A lesson in weakness

A looming figure stood before him, forming a solid silhouette against the backdrop of the evening sky. 

It was as if the very air thickened around his presence, wrapping him in an aura of quiet menace.

Kaden Vaelwyn, Vice-Captain of the Stormont Guard.

Caelith hurriedly stood up, ignoring the pain, and bowed his head in respect.

He was a man carved from war itself—built like a fortress, unshaken by time or battle. 

His sleeveless tunic revealed arms layered with thick muscle and crisscrossed with scars, remnants of a lifetime spent on the battlefield.

 His stance was effortless yet firm, a warrior who did not need to flaunt his strength because it was already understood.

But it wasn't just his presence that made him dangerous.

It was his eyes.

Deep-set and dark as storm clouds, they held a piercing intelligence, as if he could see through flesh and bone, straight into the soul of the man standing before him.

And right now, they were filled with something Caelith could not decide if he despised or needed.

Pity.

"You've never been trained a day in your life, and it's evident," Kaden muttered. His voice was rough as gravel, carrying the weight of someone who had long abandoned the need for pleasantries.

Caelith, still sore from the day's training, clenched his fists but said nothing.

Kaden sighed. "You want to survive, boy? You're going to need more than just stubbornness."

Caelith met his gaze, defiance flickering in his weary eyes. "Then…train me."

Kaden scoffed, arms crossing over his broad chest. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you wouldn't be talking to me if I were truly hopeless."Caelith shot back, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

A beat of silence. hung in the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, Kaden let out a low chuckle.

"No, I simply came to ridicule you" he admitted, though his expression remained unreadable. 

He glanced at the distant watchtower, where a handful of guards were stationed. "I've seen plenty of green recruits who thought raw effort was enough to make them strong. They broke before they could ever prove themselves."

Caelith exhaled, feeling his window of opportunity closing. 

"I don't need kindness. I don't need you to believe in me. I just need the chance to fight back."

Kaden studied him for a long moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away.

"That has nothing to do with me."

Caelith grimaced, his being filled with regret. 

"What if I have talent?" Caelith spoke, his eyes sharp on Kaden's back.

A laugh escaped Kaden's lips, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked back at the groveling mongrel.

"You? A worthless bastard with no blessing and no training worth mentioning?"

The retort was cold and true.

Caelith however, was indignant. He had noticed the amusement in Kaden's eyes when he spoke back so he decided to ride it.

"Then I'll defeat you." The words left Caelith's lips before he could consider their weight. Instant regret washed over him.

'Challenging a four star? have I gone insane?'

Kaden however did not turn to face him.

"Be at the guards' courtyard when the night bells toll," he said, voice laced with finality. "If you're late, don't bother coming at all."

And with a step, he was gone.

Caelith stood in the cooling air, his heart pounding. This was it. A chance. And he would not waste it.

The night continued until the night bells rang.

Caelith was of course, on time.

The guards' courtyard was unlike the noble training grounds.

It was harsher, more brutal—made for war, not for show. The stone tiles were uneven and worn from years of real combat, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat, steel, and old blood.

It was empty at this hour, save for one man.

Kaden stood in the center, arms crossed as he waited. At his feet lay two wooden training swords, worn from countless drills.

"You showed up," he said.

Caelith nodded.

"Good," Kaden continued. "Pick up the sword."

Caelith did as he was told, gripping the wooden weapon with stiff fingers. 

The weight was unfamiliar, but he refused to let it show.

 He had trained vigorously each day, practicing his footwork and movements, but this was different. This was real.

Without warning, Kaden moved.

CRACK.

A sharp pain exploded in Caelith's ribs as the training sword struck him with brutal efficiency.

 He stumbled, barely catching himself before hitting the ground. 

The impact sent a jolt through his body, but he quickly pushed the pain aside.

"Too slow," Kaden said flatly.

Caelith gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance.

He remembered the drills he had practiced alone, the countless hours spent honing his reflexes. Another strike came—this time aimed at his legs.

He barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as Kaden's sword sliced past him.

 But Kaden was relentless; he twisted his wrist, sending another vicious blow straight into Caelith's shoulder. 

The pain burned through his arm, but he refused to fall.

Gathering his resolve, Caelith summoned the brute force he had honed over countless hours of solitary training.

 He drew back and swung downwards with all his might, aiming to gain the upper hand.

The wooden sword sliced through the air with a fierce whoosh, striking down toward Kaden.

 But instead of meeting its mark, Kaden sidestepped, gliding out of reach while Caelith's momentum carried him forward, leaving him off-balance.

Kaden raised his foot knocking the boy to the ground

 "You're stubborn. I'll give you that."

Caelith panted, sweat already forming on his brow despite the night's chill. "I see, strength… isn't everything, right?" he muttered, finding a flicker of confidence in his voice.

Kaden smirked. "So you were listening."

He stepped back, tossing his wooden sword to the ground.

 "Physical training is just one piece of the puzzle." 

"The nobles you'll be fighting? They've been learning since they were five—combat, history, war tactics, magic theory".

 "You don't just lack strength, boy. You lack knowledge."

Kaden stepped back, his gaze sharp and assessing. 

"Now, let's talk about sword styles. Each style has its own philosophy and approach, and understanding these differences is crucial for your growth as a fighter."

He began pacing slowly, his voice taking on a teaching tone, his hands gesturing as he spoke. 

"Take the Ivalian style, for example; It prioritizes agility and deception."

"Practitioners rely on quick footwork, allowing them to evade strikes while looking for openings in their opponent's guard. You'll need to learn to move lightly on your feet—to pivot, slide, and dodge with ease."

Caelith nodded, recalling how he had often practiced footwork, but he recognized his movements sometimes lacked the fluidity required for true agility.

 "Right. I've been working on that," he admitted, "but I always seem to overcommit when I strike."

Kaden's eyes narrowed slightly. "Exactly. Overcommitting leaves you vulnerable".

 "When you strike, you need to maintain your balance, ready to retreat or defend immediately. Think of your strikes as quick darting jabs rather than heavy swings. Be the snake, not the bull. Keep your weight over your feet, your torso centered at all times when attacking."

Caelith bit his lip, absorbing the advice. He had always favored power in his solitary sessions, believing it would carry him through fights.

Kaden moved on, his expression focused.

 "Then there's the Haldorian style, which emphasizes brute strength and overwhelming force. Haldorians train to deliver powerful blows that can incapacitate an opponent in one hit."

"The key here is to build your core strength and harness your body's weight behind each swing, but don't mistake this strength for mindless and brutish attacks."

Kaden paused, gauging Caelith's reaction.

 "You're often too predictable. Your swings lack deception. You need to incorporate feints—make your opponent second guess their next move".

"If they can anticipate your swing, they'll know how to counter it."

Caelith felt a flush of embarrassment at the criticism, yet he was determined to improve.

"So I should focus on varying my strikes and including feints? That makes sense."

"Precisely," Kaden replied, nodding.

"Learn these two sword styles first, as they are your foundation, which we can build upon, so ensure that you master these if you want to have a chance at becoming decent at wielding a sword."

 His days of solitary training had built not just physical endurance but also mental fortitude.

 He felt a fire igniting within him, a desire to master not just the sword but the strategy behind it.

Kaden reached into his coat and pulled out a thick book.

Caelith caught it as Kaden tossed it to him, his fingers brushing over the worn leather cover.

 His breath hitched when he saw the title embossed in gold lettering:

 "Principles of Mana Circulation."

His grip tightened.

"Study this," Kaden said, his voice cutting through the night.

 "If you want to survive, you need to understand the magic that flows through everything. It's as essential as your sword, if not more important."

Caelith's grip tightened on the book, the weight of its importance sinking in. "I will," he promised, a fierce determination burning in his chest.

Kaden nodded, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. 

"Good. Now Focus on your studies and your practice; meet me back here in a week, and we'll see if you're worth teaching."