It turned out that the smallest volume that I could heat with taazmoydh was a sphere with a radius of around half a millimeter. I experimented with more complex shapes, such as cylinders and cones, but no matter what I did I couldn't shrink the smallest dimension past point five millimeters no matter how hard I tried. It doesn't seem like a hard limit, I thought as I trudged back to the cabin, more like a matter of skill. Looking at the sky I noticed clouds rolling in, so I took the leftover swords and clothing from the crates behind the cabin and brought them inside in case it rained. I'll have to keep in mind that none of these metals are oxidation resistant, I noted. I wasn't really all that tired, but I decided to attempt to sleep anyway after figuring that having an excess of rest would be better than a deficit.
The next morning I rolled out of bed and went to go for the door, but was distracted by the two swords in my cabin. I hadn't thought much of them when I brought them in, but now seeing them in the morning light was drawing my attention. I took one of them and removed the sheath, examining the blade and handle more closely than I had when I was fighting with them. Despite the simplicity of the design it appeared well-made, and a quick test of the blade revealed that it was absolutely razor-sharp which was unusual for the variety of sword that it was.
As I looked over the weapon I noticed that, on the side of the pommel, there was a small icon embossed into the metal of both weapons. It looked like a shield of some sort with two tubes extending from the top, and was around two centimeters squared in size. Symbol of their group maybe? I wondered, The village leaders were very shocked about the guards' deaths, so it might be best to find out who they are. I knew that the people of this region had some system of writing, but I hadn't come across it yet so for all I knew it could have been a letter or pictogram with linguistic meaning. I guess I could ask someone, I thought, slipping the sword into a loop on the waist of my pants and heading out to the creek.
One quick wash-up later I made my way back into the village, passing by my cabin and heading for the more populated areas. As was now quite usual, the people tried to both observe me and look like they were ignoring me at the same time. I noticed that the women were usually the ones who were whispering and talking about me, while the men had mostly icy stares. I looked around for someone I could recognize but saw nobody, so I picked a human at random and approached them.
“You,” I said, pointing to the pudgy-looking human man. He froze as soon as my finger locked onto him, allowing me to approach quickly. “Tell me, what does this symbol mean?” I asked, partially drawing the sword at my hip to show him the pictogram. I barely even finished my sentence before he bolted away, ducking between two houses and yelling something incoherent as he fled. It's not like I approached with weapon drawn, I sighed, I just don't understand these people. How do they even survive when they're like this?
I unsuccessfully approached two more humans: a woman who also fled from me though in a less panicked manner than the first man, and another man who looked at the symbol but said that he didn't recognize it. I thanked him for his time, trying to be polite, which caused a few people around me to inhale in apparent surprise. I need to find Mpahray, Mihvay, or maybe that woman Dayvao, I concluded, Considering that they're guards, there must be a guard post somewhere around here. I wandered around the inner ring for around an hour until I heard the sound of someone grunting as well as impacts of some kind. Smiling, I headed in the direction of the noise.
The source of the noise was a building on the outskirts of the inner ring which had a large fenced-off yard behind it. I walked around the outside of the wooden fence looking for an indication that it was okay to enter, and found that there was a significant gap in the fence that easily permitted me to pass through. Taking this as a sign that the area was at least not supposed to be a secure zone, I crossed inside and walked over to the source of the noise.
A man was standing in a fighting position with a sword, striking at a dummy made of wood and straw. His concentration was so intense that he didn't react to my approach even though I passed inside his sight line, and I stopped a few paces away to watch his practice. That sword has a very different construction style than mine, I thought as I observed the weapon. Unlike the straight longsword-style weapon I was holding, the man's sword was more like an enlarged scimitar. Still intended to be used with two hands, but made for chopping and slashing exclusively. For a few minutes I watched the man practice strike sequences on the dummy, taking notes about his footwork and style, until he sighed loudly and turned towards me.
“What do you want?” the man sighed through gritted teeth, clearly annoyed. His body was slick with sweat from his practice and now that he had stopped moving he was breathing rather heavily.
“Do you know much about swords?” I asked, trying to open the conversation with a lighter topic than my real objective like I had seen other humans do in the village.
“Nope,” the man replied, “so why don't you go bother someone else?” He was less rude than Pae'eyl, but I could tell that the rebuke was intended to be slightly provocative.
“I'd rather keep watching,” I replied firmly. The man narrowed his eyes and I saw him look at the sword on my hip. One on one, I think I can take you, I taunted him silently. “I was just observing your fighting style,” I added, “I'm not very experienced with swords.”
“I'm not going to be your teacher,” the man grunted as he turned back to the dummy, “especially not if you fight with a sword like that.” His derisive remark towards my weapon irked me for some reason even though I knew it shouldn't. He stepped in, delivering two overhead chops to the dummy's shoulders with his large scimitar, in between which he added a slight spinning flourish motion. I stayed silent and watched as he tried the move repeatedly, each time flourishing between the strikes.
“That move could be faster,” I thought out loud, trying to re-open the conversation. The man gritted his teeth and struck the dummy hard, embedding his blade into it so it would stay in without him holding it. He let go and turned towards me, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
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“Are you even supposed to be here?” he snapped. “Who let you in? Zhihyb?”
“Vowteyz,” I lied, assuming that the experienced guard's name would hold some weight. The man paused, a mixture of shock and annoyance showing in his eyes, then he sighed hard and looked at the ground.
“How can you possibly know if the move can be faster when you said yourself that you don't know much about swords?” he asked, restrained exasperation audible in his voice. Interesting that he believed me, I thought.
“The flourish you do when you withdraw the weapon after the first hit,” I explained, “it adds around a quarter of a second to the total length of the move. You only do it because you lack the upper body strength, or you believe you lack the upper body strength, to push directly against the motion to change the blade’s momentum. You should try removing the spin, you would have around a third of a second per each pair of strikes.”
“What's a sehkahnd?” the man asked. I held up a hand and tapped my index finger and thumb together at a beat of approximately one tap per second. “Are you joking?” the man scoffed, “You said yourself you don’t know anything about swords. Are you just trying to pick a fight?” I said I didn’t know much, not that I knew nothing, I corrected him mentally.
“Your horizontal strikes are also poorly angled,” I continued. “You need to extend the blade more to allow it to impact your target at a perpendicular angle, even I can tell that. As they are now they would only inflict a shallow wound instead of one that could damage internal organs.” As I spoke I was learning just as much as I was instructing, however the man I was speaking to was taking the feedback badly. If he attacks me, I can at least get some experience, I thought, he probably wouldn’t try to kill me.
“This from a forest man who barely knows how to swing a sword,” the man hissed. “What's next? I should dive on my opponent's blade and choke them to death? Swing the sword like a club and destroy my own weapon? Give me a break. What fools the elders must have been to hire you to help us.” The man turned back to the dummy, pulled out his sword, and practiced the overhead strike again. Despite his protest he appeared to be trying to eliminate the flourish from his strikes, and the strikes were faster without it. He probably only did that out of habit from when his arms were weaker, I noted, that or the bone stress from eliminating it is unpleasant.
“You're right that I'm not good with swords,” I said, “but I have been trained to fight with fists, spears, knives, and batons. Many of the principles are the same, but the actual motions are different. I don't have enough practice to know how to use a sword effectively just yet, but I can clearly see that you're doing some things wrong.” The man sighed and stopped, placing the blunt side of his sword over his shoulder and stepping back from the dummy.
“You know what?” he asked. “Why don't you hit the dummy and I'll tell you what you're screwing up.” The man's tone indicated that what he was suggesting was a challenge, and I was happy to oblige him. Drawing my weapon I approached the dummy until I was within striking range. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man smirking, and for some reason this gave me the urge to attempt to shock him. I guess I can see if this one is forged as poorly as the two that broke during the fight, I thought with a quiet grunt.
I drew my blade up over my right shoulder, then delivered a powerful diagonal strike across the dummy. The blade bucked in my hand as it cut into the straw, then split the wood below. I pulled away, continuing the motion but making the strike's deep gash turn shallow so I could withdraw the blade, then chambered the reverse strike above my lift shoulder. Again I cut the straw and split the wood, and again I drew the blade out early and used the momentum of my previous strike to chamber the next. For the final strike, I swung horizontally at the neck of the dummy, burying the middle of my blade halfway into the log in its center and nearly ripping it out of the ground from the force I used. With a tug I freed my sword, then sheathed it, and glanced over at the man who was grinning submissively.
“Well?” I prompted. Internally, I was surprised that the weapon held together. Very inconsistent quality, I thought, maybe an early attempt at mass production? Or just poor metal reserves and techniques.
“I, uh, I'm not really sure what to say,” he mumbled, “I really couldn't judge... er... that without a spar so... anyhow I should get going.” He began to turn to leave but I had other ideas.
“I'll agree to spar if you do,” I said immediately after the man had stopped speaking. I know he wants to get a chance after I provoked him so much, I thought with a half-smile, He's also more skilled than I am, so this should be a decent learning experience. Plus, with our rapid healing ability, there is little need to hold back. The man closed his eyes and scrunched his face up as if in pain from resisting something. Well now, they are like their betters in at least one way, I grinned internally. Warbreed were infamously susceptible to such challenges, and it appeared that these humans also shared that vulnerability in part.
“You do know how to spar, right?” the man asked nervously.
“Are there rules beyond not killing or permanently maiming the opponent?” I asked, “I'd presume that we would also wear less clothing, so it would not be ruined.” The man went from nervous to serious very quickly, and nodded.
“In a spar you can surrender,” the man replied. “You can fight hard if you want to, but it's not like there's anything on the line. You're serious about the not killing part, right?”
“I'll do my best to keep you alive,” I deadpanned, “I doubt you pose enough of a threat to me for you to need to keep my safety in mind.” I want to make sure he actually tries to harm me, I thought, there would be no point to this otherwise. He pointed to an area of ground that had been cleared of grass and had a large circle drawn in the dirt, and I nodded in understanding.
We both entered the circle and stood on opposite ends. The man and I began removing clothing, and the man was surprised to see my metal breastplate come off underneath my clothes. It’s not even that form-fitting, I sighed, anyone with a keen eye could have spotted it. Once we were both standing in not much more than loincloths, the man entered the ring and stood approximately halfway between the outer edge and the center. Taking the cue from him, I did the same, holding my sword out in a ready position.
“We go until surrender or one of us can't fight,” the man said as he stretched his shoulders and got into a ready position with his scimitar.
“So until you give up, right?” I goaded. The man responded by yelling and running at me.