The Duel

Marcus studied George for a moment, his sharp gaze filled with both curiosity and intrigue. Finally, he exhaled and tightened his grip on his wooden sword. "There's no better way to assess your level than through experience. Let's have a duel."

George's eyes lit up. A duel? This was what he had been waiting for. Without hesitation, he nodded and took a stance, adjusting his footing instinctively.

Marcus chuckled. "I'll go easy on you at first. Show me what you've got."

The moment those words left his lips, George moved. His body blurred as he dashed forward, his wooden sword slicing through the air in a swift, controlled arc. Marcus reacted instantly, parrying the strike with a casual flick of his wrist.

But George was relentless. He twisted his body, transitioning into a fluid backstep before lunging again, this time aiming for an opening in Marcus' defense. His strikes were precise—too precise for a child so young. His movements were efficient, lacking any of the hesitation that beginners usually displayed.

For a few fleeting seconds, Marcus found himself on the defensive, adjusting his stance to match George's unorthodox attacks. His son's swordsmanship was unpredictable, shifting between styles as if he were drawing from an invisible well of experience. It was impressive, beyond anything he had expected.

But experience was still experience.

Marcus sidestepped smoothly and, with a swift but controlled movement, disarmed George in one fluid motion. The wooden sword clattered to the ground, and before George could react, Marcus tapped his forehead lightly with his own sword.

"And that's match," Marcus declared, a smirk tugging at his lips.

George blinked, staring at his empty hands. He had lost. Despite his skill, despite his instincts, he had been overwhelmed by sheer technique and experience. His grip tightened for a brief moment before he sighed, stepping back with a small nod. "I see… I still have a long way to go."

Marcus chuckled, ruffling George's hair. "You did better than I thought. If you were any older, I might've had to take you more seriously."

George frowned but didn't protest. He had felt it—the gap between them. But rather than discouragement, a flame of determination ignited in his chest.

Elana, who had been watching the entire time, finally spoke up. "That was amazing… but also kind of scary."

George tilted his head. "Scary?"

She nodded. "You moved like someone who's been wielding a sword for years. It didn't feel normal."

Marcus remained silent at that but observed George carefully. There was something unusual about the boy, but he chose not to press the matter now.

He clapped his hands. "Alright, enough for today. Go rest."

As George retrieved his fallen sword, he silently vowed to himself—next time, he wouldn't lose so easily.