Diya studied his opponent. Bram had a firm grip on the dulled metal sword, and his training gear though clean, appeared well worn. Baba rarely exaggerated a student’s abilities, too, so Bram wouldn’t be easy to stomp. Diya wandered over to the weapons rack and studied the options. It was no surprise that a diverse variety of swords populated most of it.

Baba was most probably right. Diya’s skills with the talwar, short sword and fencing sabre had deteriorated in the two years since he gave up on the blade. He didn’t like Bram’s attitude and wanted to show off, so he picked one of the two weapons he used while hunting—a quarterstaff. Baba clenched his jaw, but Bram smirked. Staves had a distinct advantage over swords, but Bram most likely knew that. He armed himself with a saucer-sized buckler and took a defensive stance.

Diya knew better than to taunt his ‘betters’ vocally, but that didn’t mean he had to hold back during a sparring match. He lazily twirled the weapon, threw it up into the air with his left hand, and then caught it in his right. Diya smiled at Bram as if they had spotted each other while out for a walk in the gardens of Noble’s Ring.

As expected, Bram eventually lost his patience and charged in. Diya side-stepped the thrust and smacked his opponent’s sword arm while passing. Baba would lose a student if he hit too hard, so he held back. Bram licked his teeth, glaring at Diya and followed up with a slash. The sword tip missed by a finger’s width.

“Uh, oh!” Diya feigned concern at the near hit and pretended to drop the staff. Baba cleared his throat. He had reprimanded his son in the past for not taking sparring seriously. Diya sighed, bothering to block Bram’s following thrusts and slashes instead of dancing around him.

“A man’s blade might dull, but his footwork will never leave him,” Baba used to say before a creature on the twenty-fifth floor took his left leg. It was the one bit of advice Diya took to heart. No matter what weapon he practised, the footwork Baba had drilled into him translated into all forms of combat.

Bram’s onslaught got faster and more robust. Baba was right about him. The Van Wijk heir had talent. His practised breathing helped him keep control while his pale cheeks reddened. Diya knew if he wanted to come out on top, the first thing he needed to do was throw Bram off. Diya could tell that his opponent had never been in a fight with real consequences. He lacked the caution that came after one had survived several life-or-death scenarios.

When the lesser noble committed to a thrust on his left leg, Diya stepped into the attack. He slipped one end of the quarterstaff behind Bram’s ankle and locked it into a crack in the floor. All Diya had to do to floor his opponent was a simple shoulder check.

“You don’t fight fair!” Bram snarled, jumping back onto his feet. “A stave isn’t a weapon you should use for a duel.”

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“He’s right, Udit.” Baba sighed. “Pick something else, please.”

Diya raised an eyebrow.

Isn't this what Baba wants? Bram needs a reality check, so he continues to pay the famous Sword Master Sen for fencing practice.

“Fine. How about an axe?” Diya returned the quarterstaff to the weapons rack and picked the only chopping weapon it housed. The dulled head was no bigger than his hand, and the haft matched his forearm in length. Besides the beard's size, the horseman's axe was a near match to the weapon he carried. Unlike a sword, it served purposes outside of combat.

Baba narrowed his eyes but nodded. On the other hand, Bram appeared pleased. Now he had the longer range. He charged as soon as Diya was in position. Diya had to remind himself not to parry. If the dulled blade slid down the axe’s haft and struck his hand, it would leave him with broken fingers. So he alternated between dodging and warning swings. Occasionally Bram would use his buckler to try to evade, but the fool didn’t realise that Diya wasn’t committing to any of his half-hearted attacks.

Bram had to be one of Baba’s newer students if he thought all the apprentices were weaklings. There were several who would’ve floored Diya twice already. He theorised that the Van Wijk heir was used to being the best around. His confidence and ego had swelled larger than his feathered hair. Bram didn’t have a tattoo on his hands or arms either. Which meant he hadn’t started climbing yet or was struggling to get a spirit, too.

Diya caught Bram off guard by hopping forward and thrusting the axe at his face. Most human opponents forgot that a one-handed axe was more than for just slashing and cleaving. There was a reason that the haft extended past the head. Much to Diya’s surprise, the wide-eyed nobleman ducked through the attack and jabbed a fist into his kidney. He staggered backwards and caught a glimpse of a smile on Baba’s face.

He wants to use my love of putting down spoilt rich kids to lure me back to training.

The axe’s haft stopped Bram’s next downward swing. Diya pulled downwards, catching the blade under the axe's head. Since he didn’t have a staff, he hooked Bram’s ankle with his own and stepped forward. It floored the arrogant fool once again, and he yelped, releasing the sword. Diya had slowed the attack at the last moment, so it didn’t break any bones.

“Thank you for the spar, Master Bram,” he said, offering his opponent a hand. “It's been a while since I’ve faced an opponent as challenging as you.”

Baba knew that was a lie, of course. Of all of Baba's students he'd faced, Alexander was the most skilled and outclassed Diya, and they sparred semi-regularly. They usually ended in the former’s victory. Baba didn’t say anything in front of his new student.

“If you stick around, Master Bram, you’ll get to spar my more skilled apprentices,” Baba said, taking the axe out of Diya’s hand. “They’ll face you with swords, axes, maces and staves. When climbing, you won’t get to choose your opponent, and the beasts are whole another story. Mastery of the sword only begins with dominating people using the same weapon as you. You need to learn how to adapt and overcome a variety of opponents.”

When Diya looked up, he found Alexander and his father, Graham Boleyn, watching them from an overhanging balcony. The pair grinned and, the latter waved him up. Diya thanked Bram once again and excused himself. He could tell that Baba wanted him to stick around for a while longer, but he had more interesting things to do. Since there was a chance of running into Victoria, Diya splashed water on his face and finger-combed his messy hair.