The training yard of the Aver Capital's Adventurers Guild, usually a scene of boisterous activity, was eerily silent. The late afternoon sun cast long, dramatic shadows across the packed earth, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the nearby trees and the occasional, distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer. This was a closed test, a private proving ground. Only four figures occupied the space: William, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs; Yegun Fastblade, his opponent, a coiled spring of lethal grace; Borin, the Guildmaster, the examiner, his weathered face betraying nothing of his thoughts; and Julia, her anxiety a palpable presence, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her gaze flitting between William and the large, ten-minute sand timer that stood on a small wooden table, a silent countdown to either triumph or failure.
William gripped the hilt of his practice sword, the blunt, unsharpened steel feeling heavy and unfamiliar in his hand. It was heavier than the one he'd been training with, the added weight a safety precaution, designed to prevent serious injury. William had chosen a simple long sword, a weapon designed for thrusting and parrying, well balanced for the defensive strategy that William intended to leverage. It wasn't elegant, but it was, he hoped, practical. His armour, the same padded leather jerkin and reinforced plates he'd been given upon arriving in Sharwood, offered some protection, but it wouldn't stop a determined blow. A solid strike, even with a blunted blade, could still break bones, could still incapacitate. For someone of Yegun’s experience, even a blunt practice sword could cause serious bruising, if not fracture a rib with techniques which could come from any angle.
Across from him, Yegun Fastblade stood relaxed, almost nonchalant, his posture betraying none of the tension that gripped William. He was a man of medium height and build, lean and wiry, his muscles honed by years of rigorous training, his movements fluid and economical. He wore light leather armour, prioritizing agility over protection, his forearms and shins bare, revealing sinewy muscles that rippled beneath tanned skin. There were no visible scars on him, a testament to his defensive skills, to his ability to evade, to parry, to deflect blows that would have felled lesser warriors. His short sword, even in its blunted practice form, looked like an extension of his arm, a deadly instrument wielded with effortless grace.
Yegun’s usual short sword, with a razor sharp edge, was swapped out for a blunted version. The practice sword was slightly heavier and with blunted edges, approximately 15% heavier, which could potentially impact Yegun's renowned speed. It was a subtle change, one that a less observant opponent might overlook, but William, with his analytical mind and his access to EMMA, had noted it immediately. It was a small advantage, perhaps, but in a fight where every detail mattered, it was a factor to be considered. The slight difference in weight and balance might, just might, throw off Yegun's timing, disrupt his rhythm, create an opening.
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Yegun's face was unreadable, his expression carefully neutral, betraying none of his thoughts, none of his emotions. But William, trained in the subtle art of reading body language, detected a hint of confidence, a quiet assurance that bordered on arrogance. He knew he was the superior fighter, the seasoned veteran facing a novice, the odds overwhelmingly in his favour. But he wasn't underestimating William. Not entirely. He was a professional, a warrior who had survived countless battles, who understood the dangers of complacency, of taking any opponent lightly. He would be cautious, observant, respectful of the potential threat, however small it might seem.
Borin, standing to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the two combatants, cleared his throat. "The rules are simple," he announced, his voice gravelly and authoritative. "No killing blows. No intentional strikes to the head or groin. The test ends when the timer runs out, or when one of you yields, or is incapacitated. Yegun, your objective is to land a decisive blow, a strike that, with a sharpened blade, would have caused a significant injury. William, your objective is to survive. For ten minutes. Do you both understand?"
William and Yegun nodded, their eyes locked, their minds focused on the task ahead.
Borin gestured towards the sand timer, the fine grains of sand already flowing steadily from the upper chamber to the lower, a visual representation of the fleeting seconds, of the limited time William had to prove himself. "Begin!"
The word hung in the air, a catalyst, a trigger, unleashing the tension that had been building within the small enclosure. But, contrary to William's expectations, Yegun didn't immediately launch into a furious assault. He didn't charge across the training yard, his sword a blur of motion, seeking to overwhelm his opponent with a relentless barrage of attacks. Instead, he moved slowly, deliberately, circling William, his eyes narrowed, assessing his stance, his footwork, his grip on the sword, searching for weaknesses, for openings, for any sign of inexperience.
It was a tactic William hadn't anticipated, a display of patience and calculation that belied Yegun's reputation for speed and aggression. The B-rank adventurer was taking his time, studying his opponent, refusing to underestimate the unknown quantity that was William Shard. He was treating this not as a mere test, but as a genuine encounter, a fight with a potentially dangerous adversary. This was the worst type of opponent for William, a cool, calm and collected opponent who didn’t rush and didn’t make mistakes that William could leverage.
William, for his part, remained in a defensive posture, his sword held in a two-handed grip, his body angled slightly, his weight balanced, his eyes fixed on Yegun's every move. He'd anticipated an immediate attack, a furious onslaught, and he'd prepared himself for it, mentally and physically. But this slow, deliberate circling, this silent assessment, was unnerving, unsettling, a different kind of pressure, a test of his nerves rather than his reflexes.
