Days To Remember (II)

We were watching the sky as the clouds moved lazily and the cold breeze indicated the nearing winter.

"What are you both doing?" A deep but smooth voice said as soft footsteps nearned us. A sharp face with grey eyes and black hair looked down on us.

"Father!" I set up straight and looked up at him. Jasper was more slow in the process and did a little head bow.

"So what were you two doing lying here?" He asked. He was wearing his combet attire, meaning he was probably going to train or teach us.

I stood up, brushed the grass of my pants and said, "We were training and sparring but got exhausted and decided to take a break and look at the sky."

"Oh..." he raised an eyebrow and looked at Jasper, who nodded, conferring the statement. 

"Well, good to know. Now," he picked our swords from the ground and threw them at us, "let's start the real training."

He pulled out his sword and both Jasper and I caught ours. 

"There are two types of swordsmanship," he started as he took his stance. We mimic him.

We had heard this lesson every time we learned from him. It's like a mantra to get us into the zone. 

"The first one is the refined and strategic style." He said as he took the stance with a sword in his right hand and his left hand behind him.

He played with the sword a bit, showing us it's thrusts, parries, counters, and footwork-based evasion.

The elegance and smoothness of every strike and thrust were perfect and measured.

It was like he was dancing.

"The philosophy behind this is 'One perfect strike wins the battle.'" He said and pointed the sword at me, "Just like your personality. It's called Rapier Combat."

Then he stopped and relaxed, switching his style.

He held his sword with both hands now. His muscles bulged under the combat shirt. 

His expression was just a bit tighter.

"The second one is more brutal and aggressive." 

He swung his sword from left and right, up and down, diagonally, in a frantic hurry. Going crazy bit by bit with each strike. 

The techniques are wide slashes, crushing blows, two-handed swings, and armored combat. He managed them with such force that the sound of wind cutting could be heard. The grass got crushed with each move. 

"The philosophy behind this is 'Dominate the fight with raw power.'" He said this time pointed the sword at Jasper, "Just like your power. It's called Berserker Combat."

He relaxed and looked at us with a smile. "Now take your stance."

We didn't hesitate. I put the sword in front of me as my left hand went to my back while Jasper widened his stance and grabbed the sword with both hands. 

I was Rapier Combat style.

Jasper was Berserker Combat style.

And we both together will now have to face Father. 

My heartbeats quickened as I waited for the spar to begin. 

The moment Father's guard changed, I knew we were in trouble.

He stood loose, his sword angled downward, his face impassive. But I knew this already—this was the position of a man who knew he could easily overwhelm his enemies.

Jasper and I had a quick exchange of glances.

We had battled side by side a thousand times, but Father was different. He was a force of nature, a swordsman so elegant that every swing, every parry, was second nature to his muscles. There was no time for hesitation.

I breathed out, clenching my hand.

Then, he moved.

Before I could move, Father charged at me head-on, his sword a flash of silver. I just barely avoided him in time, using a careful parry to deflect his charge. But the force of the blow shook my arms, the brute power behind it causing vibrations through my bones.

Jasper seized the moment to strike from the side, coming down with a heavy two-handed blow.

Father dodged with ease.

His sword flashed, crossing with Jasper's mid-swing. There was a resounding clang of steel on steel, and then Jasper stumbled back. Father had contorted his sword mid-parry, letting momentum carry Jasper off balance.

"Too slow," Father whispered, advancing with the next strike.

Jasper just managed to block it in time, and although I attempted to help, Father kept us apart, dictating the fight with his longer reach and footwork.

I clench my teeth.

He wasn't playing games with us—he was taking us apart.

I shifted my stance, waiting for an opportunity. When Father's focus wavered toward Jasper, I charged forward, going straight for his vulnerable side.

It was a feint.

At the last moment, he turned, his sword rising in time to parry my attack. The strength of his counter sent me back, and I staggered.

"Predictable," he sighed.

Jasper snarled in anger and attacked again, but Father stood his ground. His elegant footwork and timely parries repelled Jasper's brawn. With each clash, Jasper's moves grew more frantic, his swings wilder, more wild.

And I—

I was barely managing to keep up.

Father wasn't even puffing, but Jasper and I were already at our limits.

We needed to break through.

I locked eyes with Jasper once more.

An idea flared between us, a thought spoken between us without words.

Jasper changed suddenly.

He shifted from pure power to finessed movement. Instead of raw power, he readjusted his grip and took one step back, his sword moving with methodical precision rather than brute force.

I grasped both fists tighter on my hilt and charged forward, imitating Jasper's former fierceness. Swings became haywire, my footwork denser, earthier.

Father's eyes faltered for a moment with hesitation.

He taught us to battle in our unique ways for years. It had to puzzle him, even just for a millisecond, if only to consider that his apprentices were somehow switched.

And for a moment, that was enough.

Jasper took the initiative—a rapid, elegant strike that sent Father stumbling backward.

I quickly followed up with my own sword, cutting in a rending curve.

Father managed only a moment's worth of avoiding us, but we had broken his pattern.

We were taking over, dictating the speed, for the first time since combat began.

A push of Jasper's blade. A sweeping swing from me.

A forceful stride forward.

A shove.

We were pushing him back.

I caught the flash of laughter in his eyes before it transformed into something keener.

As I was thinking we had him, Father turned around.

His sword curved in a movement so swift it seemed almost nonexistent.

I didn't even have a moment to acknowledge the motion before—

Clang!

My sword was knocked completely out of my hands.

Jasper's came a split second after.

Before we could even move, Father moved between us, his blade pressed lightly against my shoulder and his other hand against Jasper's chest.

Silence.

My breathing came in harsh pants.

Jasper's face was impassive, fists clenching and unclenching.

Father finally let out a breath, sheathing his sword. "Smart," he told me. "You nearly had me there."

I gazed at him, my heart still pounding.

Nearly.

But not quite.

"You switched styles in the middle of battle," he went on, his voice laced with approval. "It's a good tactic—one that I didn't anticipate."

Jasper sighed slowly. "So why did we lose?

Father smiled, sheathing his sword. "Because you flinched for a fraction of a second when I took over."

I sighed, shoulders drooping.

One second.

One second was enough to turn the whole thing around.

"Nevertheless," he said, his gray eyes glinting with a sharp light, "you made me fight seriously for a moment. That is impressive in itself."

I scowled.

'That was him sparring lightly?'

Father grinned at my face, messing up my hair. "Keep practicing, and one day you may actually defeat me."

I huffed but couldn't suppress the tiny smile pulling at my lips.

Jasper, though, just folded his arms. "One day?" he echoed, serious as stone. "I'd like sooner."

His expression was one of contempt, like he was holding back. 

'Weird.'

But Father thought nothing of it and just chuckled. "Then get to work."

Jasper and I looked at each other.

Next time, we wouldn't lose.