Iron Sword

"You are of no use to me. Leave, nurse," Hubert's voice echoed through the training yard.

The wind blew, flying westward, carrying strands of her hair as she stood still, her fingers fidgeting nervously, cold. A pair of eyes filled with hope, one with worry, though plagued.

Hubert stood his ground, and though his heart ached and his mind screamed, he clenched his fist, knowing he had made the right decision. A decision that voided all the feelings he had for her. Love, friendship, and care, all disappearing within the last few words coming out his mouth.

A facade of his curved brows, eyes that were staring still, blazing with sureness. A sight that spooked her feelings, one that made her leave as her eyelids flickered for one last time, and her feet turned. Her back showed to him.

"Thank you," she muttered one last time, her shoulder, thin, shaking.

Hubert was left alone yet again as her stature and presence disappeared into the farness, between the jungle of structures of the academy.

"Was that the right decision?" Veronica came from behind him, biting the pipe as she kept it in her mouth.

Hubert turned around, unbothered by her sudden appearance.

"It must be," as he placed his hand on his sword's handle.

She smirked, pulling out her pipe, the smoke slithering out from within its chamber.

"Eager. Let's start then," she said.

And he unsheathed his sword, hanging loosely from a sword's belt he was given by Dareon.

"No," she said as the sword was halfway out.

Hubert stopped, awaiting instructions. Though confused, his facade remained calm and resolved, trusting her.

"Here," she pulled out a sword from behind her, one he knew not where she kept at. Her arm was extended, her finger pinching the blade's end of the sword, the grip facing toward Hubert.

Hubert's eyes glinted off the metallic surface, bouncing out the moonlight. Its handle was made of wood, wrapped in untanned leather, ragged and rough, welcoming every grip anyone offered to it.

"This…?" his hand hovered over the grip, not yet touching it.

"Yes," she said, surely.

His finger slid around the air before finally landing on the handle and wrapping itself around it, sternly. Rough, it felt, but secure, and tight as he pulled the sword from Veronica's embrace and placed it in front of him.

It was a broadsword, one handed, as tall only as his torso length, made of iron, smitten by a normal blacksmith. Its pommel was rounded, and its guard was a thin line, ending with a diamond shaped structure on both ends.

"Recently made?" he asked, noticing the unchipped blade, straight and upright, almost in perfect condition.

"Ho? You noticed? I told the academy's blacksmith to make one, though it seems basic, it will do the job, for now," she retorted, pulling the pipe closer to her lips as she took another inhale of fresh smoke.

He stood, examining the sword. It was a normal one, a sturdy weapon, but not one that the knight fancied. At most, one used by senior members of the watchman and some mercenaries in their fights. 

It was as if the blade was calling for him and as if the grip was embracing him, not letting go for even a mere second. And it was his own self too, as he knew it, that began developing feelings for the weapon and all its comfort.

"My first sword…" he dragged, hovering his thoughts over it, such a treasure.

"First?" her tone jumped.

He nodded.

Her expression turned, a smirk formed.

"Then, what are you waiting for, a sword wouldn't cut if it's not used to," she said as a flutter of smoke came from her mouth and dispersed as they followed the night's wind.

His eyes blazed within, the black pair of pupils gleamed, energized. Step by step, he took toward the nearest innocent dummy, fixed to the ground by its wooden pole.

"Remember your training, Hubert," Veronica muttered, watching from the sidelines, an arm crossed, another holding the pipe. Her midnight blue dress as if representing her feelings, waiting patiently and anticipatingly, cold but bold.

His left foot forward, his left foot taking a step back, his center of mass lowered, his tendons and joints warmed, and his muscles readied. Every part of his body was like a bunch of tools working together.

A form he had formed since his first day of training, based on the one that Ron showed him, upright and strong. And the one that the first hall master taught, gentle and quick. Mixed together.

"Sword pointing to the dummy," he muttered as he did.

Ready.

The night's wind blowing, the leaves falling and scattering, the moon watching, and the dummy clenching. Time was ticking, and the opportunity was approaching. Nearing and nearing.

Until it was the right moment.

Swoosh!

Its head flew, detached from its body, embedded within it, the supporting wooden pole.

"Ha…" he exhaled as he retracted his sword.

Thud

The head fell to the ground behind the dummy.

He held his sword tight, his heartbeat quickening, his eyes hovering over the dummy, the first time he had created such a wound. Then glancing toward his open palm, wondering.

"I-I… did that?"

"You've improved," Veronica praised as she smirked, stepping forward as she lunged her face forward, bending her back as she examined the wound. 

Her fingers ran through the wound, the straws were cut, most were clean, though there were some uneven surfaces and plucking out of the fibers, especially toward the edge of the wound.

"Still…" she straightened her back and faced Hubert, a smile forming on her face, a genuine one.

"A good one…?" Hubert asked, almost hesitating, unprepared for the harsh truth.

But the truth wasn't a harsh one. Revealed by her praising nod.

It was as if a scream formed in him, one that was overflowing, like a wave of water so strong that it was destroying the dam, his facade. And soon, joy came, and the dam broke.

"LET'S GO!!!!!" he screamed from the top of his lungs, his veins popping out as he clenched the sword hard, his prized treasure, his love.

"It seems there will be a lot of headless dummies tonight," she muttered to herself as she took another go with her pipe.

Phew…

The smoke floated into the air, like a bunch of clouds during the day, blanketing the sun's sight from them.

Hubert and Dareon conversed as they sat near the edge of the dormitory building C. A bench detached from the crowd of students, hidden between statutes of manors and structures. Overlooking the treelines where a slight stream of water could be heard in the distance.

"So that's your answer," Dareon said, it was in his break period, where the short hand of the clock was pointing at the number 1.

"I appreciated you… and her… but, I will not allow it, Dareon. If I could, I would, but even her state shows otherwise," Hubert answered, his eyes peering down the sword, shrouded by its scabbard.

"You always could, Hubert," Dareon replied, a statement that was true, one that made Hubert grit his teeth.

And it was the only one that caused silence to be his virtue.

"One thing you're not aware of, Hubert, Ivanna… had always wanted you to start first," Dareon whispered, his voice low and soft.

"Start first?" Hubert asked, turning toward him.

Dareon nodded even without facing him.

"Whenever you were admitted into the infirmary, she had hopes that you flirted with her like how the others did so. And when the three of us were in… broken terms, she too hoped that you to start asking for forgiveness. Even the last time, when you came to her in the infirmary for the wound on your cheek, there, the last chance, the last straw, the last gate before everything was sealed,"

Hubert sat in silence, his back slouched, his face was becoming pale, and his heart began aching, but the milk had turned sour. Dareon was right.

"And you sealed it. Alas. All her hopes now left unfulfilled," Dareon said, standing up from the bench while gripping his glaive's handle.

Hubert thought in silence, a feeling that he was beginning to distance himself from had plagued him once again, emptiness. Dread and doom as if mixed within.

"I know… still," he muttered under his breath. Though his mind and feelings bashed, and his heart as if stabbed by dozens of knives, he stood by one thing.

"Let her weep," said Hubert, standing up from the bench too, in his hand, his now newly dearly loved sword.

"I respect your decision, as your right hand," Dareon looked at him with a straight face, an eye undeterred, almost as if used by this kind of train of thoughts.

"Thank you, let's hope this one won't doom us. If so, I'm glad I didn't bring her over to me," Hubert answered, then the clock rang in the distance, telling of the break's end.

"I'll meet up with you in the afternoon, Hubert," Dareon bid as he turned around, toward a direction opposite of Hubert.

It was then that Dareon noticed his path was blocked.

"Not so fast, don't you think?" a voice of a southern accent, one that made Hubert's ears flicker and sent a shiver down his spine.

"Aadish," Dareon barked.