“Yeah, we’re all killers who sell the lives of others for coins. What’s wrong about that? It’s a living.” - Johann “Gentleman” LeClave, when confronted by a philosopher decrying the evils of the mercenary profession.
“You’ve… Improved… A lot!” Wilhelmina managed to say between gasps of breath as she frantically tried to deflect and avoid Erycea’s blows with her training sword. Despite Wilhelmina’s preference for a greatsword taller than she herself was, she still didn’t dare to block one of Erycea’s blows head-on, for her weapons were each easily heavier than her own greatsword, squeezed into a compact and lethal package.
“Of course, Will! Been training every day!” replied Erycea more cheerfully. Neither girl were using their real weapons, of course, but the Free Lances had plenty of training gear for them to use, so both had decent approximations of their preferred weapons in hand, as well as some light armor to prevent injuries from hits that were uncontrolled. “Not like you’ve ever beaten me in a spar since I was twelve anyway!”
“One day… I’ll wipe… That smug grin off your face!” yelled Wilhelmina with some difficulty as she finally managed to disengage and gain herself some distance. Despite being Erycea’s senior by a decade and fortunately inheriting the height from her mother’s side of the family, she was still shorter than the half-therian girl by a bit. It didn’t help that Erycea was by far the faster and stronger between the two either, with inhuman flexibility and agility to boot.
All in all, it took all of Wilhelmina’s training and her leveraging the advantages of her longer weapon to keep the other girl from grabbing her by the throat within moments of the spar starting, effort that already made Wilhelmina breathe heavily from the tense exertion and constant stress. Sparring with Erycea just felt so much harder than actually leading a charge from the frontlines, she thought.
Her difficulties were partly due to the juxtaposition of their respective fighting styles.
The swordsmanship Wilhelmina used was primarily a technique meant for the battlefield, for battles conducted in formation of many soldiers, and while it had many methods that could be applied to single combat, the emphasis remained that of a one against many technique.
Erycea’s style – which she made for herself under her parent’s guidance due to nobody knowing any proper styles for the sort of weapons she used – was the reverse. It was more of a duelist’s technique with emphasis on disabling single opponents one at a time, applied to a wider field. Given what they had seen of Erycea’s records in combat so far, she applied it to warfare successfully, to boot.
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Probably helped that her mother did the same and was available for advice.
“Damn, Edelstein, Sometimes I really envy your kind your advantages,” commented Ser Guillaume du Riffons from the side, where he and Reinhardt were seated on the gentle slope with some flagons of good ale in hand while they watched their daughters strike at each other. “I swear, I often feel like the only reason we humans have survived so well is because we keep outbreeding the rest of you out there.”
“There’s some advantages to being human too, like having an easier time finding employment in the human lands,” replied Reinhardt while he took a hearty sip of his drink. “Most of us got into the job at Posuin since we happened to run across a job offer from the nobles who don’t really care about things like those, but those types are a rather rare breed.”
“Eh, with Posuin splintering up to pieces that’ll probably wipe that prejudice away too. People are always stronger together rather than separate, even if we could be so different,” replied Guillaume with a chuckle. He had insisted that Reinhardt no longer address him by his old titles, what with him already being retired and mostly giving up the sword. “One of my old teachers back in the Empire was a rather weird half-orc, prolly’ got some elf blood in him too, given how he looked so spry even at seventy. Taught me how to ride a horse… wonder how he’s doing over there.”
“Still going at seventy? He one of them Greentusks by chance?” asked Reinhardt with some curiosity. Wandering orcs from the northern prairies who traveled about to see the world was no longer an unusual thing ever since the last – and largest – northern crusade failed spectacularly a century ago. With the driving force of said crusades now also going out of the world stage, the orcs had been more frequently sighted in the past decades, even if daring ones amongst them had been seen from generations ago. The Free Lances themselves had several such members, both in the past and the present. “Heard that clan had a lot of elves amongst them, so it wouldn't be odd if he was one of them.”
“Never really asked, honestly. His teachings were always on the odd side, but it saved my ass more than once. Back then we didn’t put much weight on his lessons, but after getting my saddle cut under me a couple times, I definitely appreciated them a lot more, now,” replied the retired former knight. “For all the bells and whistles and pride our human cavalries have, we really can’t hold a candle to most other cavalries, other than those used by the goblins.”
“Different specializations, I think,” replied Reinhardt in a thoughtful mood. “Human cavalry tend to fall into that middle spot where we’re neither as good as light cavalry compared to the goblins or orcs, nor as powerful as heavy cavalry compared to the dwarves. I feel that part of the issue is your choice of mounts, too. Horses might be fast and possess great endurance, but they’re nowhere near as flexible or powerful as what the others rode into battle.”
“An apt look at the situation, I would say. Still, we’re stuck with the hand we’re dealt with. I just hope the company will live long and prosper under Will’s hand,” said the old knight with a wistful sigh. “I don’t hold much hope for those who followed my dumbass of a son. He’s got far too much ambition and ego for the little ability he got.”