The New Recruit (2)

Since they had set up the camp in the forest, they had limited space to stretch for a temporary arena. However, the knights worked together to clear the ground of sprouting roots by chopping them off, and diligently swept rocks and branches.

Every knight in the Marquess's retinue carried an incredible presence, exuding an aura of mastery that Talon could not help but respect.

As he stood in the center of the assembly, surrounded by these people, Talon looked at one person's face after the other. It was then a feeling of nostalgia came to him as he remembered his comrades at the Steele estate. 

Although Mikael had dismissed them, Talon knew within him that he would reunite with them sometime soon. And they would have so much fun drinking and catching up with one another's tales.

Talon's musings were abruptly interrupted when a wooden sword was tossed in his direction. He snatched it deftly from the air before it would fall, keenly sensing the anticipation lingering in the air.

Muttered conversations and hushed whispers reverberated through the onlookers, all eager to witness the skill of the Marquess's latest recruit.

A senior knight strode into the center of the makeshift arena, drawing the attention of everyone present. With a commanding gesture, he raised his hand to silence the expectant crowd and explained the rules of the spar to the participants.

"As is customary, there are two ways to win a spar," he began, his eyes scanning the eager faces of the onlookers. "One, if your opponent surrenders. Two, if your opponent is incapable of continuing and standing to fight."

With the rules spoken aloud, every person in the arena remained quiet. Beneath the stillness, adrenaline coursed through their veins, knowing that this tradition hadn't occurred in quite some time.

"Now, is there anyone–"

However, before the senior knight could even finish his sentence, the crowd sprung with excitement. They were like a sleeping volcano that had begun erupting. They clamored and fought for the chance to be Talon's sparring partner.

"I will take him on!"

"No way, idiot. I will!"

And, from the sea of knights, a determined figure appeared. "Damn it. Get out of me way, lads!"

Sir Alistair, a junior knight known for his powerful physique and boisterous personality, elbowed his way through the crowd. He was accompanied by irritated groans from the people he passed. With unwavering determination, he reached the center of the arena, confidently holding a wooden sword in his hand.

Sir Alistair turned to face Talon, a grin stretching from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. "Let's see what the newcomer is capable of!" His voice boomed across the assembly, echoing the collective sentiment of the knights.

Eager to prove himself among these knights, Talon accepted the challenge with a nod. He understood that this sparring match was more than just a physical test, and winning would earn the respect of his new comrades in the field.

With his infectious grin printed on his face, Sir Alistair stood before Talon, fairly close to five meters in distance. After the senior knight gestured for them to be ready, they took their stances, each man holding his wooden sword firmly.

In that charged moment, the air grew thick with anticipation. They stood there, locked in a tense silence, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then, in a sudden burst of speed, Sir Alistair lunged forward, his wooden sword slicing through the air, aimed at Talon's right flank.

Talon relied on his sharp reflexes and parried with a deft stroke. Their wooden swords engaged in a mesmerizing dance of rapid exchanges. Their wooden swords were involved in a riveting duel, a frantic sequence of strikes, thrusts, and blocks, creating a symphonic performance of wooden impacts that resonated across the arena.

The cheers of the spectators crescendoed as the spar officially kicked off from the exchanges, and most voices were cheering behind Sir Alistair.

Taking in their rallies as a buff to strengthen his morale, Sir Alistair pushed his advantage, his attacks arriving in an unyielding barrage. However, Talon's defenses held unyielding, his movements seemingly flowing fluid like a dancer.

The enthusiastic yells from the encircling knights further heightened the adrenaline of the two participants, transforming the friendly spar into an exhilarating spectacle that had them watching with held breaths.

Yet, amid the heated back and forth, Talon seized an opportune moment to execute a quick feint, resulting in Sir Alistair momentarily losing his footing and stumbling. It was the opening Talon had been expecting. Without wasting a second, he executed a thrust toward Sir Alistair's chest.

But with a skillful curve of his blade, Sir Alistair managed to deflect the attack in the nick of time. 

'That was close,' he said inwardly, chuckling so unsurely.

The duo found themselves locked in a fierce contest, their faces moistened with sweat under the peeking morning sun on the verge of the horizon.

Sir Alistair laughed heartily, his breath forming visible puffs in the crisp morning air. Talon exhaled a breath he did not realize he had been holding, feeling the same excitement coursing through his veins.

"Damn, that's good!" Sir Alistair shouted as he wiped off the sweat on his forehead with his arm.

"What's so good, you dimwit? You're fucking losing, brother!" shouted one of the onlookers, evidently drawing laughter from the crowd as his words rang in the arena.

"Aye, enough of this. Get the fuck out, lad. Let others do the job," chimed in another knight.

"Quiet, you lot!" Sir Alistair barked back, looking over his shoulder to find the person talking through the crowd.

With his opponent distracted, Talon seized this moment and lunged forward with no doubt in his mind. 

On the other hand, still recovering from the bombardment of teasing, Sir Alistair found himself unprepared to react as Talon's wooden sword contacted solidly on his stomach.

A collective gasp echoed through the onlookers, soon overpowered by the sound of Sir Alistair groaning in pain, curled up on the ground.

Talon's victory was swift and unexpected, catching the spectators off guard. The knights, who had been enthusiastically cheering for their comrade just moments ago, now wore expressions of disbelief and disappointment with no words in their mouths.

Amidst this, they soon recovered and clamored for the position as Talon's opponent in the ring. 

As Talon watched Sir Alistair retching, he suddenly felt the poking feeling like he had cheated. Still, it was necessary to teach his opponent never to look away from their enemy.

From then, his eyes found their way unfocused on the session, searching for one person, Nicolaus Wolfram. He hoped to see Nicolaus among the spectators. 

But to his surprise, there was no sign of him, leaving him frustrated to prove himself and earn a place as Mikael's knight once again.

…

The commotion and shouts from outside ripped Mikael from his sleep. The mere volume of their shout sent uneasiness through him, fearing that something terrible might be going on.

Startled, his gaze darted around the tent, searching for clues of chaos as anxiety ran across his spine. The gentle morning light filtered through the tent's flaps, and bathed the tent's interior in a warm radiance.

Then, Beth's soothing voice that reached his ears broke him through his panic. Her comforting presence beside him calmed his racing thought as she explained that the source of the raucous cries was the knights' sparing.

"You should see it, my lady," Beth said to Mikael, urging him to spectacle the spar, so excited.

As curiosity began to replace his apprehension, Mikael followed Beth's lead. He swung his legs out of the bed and rubbed his eyes from the remnants of sleep.