He threw the wooden sword from hand to hand, familiarizing himself with the weight and how it moved. It was a lot lighter than the metal sword he had picked up in Kinji’s workshop. It also lacked refinement, having a very angular form, and was riddled with scratches and dents from the many times it was wielded.

  “You going to swing that thing at the air all day, or are you going to come at me?” Luran barked, pointing the tip of his sword in his direction.

  “Come at you? I don’t even know what I’m doing,” Thomas explained, flicking his sword at the air like he was trying to swat a dozy fly. “Like I said before, I’ve never swung a sword.”

  “Perfect time to start!” Luran said, smiling. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you… too badly.” Somehow, he figured Luran’s too badly, and his were rather different. He had a quick look around for any sign of Akesh. Surely this wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but the tall ekari was across the training area correcting the form of another warrior. He wouldn’t be of any help.

  “Come on. I don’t have all day. Come at me,” Luran demanded, growing impatient as he tapped his foot. He could always refuse. Lay down his sword and ask for instruction from someone else, but where would that get him?

  He didn’t want to add coward to the list of perceived characteristics that the ekari had branded him with. And besides, before him stood one of the most able warriors in the village. It didn’t pass his notice that when Akesh referenced the village’s strongest, he looked directly at Luran. If he wanted to learn the sword, he would likely receive no better instructor besides Akesh himself. The fact that this instructor hated him was beside the point.

  He advanced, holding the sword firmly in both hands. By his estimation, it was a one-handed sword as the grip was too small for two, yet despite this, he elected to hold it with both. He deduced Luran was a much stronger opponent, so he would need additional muscle to defend whatever came his way; therefore, overlapping one hand over the other seemed like the best option. Luran noticed the decision, a smile breaking out across his face.

  “Are you sure you want to hold your sword like that?” Luran teased. Naturally, doubt seeped into him, but he didn’t change his grip. He’d at least try his strategy. Luran could well be baiting him.

  Holding his sword upright directly in front of the center of his body, he stopped just short of what he perceived to be striking range. Here, he held, waiting to see if Luran would react. Luran did, but not in the way he had expected. Rather than a crushing blow that split his sword in two, Luran yawned and looked off into the distance, not the least bit threatened. What an arrogant bastard.

  He took a small step forward, trying to force Luran to attack.

  He didn’t.

  And then another small step.

  Still no reaction.

  At this point, he was certain he was within striking range, and if Luran wouldn’t attack, then he would. Shifting his weight from his back leg to his front leg, he slashed through the air in a diagonal motion.

  As the wooden blade hurtled towards Luran’s mid-section, the ekari seemed displeased, more concerned with giving Thomas a scowl than defending himself. Just as it appeared he would let the strike land, he lifted his sword with such grace and precision that he appeared more calligrapher than swordsman. His sword rose to meet Thomas’s, and deflected it from its intended path, causing the weapon's momentum to carry him downward. Before he could even attempt to right himself, Luran punished him with a crunching knee to the gut.

  He slumped to the ground, clawing at the grass for air. He had not long recovered from the kick, causing this blow to have an even more profound effect. As he lay writhing in agony, Luran paced about the training area, twirling his sword while waiting for him to recover. When he took his first breath of air, the lecture began.

  “Do you know why I beat you just now?”

  Thomas continued to lie on the ground until the pain became manageable, and then rose to one knee.

  “Are you a lunatic?! You might have broken a rib! How is this training?!” he boiled, chucking his sword at Luran like a boomerang. Luran flicked the sword away without looking.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “If you’ll recall, I said I wouldn’t hurt you too badly, and I’m a man of my word. Your ribs aren’t broken, you’re just being dramatic—I know my own strength. I’ll ask again, what did you do wrong?” Thomas rose to his feet, baring his teeth.

  “I wielded the sword with two hands instead of one. When you deflected my strike, it put me off-balance. If I had my other arm free, I might have been able to remain standing,” he sneered. But who was he kidding? The result would have been the same. There was no way he was reacting to that knee. Nonetheless, it was the response he suspected Luran wanted to hear.

  “Good, human. Although even a child could tell the same. The next time I instruct you to do something, you listen,” Luran scalded, picking up Thomas’s sword and throwing it back to him. “Go again!”

  He caught the sword and charged without delay. This time, he would try a different approach.

  One of his favorite moves from his MMA days was the feint, which baited out attacks that could be countered. He suspected that if it worked with hand-to-hand striking, it probably worked with swords too.

  He imitated a powerful overhead slash before quickly cancelling the strike, readying to defend or counterattack if he saw an opportunity, but he never got the chance. Somehow, Luran had seen right through his little plan and grasped his wrist as it slowed.

  “A feint, eh? Not bad. But not nearly good enough,” he condemned, smacking him over the top of the head with the flat of his sword. Dazed, he stumbled backward, clutching his pulsating head.

  “How did you know I was going to do that?” he asked, irritated. Luran sniggered,

  “Call it an educated guess. You opened with another big attack the first time, and look where that got you.” He considered the point, but wasn’t entirely sold. It had to be his reaction time, right? That was the more likely explanation. Regardless, he needed to be more unpredictable; that was the only way he’d ever land a blow on such a distinguished warrior.

  Thirteen more times he attacked Luran, and thirteen more times he ended up with a face full of dirt. With each exchange, he had opted for a different strategy, a sideways strike here, a thrust there, but with each clash, he was bested with but a single blow and knocked to the ground. It was only on the ninth occasion that he was able to block one of Luran’s attacks, a counter slash aimed at his shoulder.

  Bailing from his thrust, he raised his hand and flipped his wrist downward so that the sword shielded his shoulder. It caught Luran’s slash, but the momentum carried his own sword into his arm. Had it been made of metal rather than wood, it undoubtedly would have penetrated his flesh. Fortunately, for him, it wasn’t. Yet before he could respond with a counterattack, Luran hooked his ankle with his foot and grounded him. He may have lost in two strikes rather than one, but he considered it a small victory. Although minuscule was probably a more apt description.

  “Not great, human… but not bad. You defended one of my strikes, which is one more than I expected. Time to teach you the fundamentals of swordplay.”

  “Shouldn’t we have started with that? You know. Before you beat me black and blue?” he said, scowling as he rubbed his injured side.

  “Nonsense. Every person must be humbled before they can truly wield a sword. Out there, there aren’t any second chances,” he explained, motioning to the forest. “You’ll be thankful for this little lesson. That I can guarantee you. Far too many headstrong swordsmen have died charging off into silly battles because they overestimate their abilities.”

  His scowl softened, taking the advice on board. He was in no rush to die a second time.

  “And what is out there?” he probed, fearful of the answer. He’d seen but two creatures in the forest, and they were the two most terrifying things he’d ever seen. What if they were just the tip of the iceberg? He shuddered at the thought. Luran sheathed his sword.

  “All sorts. Things a human like you wouldn’t believe… well, you at least saw the nightspawn, but there are things worse than those lurking in the forest.”

  “Nightspawn? Is that the creature you saved me from?”

  “The very same,” he said, crossing his arms. “Hellish creatures. They come from another world like you. At least, that’s what we think. You see that rift up there?” he asked, pointing to a jagged parting in the sky. “They pour out of there at sundown. No one can survive against their numbers. As soon as the sun recedes, the forest is theirs. It’s a miracle you lasted as long as you did. If you weren’t a half-decent runner, you’d be dead for sure.”

  “I uh, never did thank you for that… I know you don’t like me… that much you’ve made very clear, but you saved my life, and I won’t forget it.” Luran waved his hand dismissively.

  “Quit it. I despise grovelling. Yes, I saved your life, but don’t rely on me to do so again. If you want to survive, you'd best obtain strength. That starts with mastering the sword.”

  Luran proceeded to explain and demonstrate the fundamentals of swordsmanship, covering stance, footwork, defense, and offense. He was a good teacher, breaking it down in a way that even a child could understand. Thomas soaked up the information like a sponge and was eager to put it into practice.

  The outcome was largely the same. Luran bested him with ease each time, but he at least felt like he knew what he was doing to some degree. He was also well aware that Luran had ceased knocking him to the ground each time. Instead, he opted to strike him with his sword, which wasn’t nearly as painful as he was pulling his blows. Whether he had grown tired of laying beatdowns on him or had decided that he had got his message across about the dangers of overconfident swordfighters, he wasn’t sure.