The youths had all been matched up in the main room. Some were group fights depending on the weapons chosen while most remained one on ones. Sigmar stood on the Altar, having kept Darriwil and Ryke back without saying a word as to why. Having learned better by now, the boys simply remained quiet as he looked over them all.
They were all supposed to spar, giving Sigmar a chance to evaluate their different strengths, weaknesses, and matchups. Some kids might be more in tune with using fast footwork to maneuver and strike many times, while some might use steady movements to eventually attack once and end the fight there. It was hard to say without prior knowledge, and the Lanista needed to know for obvious reasons. What he’d do with the information remained yet to be seen.
“Why aren’t Darriwil and I fighting?” When all the other candidates finally got ready to start, Ryke looked over to Sigmar with a raised brow. The response was quick and cold. “You’re both too much for the rest. You’ll see.”
“Too much?”
“Just focus when they start and you’ll see.”
With a quiet ‘hmph’ the golden eyed boy looked back to his companions, though a curious light now hid within his gaze. The oversized Maximus had a weapon fitting to his stature, a Warhammer easily the size of Ryke’s own glaive. Caius carried a longsword and a tower shield with him, but his stance felt aggressive for some reason. Sol carried a pair of daggers on his belt but the bow and quiver on his back couldn’t be hidden. Kievra used a similar pair of heavy handaxes, while Ofrir seemed to be the only one wielding a spear.
Only now did Ryke finally manage to take a good look at his new acquaintances as well. Caius was rather tall for their age, with lean and sharp figures and the typical short black hair and olive skin of the desert, a trait they all shared. Maximus had rather long hair and was even taller, what Ryke thought must be at least six and a half feet tall and a bulkier frame. Sol was even leaner, if not skinnier than Caius with more round features. Kievra was somehow the most muscular of the bunch at Caius’ height, with hair even wilder than Maximus. Ryke could only describe Ofrir as a scholar though, with the way he presented himself. Skinny, lanky and even wearing expensive glasses. If his clothes weren't so ragged, he would have guessed Ofrir came from the Oasis Area.
He quite thought the weapons matched each of his new acquaintances, though he felt Kievra’s axes could be heavier for her strength. The way it was now, the heads seemed lighter than the handles..
“Begin!”
Focus! His mind immediately zeroed in on the fighting parties, his fingers twitching as he could nearly see every spar. He saw Caius rush forward, using the unwieldy tower shield to parry a blow and immediately knock the wind out of the skinny boy in front of him. Maximus was being led around by a much faster girl, forced to defend. Sol tried to use his dual daggers to defend but could hardly find the leverage, Kievras two weapons were uncoordinated, and Ofrir didn’t let his opponent, a heavier young boy, past the range of his six foot spear even once. The real issue though, was..
How was Ryke even noticing all this?
“Figure it out yet?” Sigmar sighed after receiving a shake of the head in response. “The Aurelius Flame is enhancing your senses passively, but it does so even more when you actively focus. Having you fight those without it would be counter to the point.”
“So..?”
“You’ll be fighting each other.” Sigmar explained with some exasperation. “You’ve both ‘awakened’ your Aurelius Flame. The only issue is.. Ah, forget it. It’s the fairest it’ll get. You’ll fight after they all finish up.”
Ryke glanced at Darriwil with some confusion, the other boy still staring off at a wall with his limpid blue eyes that looked somewhat familiar. Fairest it’ll get? The boy turned back to the Lanista with a strange look. What did that mean, fairest it’ll get?
Silence was the only response.
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Of Ryke’s tiny group of acquantaines, only Caius, Ofrir and Maximus won their spars, ending when they were too tired to fight . The other’s were on the receiving end of the training weapons though. Even Maximus only won because he finally managed to get a heavy hit off when his opponent was too arrogant.
When the floor had finally been cleared, the young trainees returning to the base of the altar to rest, Sigmar motioned Darriwil and Ryke down to one of the small arenas drawn in the sand. The dull training glaive on Ryke’s back found its way into his hands. His body felt tense as he looked at the other boy. Mostly the longsword in his hand. His father had made it; and it wasn’t dull.
They started some fifteen feet away from each other. He had the range, but Darriwil plainly had the better weapon. They had both lit their Aurelius Flame, so why did Sigmar imply it wasn’t fair-
“Begin!”
Moving forward out of instinct, Ryke tried to think of the best plan. The glaive afforded him a sturdy defense with the handle, as long as he kept his hands quick he could defend against the blade easily, and if he took care to lighten his steps..
The edge of a blade shot towards him from the side, forcing him hold his glaive at an angle to meet the blade with its shaft, leaving a deep groove in the wood while his eyes widened into saucers. His opponent took the momentum from the recoil of his blade and brought it slashing back down at Ryke in one swift movement.
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He was forced back over and over. Darriwil felt faster than him, stronger than him. He didn’t even have room to breathe as he was forced to block again and again with the middle of his glaive. He didn’t even question how the other boy seemingly slashed the same area over and over again. His own weapon was about to snap.
Gathering himself and calming his breathing, Ryke did his best to force the attack to hit the strongest parts of the glaive while he waited for an opportunity; one that ironically came quickly. When a downward slash came, he allowed it to finally cut straight through his weapon, the blade quickly slashing through the air below. He saw Darriwil’s eyes widen ever so slightly, having already let go of the two halves of his glaive to step to the side, lower his body and rush forward to tackle the swordsman.
The sharp blade swung back up, slashing a shallow gash into his thigh before he wrapped both arms around the other youth’s waist and shoved his shoulder into his stomach as hard as possible, bringing the both of them to the ground tumbling..
Ryke felt the sand dig into the cut as he rolled across the ground a few feet away from Darriwil. His shoulder felt like it had smashed into a sandstone wall, and the cut burned more than any heat he’d felt before- a strange stinging sensation came along with it; digging into his bones. He rested for but a moment before he tried to get up; stopped by the point of a blade suddenly appearing at his throat. He could hardly even see from the sand and sweat mixing in his eyes.
“Darriwil?”
“Ryke.”
“You win.”
“I do.”
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“How’d he get up faster than me! I don’t get it! The wind should have been knocked out of him at least! Ah!” Ryke screamed as the bandage tightened around his thigh, provoking the rest of his leg into cramping up. “Fuck, that hurts Lycus!”
“Sorry, sorry, not my fault you decided to roll around in the sand after getting your leg flayed open..” Lycus grumbled, tightening another layer of bandages with extra strength this time, making Ryke scream a second time. “Not my fault I’m the only one who knows how to dress a wound either..” He stated, nodding with satisfaction at his handiwork and finally standing up.
“Why didn’t you get him to use a training weapon? It’s only expected.”
“I didn’t think it would be so sharp!”
“It’s a sword! Made of metal!”
“That my dad made for a kid.”
Lycus rolled his eyes while Ryke sat up on his cot, gently petting Fromir even as the pain drenched him in sweat. The cut had been relatively clean, props to Fairrin for the good work, but the little tumble afterwards forced him to go through a rather painful cleaning process that led to the wound getting bandaged only some fifty minutes later. Meanwhile, Darriwil had walked off from the fight with nothing but some new scratches and dirty clothes.
“I’m not exactly Maximus but I’m not tiny either.. How’d he just walk that off?”
“Don’t forget he also clearly knew what he was doing with that sword.” Lycus chipped in, as if unafraid to pour salt in the wounds. “You just flailed around doing your best to survive. It was kinda sad.” The merchant’s son grinned.
Ryke began to speak when the door was hit by a heavy thud, shortly thereafter being opened by Sigmar’s armoured frame, his spear on his back. The look in his eyes seemed somewhat apologetic, but also slightly confused. Both expressions disappeared when he finally laid eyes on the two. First sizing up the treatment of the wound, then the general state of the room, he nodded lightly.
“Are you confused?”
“Yes!”
“Good. It’s not complicated. Darriwil has been in the Ignitio Realm, as we call it, for years now. His body has been strengthened by it passively much longer than yours, not to mention actively.”
Sigmar elaborated, sitting in a chair as it creaked beneath the weight. He didn’t seem too bothered by the whole thing.
“Actively?” Lycus piped up, as curious as Ryke himself was. Seeing this, Lanista's lips curled slightly before he continued explaining; “Yes, Actively. A Centurion is never passive, and as I explained before it’s the Realm of Kindling. More simply, you’re meant to build your body’s vitality until it’s strong enough to support the Aurelius Flame’s ignition.”
“He’s well on his way to doing so, I’d reckon he’d already be beyond the realm if it wasn’t for his sight.” Simar finished, leaning back. Ryke titled his head, wincing as Fromir poked at the bandages. “His sight? Why is his sight an issue?”
“Read your book and you’ll figure it out, for now, I’m just here to make sure your wound is treated proper. How’d you do it?”
“We cleaned it with the herb solution provided in the rooms and then bandaged it..”
“Get the sand out?”
“Won’t it be forced out on it’s own?”
“Yes, but not before it might cause an infection.”
A short quiet took over the room as Lycus and Sigmar looked at eachother; an apologetic smile on the former’s face while a fiendish grin took over the latter. The look in their eyes didn’t make Ryke feel too safe when they looked back over to him. Even Fromir tensed up and scurried to the corner of the room.
“You heard him, Ryke..”
“Nope! I’m good! I’ll take my chances.
“Ryke..”
“Actually, I feel great! I can even take a walk-”
The blacksmith’s son felt a pair of hands on his shoulders suddenly, their iron grip keeping him perfectly rooted in place as Lycus slowly approached, meekly holding a pair of tweezers and getting ready to undo the bandages. Ryke began to struggle, but couldn’t even move his arms out of the armoured grip.
The pain was immeasurable.