Among the young sailors, some stand tall with their arms crossed, while others are checking their weapons or doing a few warm-up moves, their gaze fixed on their weapons master. Their eyes, whether young or older, all testify to the same common will: to become stronger, faster, more disciplined. Mero watches silently, somewhat withdrawn, but already feels more connected to this work ethic that the crew embodies so intensely.
Some of the youngest sailors seem not yet at ease with the weapons; their movements are hesitant, but all, without exception, are ready to give their all. A feeling of camaraderie and competition lingers in the air. Mero is intrigued, almost hypnotized by the way each one focuses on the task at hand, as if they knew every movement counts.
The weapons master signals to grab the attention of the young sailors and Mero. In an authoritative yet calm voice, he begins to give instructions:
— "Today, we will practice fencing with swords and daggers. Every strike must be precise, every defense mastered. Weapons are not just tools; they are an extension of your will. We will begin with the basics. Practice parrying and countering. You must have the correct postures. Don’t be overconfident—the weapon can turn against you if you’re not vigilant enough."
The sailors take their positions, the vast majority focused and ready to begin. Mero, although he has been trained to use weapons in his kingdom, feels a slight chill of apprehension. He’s not used to training with others his age, nor with sailors as experienced as these. He knows he must prove himself. He clenches his teeth slightly and positions himself among the others, paying close attention to every movement, every command from the weapons master.
He prepares to start training, ready to confront his hesitation and overcome it by focusing on the techniques he will be taught. For the Empire, for himself.
He is paired with a sailor of roughly his age and size. He asks him his name.
The sailor in front of Mero looks at him, his gaze intense as if measuring his opponent before answering. He seems just as determined as the others, but his face shows traces of fatigue, the face of someone who has had to face challenges from a young age.
— "My name is Roland," he responds in a clear voice, though a little hoarse, as though he’s spoken or shouted a lot in the past days. "And you, what’s your name?"
He stands ready, a light sword in hand, but his gaze remains on Mero, scrutinizing his posture and how he stands. He seems just as curious about Mero as Mero is about him, but it’s already obvious he’s used to this discipline. His slender, wiry body exudes a certain flexibility, and his stance shows that he’s a young man accustomed to fighting, even if his size and age are similar to Mero’s.
Roland patiently waits for Mero’s response, ready to begin the exercise. He knows that in this kind of situation, one must stay vigilant, but he also seems confident in his abilities, without arrogance, just a calm acquired through daily training.
— "I’m Mero from the Kingdom of Sel, son of King Heckt the Sublime," Mero says.
Roland slightly widens his eyes at the mention of the young man’s name, his expression shifting for a moment, but he doesn’t seem impressed. He briefly nods as if acknowledging the status, then gets back into position with a subtle smile.
— "Mero, huh? The Kingdom of Sel... that's far," he says in a neutral tone but with curiosity that doesn’t fully mask a touch of admiration. "You must be used to a very different life than here. But training... training doesn’t have a kingdom."
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He adjusts his sword, preparing to begin, while throwing a quick glance at Mero to gauge his reaction. The air around them grows tenser, and Roland seems to already anticipate the next series of moves, ready to react to any attack or defense from Mero.
— "I’ll teach you how to defend yourself properly. But you’ll be careful... here, no one gives freebies."
The two young men face each other, their gazes locked. Roland appears ready to start the training, and though he has a calm demeanor, there’s a hint of challenge in his eyes. It’s likely that he will test Mero’s abilities, even if the young heir doesn’t seem accustomed to this kind of confrontation.
Roland notices the obvious confidence in Mero’s posture, a sign of someone familiar with handling weapons. He seems to appreciate this, a slight smile curling on his lips as he adjusts his grip on the dagger.
— "The sword, the rapier, the saber... I see you’re well-trained, Mero," he says, slowly twirling the dagger between his fingers while watching Mero. "But the dagger, that’s a little different. It’s more about speed and precision. Not really a weapon for parrying like the sword or saber, but more about slipping through the openings. It can be... a bit sneaky."
He steps forward slowly, seeming to look for an opportunity, but his gaze remains observant, as if testing Mero’s reflexes while instructing him.
— "The dagger doesn’t have the same elegance, but it compensates with subtlety." He pauses, his eyes locking on Mero. "But you have to know when to strike. Never overdo it; it’s in discretion that true power lies."
Roland makes a small arm movement, and the dagger glints in the afternoon light. He gestures for Mero to face him.
— "Try it, show me how you adapt. Don’t worry, I’ll help you understand this move."
The atmosphere is a mix of respect and challenge. Roland seems both a mentor and a rival, and his way of guiding Mero is intertwined with a desire to test his skills. This all happens under the watchful eyes of the other sailors, who observe the exchange in silence, seeming to wait with interest for the next move in the duel.
The exchange between Mero and Roland quickly becomes a fluid dance, each trying to read the other, anticipating movements, dodging, and countering with surprising speed for their ages. The dull daggers slap through the air, sometimes striking the wooden floor, sometimes hitting the blades of their opponents. The movements are precise and calculated, but never excessively violent. There’s a tacit respect, an acknowledgment of each other’s limits, and the training unfolds in an almost choreographed manner.
Roland occasionally guides Mero in some evasions, encouraging him to refine his reflexes, but he keeps a casual tone, as if not wanting to overdo it, just wanting him to get used to the pace.
— "Always think a few moves ahead," Roland says, slightly out of breath but smiling. "The dagger is all about timing. Not strength."
The sparring continues in this atmosphere of mutual learning, the two young men exchanging smiles and comments on the passes. The sailors watching the training occasionally whisper among themselves, impressed by the focus and precision of the exchanged strikes, even with dull weapons.
Eventually, after several rounds, the sun begins to set, and the training comes to an end. Roland, exhausted but satisfied, lowers his dagger and throws one last look at Mero.
— "You’ve improved a lot for your first session. You’ve got potential."
The two stand there, their breathing heavy but regular, as the last rays of the sun bathe the deck of the ship in a golden glow. They exchange a look of respect, both knowing that they’re no longer just young novices, but that this fight is another step towards greater mastery.
Days pass, all resembling each other, until they approach a port. The captain informs his tutor and nurse that they will stop for a few days to stock up on water and provisions. This town is not part of the Empire and trades with all the countries of the world. Here, it is forbidden to assault a national of another country under penalty of an embargo. The captain explains that this stop is crucial for resupplying the ship, but also for allowing the crew to rest and replenish fresh supplies. The town, although neutral, is an important commercial crossroads, where goods and cultures from all over the world intersect. Mero listens attentively to the captain’s instructions, curious to discover this unique place where peace and trade are the dominant forces.