengers to come forward. Round after round, I continue the mock duel, exchanging blows with each soldier in turn. Amateur, experienced, and seasoned alike. Despite their best efforts, none are able to land a fatal blow and eventually it is just me standing in the ring alone - triumphant. Neither I had predicted this would befall. Soldiers cheer for me… for my victory as they loudly scream and howl in a crescendo style. This is where they have overseen me standing here in the midst of this pit panting from exhaustion. Phew! Goddamnit, this is so tiring. This was no magical battle - just my own determination and pure skill that allowed me to outlast each and every one of them all. I raise my wooden sword high above my head in celebration before lowering it around my waist. The applause and the cheers soon dissipate. The adulation of my claims stops.
A man joins in the party. It seems that he is itching to give it a try. The challenger, my next sparring partner. My opponent will be Clyden, twice the muscle of my size, much better in battle intuition, and has a better understanding towards the system - overall-wise. No introductions needed, he swings his sword and I almost fumble backwards, barely dodging it. Exhausted. As I run, and run, and run. Clyden deems to taste such an adversary so slick and has the comprehension of withdrawals. He maintains his composure and remains calm. I don't know how he will address this problem. I can't seem to shake him off judging by the fact, he still regulates his cool countenance despite each strikes and hacks missing the target. The duel continues for what seems like running for several minutes or even more until we both reach the impassé. We circle each other, both wary of initiating the attack first. Who is who, who will draw the reset strike, until Clyden finally speaks up: "Let's call it a draw. How about that, Lord Aisla?" as I put my hands in the air leveling to my head. We nod and drop our weapons to the ground at the same moment by consensus. The other soldiers cheer for us both, and the two aces next to Clyden in terms of strength and capabilities approach us with smiles painted upon their faces.
"Lord Clyden shows disappointment. You seem frustrated, aren't you?" the one-half of the third-in-line teases Clyden, as she is trying to say something.
"No, no, no. I was just too agitated. Nevertheless, I did underestimate Lord Aisla during the sparring match." he protests, as he explains his subsequent thoughts about the previous session.
"That again, Sire Clyden. You have always been playing meek. You paragon tranquility and awesomeness. Why won't you display some more?" as the other half exhorts, clicking her tongue, interpreting in ambiguity, she seems disappointed and much to her dismay, she nags on Clyden afterwards.
They both praise us both in the end for our resilience and skill which they may have learned something from us, especially Clyden whose charisma has always been the model of my army. As we depart the practice field, I have newfound respect for my soldiers who fight alongside me as well as admiration for my opponents' strength and fortitude regardless of the difference of sheer amount of experience and plays.
"That was some good sweat!" I utter concealing under the rhythm of my respiration.
The two aces did bother not to do a contest with me. As they would think, the fatigue of my body will wear me down in the process. Henceforth, I might give an unsatisfactory performance unto them if ever I were to accept their proposal, then the mock duel would turn out to be a disaster. Challenging me under this state is unbearable and I agree. Thank you, then, I supposed?