Novels2Search

43 - Lessons

Marten planned to make an example of the man. He had no doubt that the old-timer had some skills, but Marten sensed an opportunity to exert his dominance and prove himself to command who would be reviewing the incident if not watching it unfold right now.

Never waste a chance to improve your station, his father would counsel. Marten didn’t plan on it.

He circled to the old man’s blind side as the crowd of onlookers tightened around the two combatants.

Trace and Violet stood in the front row, and Trace, seeing Marten shade toward the old man’s blind side, called out, “What’s the matter, Warwick? Scared of a fair fight?”

Marten didn’t dare take his eyes off the prize, but he didn’t need to. He knew who the voice belonged to. “No such thing as fair in a fight,” he spat back.

The old man spoke for the first time since the affair had begun. “On this, we can agree, Trainee Warwick.”

After Marten’s second or third step, the old man was forced to turn and follow him or risk exposing his back to his opponent. Marten was waiting for this, and as soon as the old man made a quarter turn, Marten rushed in, bringing his practice sword down on the old man’s temple.

Except the old man was no longer there. He’d anticipated Marten’s strike and eluded it. Marten found him a half step to his left and quickly swung twice in wide, arching blows that both missed as the old man ducked, circled, and weaved.

The effort elevated Marten’s heart rate and breathing. He took a deep gulp of air. “So what’s your name then, old-timer?”

“Men call me Rysi Reichart, but many of you will call me Teacher—if you possess the capability to be a student.” Rysi tilted his head ever so slightly at Marten. “Are you able to learn, I wonder?” He beckoned the young trainee on with a hand gesture. “Let us see.”

A brief look of rage crossed Marten’s face before he banished it and gathered himself again to attack. But in the brief instance, Rysi closed the distance and feinted a looping hook that fell well short of Marten’s chin. The old man’s setup worked as intended. As Marten leaned back to avoid the punch, his leg was left extended in front of him. Rysi continued his combination seamlessly, delivering a devastating shin kick to Marten’s calf.

Marten’s knee buckled inward in a flash of pain, and a grunt escaped his lips as he grimaced. The pain in his knee and calf was quickly replaced by numbness, as Marten realized he could no longer feel his foot. The old man’s kick had pinched a nerve, rendering the leg effectively dead. He lifted the injured leg and took a tentative step backward, but lacking any feeling in his lower leg, his toes caught on the training mat and his ankle buckled outward as his weight drove over the top of it. Strangely, he felt no pain due to the numbness. Instead, he stumbled briefly before catching himself and putting several body lengths between himself and his opponent. He did his best to shake out the leg, trying to regain some feeling back, and after a few seconds he felt pins and needles coursing up and down his calf following by the now revealed pain of his sprained ankle. He tested how much weight his ankle could hold and was relieved to find his injury was not as severe as it might otherwise have been.

While Marten was recovering from the calf kick, Rysi took the opportunity to address the onlookers. “Your first lesson: Just because you possess a weapon does not mean that it is your only weapon."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

A few murmurs rippled through the group of trainees as they reflected on Rysi’s cryptic statement and tried to determine what he meant by it.

The thought of being used as a prop in some object lesson infuriated Marten. He dashed forward in a full-on frontal attack, swinging his sword diagonally from side to side in an X pattern. Rysi retreated several paces and then sidestepped the onslaught.

In the blink of an eye, Rysi’s left knee made contact with Marten solar plexus and the air left his body with an audible gasp. Rysi continued his counter attack, swinging his hands up and over Marten's shoulder and grasping both of his wrists. A second knee drove up into Marten's pinned wrists and the blade tumbled from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Marten yelped in surprise as Rysi swiped a stiff arm back into Marten’s chest while his right foot swept Marten’s left leg out from under him.

Marten fell to the training mat, but to his credit, he did not remain down. He used the momentum to execute a back roll and sprang back to his feet.

Rysi stepped over the fallen blade and almost casually flicked it up into the air with his foot. He caught the sword out of mid air by the handle and turned face Marten once more.

“Lesson two: Any weapon can be taken and used against you. It is only good for as long as you control it.”

Marten looked around wild-eyed, searching for anything he might be able to use now that his only weapon was gone. Sweat dripped down his forehead from his now disheveled hair. He looked to his fellow trainees, whether for aid or comfort, it was unclear. What he found were stares of shock with a hint of lost respect. He reeled back to find Rysi pressing forward, sword in hand. Marten activated the shield on his left forearm.

The translucent blue shield extended out from the generator in the default rectangular shape sized roughly two feet by four feet.

Rysi brought down the sword in an overhead strike and Marten reflexively brought the shield up overhead to block.

The shield flickered as it absorbed the blow.

Rysi struck again. And again, the shield absorbed the blow.

A slight smile creased Marten’s face as he successfully blocked yet another blow and then another.

Rysi repeated the same brute-force overhead strike time after time, and Marten began to tense for a change of attack, suspecting that at any second, the old man would change from an overhead blow to a thrust or slash of some kind.

But the differing blow never came. Rysi kept hammering at Marten’s shield with strike after strike, and before long, a warning sound blared from Marten’s shield generator. The shield’s color changed from blue to red each time a blow landed.

Panic welled up in Marten as he could think of nothing to do but continue to block blow after blow until his shield failed.

Fearing a sudden complete shield failure, Marten reluctantly cried out, “I yield!”

Rysi was in mid-strike, but stopped the blade in mid-air with complete control.

Some of the onlookers cheered and clapped, showing their appreciation and respect for the performance of the two fighters.

Rysi offered his opponent a slight bow of respect and extended the blade back to Marten, handle first.

Marten took the blade begrudgingly and rejoined the ranks of his fellow trainees, his face reddened with shame, only slightly less arrogant than he’d been moments before.

Rysi addressed his students once more. “Lesson three: Your shield can only save you from so much damage. With each blade or blaster fire deflection, your shield is depleted. Given enough time, the generator will return to full strength, but under a constant barrage it will overheat and fail. All that to say this: You cannot win a fight by only playing defense.”

Rysi walked over to the wall where the practice swords and shields were kept and chose one of each for himself.

“Let’s begin our first training exercise for the day. Does anyone want to volunteer for the demonstration?”

“I think I’ve done enough volunteering for today,” Marten sneered and got a few laughs from the training room.

No one else raised their hand or spoke up.

“Very well, then. Trainee Weaver, please step forward.”

Fearing a fate similar to Marten’s, Violet activated her shield and stepped forward.