Challenge Accepted pt 1

"...you must conquer your own physical limitations and become more than just a warrior with a weapon. The goal is for your bodies to become an extension of the blade itself..."

Perspiration was already running down Tyson's head from just below his hairline and into his eyes as he put his body through its paces. Lord Lushek had his arms folded as he bellowed at the apprentices. Tyson blinked away the stinging sweat and redoubled his exertions, carving the air before him again and again and again with his training sword. All around him other same were doing the same; each was struggling.

Tyson had begun by learning the basic techniques common to all seven traditional sword art techniques. His first weeks had been spent in endless repetitions of offensive and defensive postures, overhand and underhand strikes, parries, and counterstrikes. Lord Luschek paid special attention to the training of each pupil and by observing the natural tendencies of his students as they learned the basics, he determined which form would best match their style. For Tyson, he chose the Dragon form. The fifth form of sword arts that emphasized strength and power, allowing Tyson to use his size and strength to his advantage. Only after he was able to perform each of the moves of the form to the satisfaction of Lord Luschek was he allowed to learn something else.

Along with the other students at the Academy, Tyson spent the better part each morning practising his techniques and perfecting his form with his training blade under the Blademaester's watchful eye.

The blade was made of steel with blunted edges, designed specifically so that their balance and weight closely mimicked those of real swords. A solid blow could simulate the effect of inflicting serious damage because the edges of the training blades were fashioned from the small ridge spines of the deadly kissing bug; a rare insect that lived in the deep desert. They were called kissing bugs because any contact with their bodies no matter how gentle would cause the barbs to pierce the weave of any fabric and the venom would cause the flesh immediately to burn and blister.

This morning like every other was filled with the grunts of the apprentices and the swishing of their training blades as they sliced through the air. Lord Luschek played his role as a taskmaster to all students by requiring them to repeat the drills until the moves became muscle memory.

"Wrong!" Lord Luschek suddenly barked. as he reached out and seized Tyson's wrist, turning it roughly and changing the angle of the training blade. "You're coming in too high!" he snapped. "There is no room for error in the battlefield. One mistake and you're dead!"

He stayed at Tyson's side for several minutes, watching to ensure the lesson had been properly absorbed and after several hard thrusts accompanied by loud grunts from Tyson with the altered grip, the Blademaester nodded his approval and continued his rounds.

Tyson repeated the single move over and over, careful to maintain the height and angle of the blade exactly as Lord Luschek had shown him, teaching his muscles through countless repetitions until they could replicate it flawlessly each and every time. Only then would he move on to incorporating it into more complicated manoeuvres.

Soon Tyson was breathing heavily from his exertions. Lord Luschek's drills were demanding and far more exhausting in more ways than one. They demanded intense mental focus, an attention to detail that went far beyond what was visible to the naked eye. True mastery of the blade required a combination of both body and mind.

It was said that when two Masters of the sword arts engaged in combat, the action happened too quickly for the eye to see or the mind to react in time. Everything had to be done on instinct; the body of the combatants had to be trained to move in response without conscious thought.

It is also said that when two Masters of the sword arts faced each other, they could feel the thoughts and emotions of the other through their clashing blades. To accomplish this, Lord Luschek made his students practice sequences; carefully choreographed series of strikes and parries derived from their chosen sword style and form. The sequences were designed by the Blademaester himself so that each strike, counterstrike or parry flowed smoothly into the next, maximizing attack efficiency while minimizing defensive exposure.

Using a sequence in combat allowed the swordsman to free their minds from the minutiae of thought as their bodies automatically continued through the moves which freed them to observe the flow of battle and change strategies if need be.

Using sequences was far more efficient and much faster in real-world conflict than considering and initiating each strike or block on its own, providing an enormous advantage over an opponent unfamiliar with the technique or sword art form.

However, inculcating a new attack or defence sequence so it could be properly executed was a long and arduous process. For many, it would take one to three weeks of hard training and drills—longer if the sequence was derived from a sword style the student was still struggling to master and even the tiniest mistake in the smallest of motions could ruin the entire sequence and imperil the user. For skilled swordsmen and apprentices like Tyson, the time was cut almost in half.

Lord Luschek had spotted and corrected a potentially fatal flaw in Tyson's technique. Now Tyson was not only grateful and embarrassed, he was determined to fix it, even if it meant days of practice.

Tyson was relentless in his pursuit of perfection—not just in his combat training, but in all his studies. Freya had instilled in him, the value of written knowledge by making him carry her own personal library everywhere they camped. From these books, he learned that magic exists in everything even though it didn't seem like it sometimes. It was the foundation of all life. That's the reason why some flowers turned black in the presence of corrupted magic.

"Enough," Lord Lushcek's voice called out. At a single command, all the students lowered their blades, stopped whatever they were doing and turned their attention to the Blademaester. He was standing at the head of the assemblage, facing them.

"You may rest for ten minutes," he told them. "Then the challenges may begin."

Tyson like the others lowered himself to the ground and tried to regain as much of his strength as possible.

After only a few minutes, Trevor suddenly got up and moved towards the centre of the assemblage before anyone else had a chance to issue a challenge, pushing his way through the crowd from his position on the outermost edge.

"Shotan!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the rising wind. "I challenge you!"

Tyson couldn't help but flash a wry smile. His weeks of planning had come to fruition. All the students were bewildered by the challenge but it gradually faded and turned into sneers of derision. Everyone knew the outcome of the battle.

Everyone except Trevor.

"I accept your challenge," a baritone voice answered from the midst of the seated apprentices.

As Shotan rose from where he was seated, Tyson saw that he was taller than him but not as tall as Lord Luschek. There was an excited buzz among the students as he made his way to meet Trevor.