Alistar wasn’t sure about the reason, but over the past three months his master had become a lot more involved in his training. On all mornings save for Sundays, he spent around four hours with his crabby teacher in the spacious yard out front of his home, practicing new techniques and reiterating old ones in a very in-depth and technical manner. Whereas Tramon used to spend a couple of hours sparring with him each morning—beating him, really, since he’d never landed so much as a single hit—and otherwise leaving him to self-study after heeding the call of his bottles, he now presided over Alistar’s training for the duration of the his lessons. Tramon had been watching him very closely, criticizing even the smallest mistakes when it came to postures, breathing patterns, and execution. Not only that but the man looked healthier overall, with less prominent bags under his eyes and more colour to his slightly wrinkled face.
Today was a bit different, as it seemed that the sword master had woken early and treated himself to a happy helping of spirits. Even so, this didn’t detract from his attentive teachings.
Facing one another in the yard out front of Tramon’s house, the broad-shouldered man gave his cane a provocative slash to signal the beginning of the next bout of sparring. He didn’t adopt any of the defensive stances that he’d taught Alistar thus far, an attempt to get his apprentice to lower his guard.
You think you can keep tricking me?
Taking up the basic offensive stance of a first-tier apprentice, Alistar relied on practiced footwork—the basic footwork that constituted one of the third-tier techniques—to dash in close to his teacher so as to reduce the advantage that the man had in regards to his reach. This instigated a rapid, close-quarters exchange.
Alistar’s slash from left to right was blocked by a basic, vertical guard, as was the follow up from right to left. Diagonal strikes from several directions were also deflected with ease, as were the sneaky lunges and side-swipes that he directed at the man’s knees. Every single one of the standard strikes—the basic offensive techniques from the apprentice stratum’s first tier—were blocked in a similar fashion, leaving Alistar with no choice but to move on to the second tier’s skillsets. While these were more complex than the basic ones, they were simply more creative ways of carrying out the standard strikes, including practiced combinations of any of the various attacks. These moves also required him to put more focus into his footwork and to raise his awareness of the general area around them.
“Ah,” cried Alistar, who abruptly dropped his wooden sword. “I thought you were just defending!”
“Now I’m attacking. Pick up your weapon and ready your defences.”
Alistar gave his stinging fingers a quick shake and then retrieved his fallen sword, gripping the handle with both hands. Growing slightly annoyed, he directed his swordsman’s aura to cover his hands so that it wouldn’t hurt as badly if they were struck again. He had only just begun learning how to spread this energy to different parts of his body in order to properly reinforce them, so it took him a few moments. As expected, Tramon was quick to initiate an attack that he wasn’t entirely ready for.
“You think your enemies will wait for you to get nice and cozy?” barked the sword master, who smacked both of Alistar’s knees so quickly that it felt as if it happened at the same time.
He stopped himself from buckling to the ground through sheer power of will, throwing up any defence that he could as his master unleashed a flurry of strong, accurate strikes.
He makes it look so easy, he panted, jumping backwards on shaky legs in order to open up some distance. Narrowing his eyes as they settled on the detestable cane that had hit him so many times since he had arrived in Distan, Alistar cloaked his sword in a thin yet durable layer of swordsman’s aura and pounced back into action. Completely conscious of his body and his own limitations, he lashed out with strike after strike in an effort to push Tramon back, but the man remained in place like an ancient tree tethered to the earth by deep roots. Alistar had anticipated this, of course, just as he had foreseen the ‘defensive’ lunge toward his shoulder, a habit that Tramon showcased every time that he claimed to be on the defensive, which Alistar slipped past as he ducked his head and dove directly toward his master’s midsection.
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Tramon pivoted to the side and tripped Alistar over a slightly extended foot, though the latter extended a free hand onto the grass and strategically rolled away. Immediately hopping to his feet, Alistar’s instincts warned him of a follow-up strike that was aimed at his knees, so he leapt into the air and over the blur of polished wood, trying to catch Tramon off guard with a vertical, overhead cleave. This attack was also blocked, though Alistar shifted his balance against the forceful parry so that he could land on the ground after a comfortable summersault rather than simply being flung away like a ball of parchment.
Landing with more grace than he would have shown several months ago, Alistar threw his right arm out, holding his sword to the side with one hand as he circled the grey-bearded man, looking for the opportune moment to initiate his next attack. He had kept his weapon covered in swordsman’s aura throughout the entire exchange, which had left him considerably drained despite the brevity of the bout.
Tramon connected eyes with him and threw his arms out as if inviting him for a hug, showcasing absolutely no defence at all in an obvious bait. While this was clearly a trap, it was also the only chance that Alistar would find where the man wasn’t entirely prepared, so he chose this moment to strike out. Recalling something that his master had said during one of their first lessons, Alistar committed to a straightforward lunge while simultaneously willing the water from a nearby puddle to pool around Tramon’s feet. Just before the moment of contact, he stole away all of the water’s warmth, giving life to a thin yet solid sheet of ice so that once Tramon made to sidestep his attack the man would surely lose his balance. At least, that’s what he’d thought would happen.
In reality, a strong surge of energy became apparent at Tramon’s feet, which shattered the ice as he secured his footing. Raising his left arm—the hand of which held his cane—he avoided Alistar’s lunge by a hair’s width, grabbed hold of his collar while spinning on the spot and borrowed the momentum of the attack to throw him high into the tree that shaded their spar.
Alistar caught himself on one of the larger branches, sagging against the trunk with a sigh as he plucked a few dry, brittle leaves from his weathered clothes. While he did so, a light round of scattered, broken applause drew attention to the fact that at least a dozen people that had been walking to and fro through the collegia’s grounds had stopped to observe the spar after noticing it in passing, among which were several of the other apprentices.
Tramon slashed at a nearby puddle, showering a trio of white-robed scholars in a spray of mud. “On your way, all of you!”
The three in question had been idling on the nearest pathway, but the moment their clothing was soiled they rushed off with mixed expressions of anger and fright. Seeing this, the other observers quickly scattered like buzzards from a clean carcass upon someone’s approach, leaving Alistar and his master alone in the resulting quiet.
“How did you know what I was going to do?” he asked, dropping down from the tree and then landing with a roll. At this point his clothes were completely filthy.
“Your swordsman’s aura was disrupted. You still can’t do proper magic while using your aura, so it wasn’t some mystery what you were up to.” Tramon glanced at his cane, about a finger’s length of which had been cut off by Alistar when he’d been flung up into the tree. Clearly annoyed, he tossed it aside and then strode over to him with a chastising expression on his face. “From now on, you’re forbidden from using magic while we practice. You’re here to learn how to be a swordsman, not an arcanite. Only once you’ve reached an acceptable level will I allow you to start using your childish little tricks against me.”
Raising an eyebrow, Alistar adopted a sly smile and leaned his weight against his practice sword, which he had just stabbed into the ground. “Are you sure you’re not just mad that I cut your cane?”
His weight gave way and he fell to the ground, only to find that the bottom of his sword had been cleanly severed from the rest of the weapon. As far as he could tell, Tramon hadn’t moved in the slightest.
“You’re decades away from being able to talk to me like that, boy.”