Selim's Military Training (Part 2)

The group quieted as a soldier stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with a confident smirk and a well-worn kilij at his side. I glanced at Affendi, who observed the situation carefully, and then back at the soldier.

The challenge was tempting. I had been wondering how my skills might compare in a real match, but I hesitated. Should I accept, or would it seem improper for a prince to spar with a common soldier?

Affendi Agha seemed to notice my hesitation. "Well, Shehzade? Do you wish to test your skills?"

I met his gaze and then glanced at the soldier, weighing my response. "I'll… consider it," I said with a smirk, gripping my sword a little tighter.

Affendi grinned, clapping his hands. "An excellent opportunity! Let's make it an educational experience for both parties. Prepare yourselves!"

The gathered Janissaries began to murmur with excitement, forming a loose circle around us as I stepped forward. My heart raced—not from fear, but from exhilaration. This was the moment to prove what I could do.

The murmurs of the Janissaries quieted as I stepped into the sparring ring, facing the soldier who had issued the challenge. His name was Kerem, a seasoned fighter with sharp eyes that seemed to study every move I made.

He gave a respectful bow, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his confidence. "Shehzade Selim, it's an honor to spar with you. Let's see what you've learned."

I returned the bow, raising my kilij to mirror the stance the instructor had taught me earlier. My feet were firm but light, ready to adapt. "Let's begin."

Affendi Agha clapped his hands. "No holding back, but respect your opponent! Start!"

Kerem moved first, testing me with a quick, measured slash aimed at my right side. I parried instinctively, the curved blade of the kilij ringing against his as I angled it to deflect the strike. His strength was apparent, but I held my ground, keeping my balance.

"Good block, Shehzade," Kerem remarked, stepping back before launching another flurry of strikes, each more calculated than the last.

I didn't just defend; I analyzed. His attacks were disciplined but predictable, focusing on overwhelming his opponent with speed. Drawing on my lessons—and a touch of kendo—I shifted my stance subtly. My blade tilted slightly forward, both hands gripping the hilt firmly as I waited for his next move.

When Kerem swung low, I stepped aside and countered with a sharp upward arc, aiming not to strike but to disrupt his rhythm. He jumped back, surprised.

"That's an unusual move," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You're full of surprises, young prince."

I didn't reply, keeping my focus. I switched to a stance inspired by kendo—feet apart, blade poised in front of me. The movements I employed were fluid yet deliberate, each strike aimed to test his defenses without revealing too much of my strategy.

Kerem adjusted quickly. He feinted left before lunging right, his blade arcing toward my shoulder. I sidestepped just in time, rotating my body to bring my kilij down in a controlled strike aimed at his midsection.

He blocked it with a grunt, the force of the clash sending vibrations through both our blades. "Not bad, Shehzade, but let's see if you can handle this!"

He advanced aggressively, using techniques honed by years of experience. His strikes were faster, aimed at overwhelming me. I focused on staying calm, my footwork keeping me just out of reach. A step forward, a quick parry, a calculated retreat—each move was precise, minimizing wasted energy.

Then I saw an opening. Kerem's blade came down in a heavy strike, leaving his right side exposed for a fraction of a second. I pivoted, sliding to his side and delivering a light tap with the flat of my blade against his arm.

The circle of Janissaries erupted in murmurs as Kerem stepped back, lowering his blade with a wry smile. "A hit. Well done, Shehzade. You've got sharp eyes and a sharper mind."

I lowered my sword, bowing slightly. "You're an excellent fighter, Kerem. I learned a lot from sparring with you."

Affendi Agha stepped forward, clapping. "A remarkable display from both of you! Shehzade Selim, your creativity in adapting techniques is commendable. Kerem, your strength and precision are as solid as ever."

Kerem gave me a nod of respect. "If this is how you fight now, I can't imagine how skilled you'll be in the years to come."

I smiled, but inside, I knew this was just the beginning. Every battle—real or sparring—was a chance to refine my skills and prepare for the challenges ahead.

As the sparring session concluded, Affendi Agha approached me, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Shehzade, I think we can call it a day. You're a faster learner than I expected," he remarked with an approving smile.

"Thank you, Affendi Agha. I suppose I just enjoy training. It clears the mind, strengthens the body, and, well, it's fun," I replied, grinning.

He chuckled. "That's the spirit. A strong body houses a sharp mind. Well, I have duties to attend to, Shehzade. Until next time."

"Of course. Off you go, Affendi Agha," I said, waving him off.

As he left, I decided not to return to my quarters just yet. Instead, I wandered through the barracks. The rhythmic clanging of metal echoed in the air as janissaries sharpened their swords. Others practiced archery, their arrows thudding into straw targets with precision. The smell of oil and leather lingered, a constant companion in this bastion of military readiness.

Yet, I couldn't shake a troubling thought. This discipline, as commendable as it was, seemed insufficient. The Ottoman Empire, once the envy of the world, was losing its momentum. The soldiers trained with fervor, but their methods, their tools, their approach—all felt tied to the past. The enemies beyond our borders were advancing, innovating, and adapting, while we, proud as we were, risked being left behind. The Russians, ever patient, seemed to be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to unsheath their claws and strike.

As I walked through the barracks, observing the men sparring and the glint of the swords under the dim light, I resolved to do more. It wasn't enough to admire this machine; it had to be sharpened, strengthened, and modernized. Only then could the empire regain its footing and march confidently into the future.

With these thoughts, I resolved to learn not only from my instructors but from the janissaries themselves. There was wisdom in their experience, and I intended to absorb as much of it as I could.

As the sun dipped lower, casting golden hues over the barracks, I made my way back, eager for the challenges tomorrow would bring.