Chapter 55: Boot Camp Part 2

Joshua took a deep breath, gripping the sword tighter. His mind absorbed every movement, every shift in Omar's stance. His increased mental capacity allowed him to break down the forms into precise calculations—angles, momentum, the fluid connection between footwork and blade. He mimicked Omar's movements once, twice, and by the third attempt, he executed the forms with near perfection.

Omar's single eye widened in surprise. He had seen talented warriors, men and women who honed their craft through decades of battle, but never had he seen someone learn this quickly. Joshua's strikes lacked power, but the technical execution was flawless. And power? Power could be built. But form? That was the hardest part to master.

"Good!" Omar shouted, a rare note of excitement in his gruff voice. "Damn good!"

Joshua exhaled, lowering the blade. His arms ached from the repetition, but the sense of accomplishment burned stronger. He turned to Omar, his voice steady. "Can you teach me other weapons?"

Omar raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I want to try all the weapons, then choose the path most comfortable for me."

The older warrior studied him for a moment before nodding in approval. "I see. A wise choice. A true warrior does not limit himself to one weapon."

Turning away, he bellowed, "Argan! Ulric! Pyl!"

Three massive warriors, each engrossed in training younglings, paused and approached with disciplined strides.

Three massive warriors, each instructing younglings in combat, paused in their teachings and approached Omar.

"This is Argan," Omar introduced, pointing to a thick-bodied warrior wielding a massive war axe. "He is proficient in axes and hammers."

Joshua turned to the next warrior. Ulric had a lean but powerful build, gripping a long spear. "Ulric specializes in staff and spear combat."

Finally, Pyl, a wiry man with piercing eyes, stepped forward, his bow slung across his back. "And this is Pyl, our marksman and scout. No one is deadlier with a bow—well, except for the chief's daughter."

Joshua nodded, then humbly bowed. "I ask for your guidance."

"Approach us when you're ready." Argan stated then the three warriors walked away to resume training the younglings.

Joshua nodded and turned to face Omar once again.

Omar resumed his instruction, watching Joshua closely as he practiced the sword forms. Every swing, every step, Joshua adjusted until his body moved without thinking. He repeated the sequences until the wooden sword in his hand felt like an extension of his own body.

"Faster," Omar commanded.

Joshua complied. His strikes became fluid, his footwork more confident. He envisioned enemies before him, striking at vital points. He imagined the weight of steel, the sound of clashing blades. His muscles burned, sweat drenched his back, but he did not stop.

After an hour, Omar raised a hand. "Enough. You have the form, but now you need endurance. Speed. Strength. These will come with time."

Joshua exhaled deeply, lowering his practice sword. "Understood." He slightly bowed and approached Argan.

—

Argan stepped forward after noticing Joshua approaching him, tossing Joshua a weighted training axe. Joshua caught it, surprised by its balance. It was heavier than a sword, requiring more strength and momentum to wield effectively.

"Unlike the sword, the axe is about commitment. You do not strike lightly. You cleave. You destroy. You make every swing count."

Argan demonstrated, lifting his axe high before bringing it down with thunderous force. The ground shuddered beneath the impact.

Joshua mirrored him, lifting the axe and swinging downward. It was awkward at first. His stance was off, the angle incorrect. Argan adjusted his grip and posture.

"Again."

Joshua swung again. And again. Each time, the strike became more natural. His muscles screamed, but he pushed through. The power of the axe was intoxicating—it was a weapon of raw force, demanding precision and brutality in equal measure.

Argan grinned. "You have potential, boy. Keep practicing."

Joshua thanked the massive warrior as he bowed slightly. Time for the spear.

—

Ulric handed Joshua a wooden spear. "A sword kills up close. An axe crushes. But a spear? A spear dominates from a distance."

Ulric moved with grace, spinning the spear effortlessly. He demonstrated thrusts, sweeps, and counters. Then, he passed the spear to Joshua.

Joshua adjusted his stance, gripping the shaft tightly. He thrust forward, but Ulric shook his head. "Too stiff. Relax. Let the weapon flow with your movements."

Joshua tried again, this time shifting his weight properly. The spear shot forward like a serpent striking its prey. He practiced sweeping arcs, knocking aside invisible enemies. Ulric nodded in approval.

"You learn fast, but the spear is about patience. Control. Timing. You must strike before the enemy reaches you."

Joshua exhaled, nodding. The spear felt foreign but effective. He could see its potential.

Joshua thanked Ulric and proceeded to jog to the archery range.

—

Pyl tossed Joshua a short bow. "Ever used one before?"

Joshua shook his head.

"No matter. Knock an arrow."

Joshua followed Pyl's instructions, drawing the string back. The tension surprised him.

"Breathe. Feel the bow. Let the arrow fly with intent."

Joshua inhaled, focused, and released. The arrow shot forward, hitting the outer edge of the target. Not bad for a first attempt.

Pyl smirked. "Again."

Joshua fired more arrows, adjusting his aim each time. Soon, he hit closer to the center. Pyl nodded approvingly.

"You have steady hands. Archery is patience and control. If you master this, you can kill without ever being seen."

Joshua practiced a few more shots then proceeded to a part of the field empty of people. He began to rotate on the forms he learned, first the sword, then the axe and lastly the spear. This continued until the end of the day.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Joshua collapsed onto the training field, panting. His body ached, covered in sweat and grime. The weight of the day's training pressed heavily on him.

A shadow loomed over him. Joshua cracked open an eye to see Amador staring down.

"Oh, hey, Chief. Thought I'd lie here for a while."

Amador chuckled. "So, you want to know the ways of the warrior, huh?"

Joshua sat up. "Just familiarizing myself with all the weapons, Chief."

"And?" Amador asked. "What have you decided?"

Joshua hesitated. "I'm torn between a sword and a battleaxe."

Amador nodded thoughtfully. "Follow me."

Joshua stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. He followed Amador, the weight of the day's training settling into his bones. Yet, despite the exhaustion, there was a fire in his heart.

—

Amador led Joshua into the armory, the familiar scent of oiled steel and aged wood filling his nostrils. Rows of weapons lined the walls, each bearing the marks of countless battles. Spears stood in rigid formation along one side, their tips glistening in the dim torchlight. Axes of varying sizes, their edges honed to razor-sharp precision, rested against reinforced racks. Swords, both short and long, gleamed with an almost predatory hunger, waiting for a warrior to claim them.

"The individual chooses a weapon to wield and take to battle," Amador began, his voice steady, "but not all weapons choose an individual. You said you are torn between a sword and an axe? Choose wisely. Feel the weight of real steel in your hands before making your decision."

Joshua stepped forward, his gaze scanning the selection before him. His fingers brushed over the hilt of a well-balanced longsword, its grip smooth and worn with years of use. He lifted it, testing its weight, swinging it in a controlled arc. It felt natural, fluid, an extension of his own arm. Yet something was missing. There was no spark, no connection beyond familiarity.

He placed the sword back carefully and turned toward the axes. A single-headed battleaxe, its wooden handle wrapped in black leather, caught his eye. He hefted it, feeling the solid heft in his grip. The edge gleamed wickedly, the steel infused with a slight shimmer from masterful forging. He swung it in slow, deliberate motions, noting its destructive potential. But it felt almost too simple—a tool of war, but not the one for him.

Then, at the far end of the rack, a different weapon called to him.

His eyes locked onto a double-bladed battleaxe, its design both elegant and fearsome. Unlike the others, its haft was wrapped in darkened steel bands, reinforcing its length. The axe heads were shaped like the wings of a great beast, their edges curved to both slash and cleave through armor and flesh alike. Strange etchings adorned the metal, glowing faintly under the flickering torchlight as if whispering to him.

Joshua reached out, his hand closing around the haft. The moment he lifted it, a shiver ran through his arm. This was it. The balance was perfect, the weight distributing seamlessly between his grip and the lethal edges. He swung it once, then again, each movement carving through the air with an ominous hum. The weapon felt alive, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

He exhaled slowly, his mind racing with calculations. The beasts they fought had thick hides, their natural defenses making piercing attacks less effective. A sword required precision and swiftness, but this axe—this weapon—offered raw, unrelenting destruction. It may lack the elegance of a blade, but his Gift could make up for that. He could refine his speed, increase the fluidity of his strikes. Power, after all, meant nothing if it couldn't be delivered swiftly.

Joshua tightened his grip on the axe and turned to Amador, his voice calm but resolute. "Now I understand. The weapon chooses its master as well. This one sings to me."

Amador studied him for a moment before nodding in approval. "Then it's yours. But remember—power without control is dangerous. You'll need to train harder than before. I don't want to explain to my daughter how you accidentally chopped off one of your limbs."

With a chuckle, the chief turned and walked away, leaving Joshua alone with his newfound weapon, a grin slowly forming on his lips.