A tall Lady of fifteen or sixteen stands in the middle of a sandy sparring field with straight black hair fell to either side of her neck and shoulders. There is a pain in her chest, one that appeared weeks ago and has yet to start fading.
It tortures her, the knowledge that the beautiful Templar, that she thought would return to her, died like a pig to the slaughter. Captured and held as a spectacle to sunder the Phalanxes' moral.
Perhaps it would have eased her suffering if the cold blooded monsters had a chance at succeeding, but who isn't aware that Phalanxes do not break? The Lisilese surely do, yet they attempted intimidation anyway and devoured the woman whose return she fondly awaited.
The strict but gentle face still appears in her nightly dreams, yet it no longer brings the young girl courage and patience but blood and terror. She does not know whether the Templar suffered or died quickly, none of those she asked granted her a straight answer.
The girl swings her weighted wooden sword in the air, producing a swooshing sound that somewhat calms her nerves. She pulls at her padded leather armor, finding it uncomfortable but sturdy and well fastened.
She knows she must get used to this much if she is ever to stand a chance at doing battle in plate armor. She hates her insufficient skills, it has been almost a year after her... friend left and she still hasn't caught up, making revenge utterly impossible.
Boots scrape onto the sandy ground. The girl slips her helmet on and raises her chin, finding a nervous tall man stepping onto the field in a padded armor with a wooden sword as well.
She grits her teeth, resisting her impulse to ask the question burning the tip of her tongue. They answer more honestly when taken in the fire of battle after all, not that they turn honest, they lie for fear that truth would offend her.
“I greet my Lady.” The man bows.
“On guard.” The girl responds without emotion.
The veteran nods tensely. She notices that his gaze flickers to the wooden training shields arranged on the training field's stone walls before he raises his sword. The girl purses her lips and stomps over to the shields.
She seizes two, throwing one over to the man before placing one over her left arm to start fastening it. The girl would rather fight without a shield, they are good in a squad but more of a hindrance when alone or with a novice group.
Not to mention that, in a duel with a cold blood, only those with true skill with shields have a chance at using them. Otherwise, these things become tools for these snakes to take control of the battle.
The creatures are able to make instinctive use of the blind spot and can grasp them tighter than the one holding the handle to create openings for them to use. The girl prefers leaving her left hand open to use constructs, it gives her more options.
Yet, she is aware that a shield remains necessary because cold bloods have the best archers, without one she likely wouldn't even be able to cross swords with them. She finishes fastening the straps around her left forearm and returns to the center of the field.
She falls into a stance, impatiently waiting for the tall soldier to signal that he's ready. The pain burning in her chest is pushing her to engage but she doesn't because it wouldn't be honorable.
Clack. He finally smacks his shield with his sword. The girl bursts forward with two lion steps, arriving in front of the man in moments to swing her sword down. He pushes his shield forward to block while pulling back his weighted wooden weapon for a counter-attack.
The girl almost sneers, this simple response tells her that her sparring partners haven't been exchanging tips on how to deal with her, likely afraid that it would offend her when in fact she would have respected them more for trying to win, which would help her improve.
Smack. Her sword slams into the shield, achieving little other than noise. The man swings his sword at her, finding empty air because the girl is already spinning to the side on one foot to build momentum for a forceful shield-slam.
Boom. Their shields collide and the man is sent stumbling backward, unable to withstand the impact because his attack made him take a step forward. She follows up by throwing a lion strike stab at the center of the man's shield.
“Did she suffer?!” The girl spits the question out at the same time.
Crack. Her training sword's tip snaps off but she succeeded in causing a small rift in his shield. The man, still staggering from the combination of blows, makes a wide swing that forces her to block with her own shield.
“I'm certain her death was swift, my Lady.” The soldier responds with fear in his eyes.
The reply infuriates the girl. In her eyes, such a short irresponsible response proves that he is uncaring, hypocritical. If not of her, then of the sacrifice that her friend made as a Templar. This soldier cares only for the consequences to him were he to be truthful, she thinks.
Of course she suffered, the girl yells in her own mind, if not physically then her heart must have shattered at the knowledge that she would be devoured to threaten the Phalanxes and her Templar brethren.
The girl screams at the thought of the woman's pain, dying while aware that the cold blood's maneuver is a cruel and useless waste. It would only work on the feeble-minded, not on those who dedicate their lives to safeguarding the Empire.
She charges like a fury, raising her sword overhead to slam it down at the veteran's shield. He tenses as the training sword crashes into his shield, widening the crack in the wood.
The soldier keeps the girl's previous move in mind as he counter-attacks, choosing a horizontal swing so that she cannot dodge in the same way. The Lady easily blocks the attack by placing the edge of her shield in front of the training sword.
As soon as the attack is stopped, she uses a lion strike with the shield, utilizing the dull side like a sword against her opponent. The tall man's reaction time is in no way slow, he raises his shield to block professionally, preparing to use a stab to attack the girl's uncovered left side.
Yet, his shield unexpectedly shatters under the blow. His surprise combined with the shower of splinters that block his view destroy his plan. He doesn't hesitate to use a lion's step to retreat and win some breathing room.
The girl follows without losing a moment, having predicted his reaction. She uses an overhead lion strike but the veteran has better reflexes than she expected and manages to avoid defeat by the skin of his teeth.
She immediately kicks the ground with her forward right foot to pull back and just barely dodge the man's sideways sword blow. She immediately lion's step forward and to the right, sliding past the man.
As the veteran shifts to follow her, she kicks the ground with her right foot to fly to the left, landing back to back with the tall man who is trying to get her back into his field of vision.
The girl is aware that the man isn't deaf, he'll have heard her moves so he'll keep pivoting in the hopes of wasting her flow and because rushing away from her would turn this into a pursuit which might put him at a disadvantage.
Still, she waits for a split-second before using her next lion's step. If he hears her moving too soon, he'll run to widen the distance so she can't act until he commits to this course of action. She closely watches the man's footwork.
Now, she thinks as her opponent's feet pivot in the sand. She leaps backward and to the left as the man shifts to try to catch her. The girl lands behind his back once more, sword pulled back above her left shoulder in preparation for her strike.
This situation is much different from the previous one because they are no longer back to back, he is now to her right which means she has the opportunity to attack while he cannot defend.
While her tactic cost her quite a bit of energy from the single portion she has available to use, it got her the win. She swings her wooden sword at the middle of man's left thigh with all her strength.
The training weapon hits, causing the veteran to collapse with a short scream. The blow is heavy, even with a padded armor to soften it. If this were real combat, she would have aimed for the knee and shattered it if her blade could not slice through.
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Although, in real combat, the shield wouldn't have shattered this easily so she would have had to aim for the man's left shoulder to disable it. The neck could have directly ended the fight as well but it's not an easy target to hit and that body part is usually too well protected, not to mention her opponent could simply crouch if he read her intention.
“Up.” The girl ruthlessly commands, aware that she only bruised him.
“Do, you have enough energy to continue, my Lady?” The soldiers asks while scraping himself back up to his feet.
The Lady grunts in response. She wants to ask again but knows that it is useless, they all respond with platitudes and try to lie in order to grant her a fake comfort. Her pride wouldn't allow her to anyway because she feels her guts twisted and knows her voice would tremble if she spoke more than a single word.
She loosens her shield's leather straps and throws it away, calculating the number of lion steps and strikes she can afford before she runs out of energy along with the state of her opponent's reserves.
She merely has a dozen or so lion constructs left while her sparring partner should have twice that available. A soldier's skill in manipulating flow would be above hers after all even if they had the same age since she has to train in many more constructs and study multiple disciplines.
“Should you change swords, my Lady?” The tall man asks.
The girl shakes her head, considering that fighting without stabs is something she will experience on the battlefield and is worth training. She has more skill in swings anyway and prefers them because they allow for more variation.
“Is it wise to keep training every day like this, my Lady? Perhaps a few days of peace would help.” The veteran suggests in a concerned tone.
Help what? Forget? She painfully scoffs inside her head, her anger billowing as what she wants is a straight answer, not some fake concern. She attacks without a second thought, forcing the man to defend.
As their training swords collide between them, the girl insults various Heirs subordinate to her house in her mind. She is aware that they are the ones who maneuver behind her back to get her sparring partners to suggest that she should stop training.
At first, they did so themselves by saying that it isn't suitable for her to spar with common soldiers but not a single one could stand for more than a round against her, and most haven't even tried after she crushed the first few.
The girl keeps fighting, relying on instinct as her mind is too full to be up to the task. She despises these Nobles who hold their position by birth not by skill, achievement, or virtue.
Worse, when she asked them hoping that they had the knowledge to enlighten her, their answers about the Templar's death rang hollow. They spoke of duty they do not seem to understand and of necessary sacrifices they not only have never experienced, but cannot even fathom with their cushy lifestyles.
The veteran's sword smashes against hers, bringing a weight with it that makes the girl stumble back. Anger and battle wash away her thoughts. She receives the next lion strike without using one of her own.
She angles her sword and redirects the blow to the side. Her hand stings but she feels proud to have succeeded. Yet, that pride makes her mad because she knows that she only managed because the veteran isn't half as skilled as the woman she lost.
The Lady uses a lion strike to retaliate. While the soldier is busy blocking, she conceals her left hand behind her back and uses the last of her energy to assemble a kinetic construct over her palm.
She pulls her sword back into a defensive stance, giving the soldier a chance to press forward. The veteran takes it and delivers a three-prong strike at her sword. She snarls as her weapon is thrown to the side, leaving her open, it's an act to make the man think that he got her.
When he launches another lion strike, she holds off a brief moment for the soldier to pass the point of no-return before shifting to the side, letting the wooden sword harmlessly pass by her shoulder to hit her forward left thigh.
She's aware that the only reason she got hurt is that she made a planning mistake but doesn't care. The fight is smothering her pain and that is enough for her at this moment.
She controls her stumble so that it carries her forward as she launches her left hand into an arcing palm that impacts the man's right shoulder. Bam. The kinetic construct detonates and throws the man to the side.
The girl knows that she merely caused another bruise, and that it isn't even enough to disarm her opponent, but it's plenty to seize victory. She stomps forward with her left foot, turning the scream that threatens to escape her throat into a roar. “Rhaaa!”
She forcefully slams her sword up into the man's belly, delaying his recovery. She then pulls her weighted wooden weapon back and uses the flat point to stab at the veteran's bruised left thigh in order to break his balance.
All of this adds up to just enough time for her to bring her sword overhead and smash it down in a powerful blow at the man's right clavicle without holding back to overwhelm the padded armor. Crack. She hears bone break followed by the soldier's agonized scream. “Aaaah!”
The girl takes a deep breath and raises her sword, just barely restraining herself from striking again as she has before towards those who directly lied to her, saying that her friend didn't suffer at all. Perhaps, the Lady thinks, she screamed unwillingly as death approached.
“I, I yield!” The veteran exclaims while clasping his broken bone with his left hand.
A warrior does not yield for themselves but only to save their comrades when death is otherwise all but certain. The Lady recites in the silence of her mind. She shakes her head and lowers the sword she had no intention to swing.
A glare of her light gray eyes suffices to dismiss the veteran who staggers out of the field to head to the nearby hospital, joining others who have failed to answer her questions in days past, or even insulted her and the friend she lost by uttering empty platitudes.
She sits down in the sand and thinks back to the battle, analyzing her attacks to push away the return of her grief. She concludes that she didn't link her attacks together well enough. If it had been a Templar, she might have landed a lucky hit but she wouldn't even have had a slim chance of winning overall.
She resents the Order and Nobility, the former accepts the fact that only titled Heirs or Nobles are worth paying ransom for and don't even try to negotiate while the latter thinks that it is natural for people of lower birth to lose their lives to avoid weakening the Empire.
Yet, the girl knows that such a view only applies to humans. The Lisilese are cold blooded and calculative. They execute strong and skilled foes to eat them but ransom those they do not see as a threat.
This hateful barbaric practice is ironically of more comfort to this young Lady than any words offered to her by those of her demesne. At least, it means her friend and her regiment were a threat rather than mere lambs to the slaughter.
“Do you plan to incapacitate the entire garrison?” A clear voice suddenly startles her.
The Lady looks up, finding a girl her age looking down at her with wide clear eyes. The Lady glimpses the three braids on the girl's head, absently noting that they don't perfectly suit her and seem to be more functional than anything else.
She notices that the other girl's breasts beat hers by an infuriating margin. She stands up and responds to the challenge by dominating the other one with her height. Yet, surprisingly, that girl doesn't flinch or retreat, she merely raises the wooden sword in her hand.
The Lady wonders whether this one is a Noble, it would be surprising considering the other girl's trained posture and her average green dress. She determines that this one is likely the youngest of a Noble House, likely raised to take an officer position.
“Not up for talking?” The girl asks.
The Lady shakes her head, not hesitating to raise her training weapon in spite of the depleted state of her reserves. The girls nods understandingly and makes a sad but determined smile.
“I can see you're in pain so let's fight first, I'll drag you to talk over tea once you exhaust yourself.” The girl arrogantly declares.
The Lady's eyes widen at the girl's unrestrained attitude, it's the first time she's met someone her age, apart from the late friend with who she made a promise that transcended rank, who was bold enough to disregard her position as Heiress to a Count. She can't help but feel some expectations towards this girl.
The Lady launches herself at the girl, aiming to take the win before the other one can tire her out. She thinks this girl foolish to have told her what to be wary of before they even fought.
Yet, the Lady's sword is parried away by a single flick of the girl's wrist, destroying her posture. She panically lowers her stance and slides to the side, her feet sweeping the sand aside and producing a cloud of dust.
The girl's sword slashes in the air above her head, almost hitting the helmet. The Lady feels a cold sweat roll down her back as she realizes that this opponent won't hesitate to injure even her face to obtain the win.
Her heart starts beating faster from excitement. She even feels a twinge of regret at having let herself be baited into this when she clearly has no chance to win without flow and tired from her previous spar.
Yet, the young Heiress doesn't retreat but presses onward into the crushing defeat she predicts is incoming. She sinks herself fully into the battle, forgetting everything but the sword in her hand.
Their training weapons slam and cross without respite as both make use of footwork to control the distance. The Lady tries to widen the gap while the girl tries to close in. Neither succeeds because one is out of flow but has more skill while the other refuses to use her flow but is full of energy.
“She likely took comfort in the fact that her gruesome death would rile up the army and make it harder for the Lisilese to win.” The girl suddenly speaks up.
The Lady trips as she hears the unexpected words, receiving a blow to the stomach. She ignores the pain to swipe her sword at her opponent's unprotected head, furious that she would have the gall to speak of things she knows naught of. Yet, such a wild strike is easy to parry for the one who provoked it.
“She probably hated the fact that she was going to die as a prisoner instead of with a sword in her hand because her regiment lost too many and the battle was too intense for them to be exchanged.” The girl presses.
“Shut up!” The young Heiress explodes, throwing another swing that her opponent easily dodges.
“No. I have to kick your ass in her place, while you're tired and I have a shot.” The girl replies honestly with a sad smile.