Chapter 4: Rude Awakening

Talvir's peaceful slumber beneath the sheltering branches of the giant willow was abruptly interrupted by a discordant symphony. As he blinked away the remnants of sleep, the serene embrace of the willow's shade was now corrupted with the dissonance of a battle, composed by the clashing of swords, the pounding of hooves, and the rage-filled warcries. The tranquil rustle of leaves gave way to the cacophony of warfare, and the soothing whispers of the willow, produced by gentle breezes, seemed drowned in the chaos below.

Emerging from his sleeping place, Talvir was greeted not by the green grassy plain littered with what he assumed would be volcanic rock,due to how light they were, but by the fervor of battle, with steel ringing in the air and the earth vibrating beneath him. The colossal willow served as an unwitting witness to this tumult, its boughs gently swaying as if in response to the rhythmic clashes below. Talvir, momentarily disoriented, gazed upon the unfolding scene, contemplating his place in this unexpected intersection of peaceful rest and the turbulent echoes of war and combat.

"Didn't I say yesterday that I at least was not on a battlefield? By the Gods, can I not keep my mouth shut? Fuck!" Exasperatedly said Talvir. 'At least now I know where to get a sword.'

Curiously enough, it seemed that the combatants were not interested in the willow. Although the willow seemed like a place with good cover and vantage point due to the natural slope of the small hill it was situated on compared to the flat plateau on which the battle was happening on. He stood there looking at the two small armies engaged in fierce battle, both sides seemed oddly balanced, and using his knowledge from military propaganda back home he estimated the total forces of both sides seemed equivalent to a company. By the organization of the battlefield, he estimated that there were 2 platoons of 50 people. 

Doing his best to not call their attention, Talvir laid low and used this time to think.

'Too many people. I should probably stay around the edges to try and fetch a sword. I don't get why the fuck would they not get close to the willow its probably the best place to get an advantage.'

Suddenly he got restless, something was not right, something, but what? What was wrong?

'How did I not wake up to more than a hundred people marching here? They are less than 20 meters away!' 

'Is this a dream? I should not be able to dream in the Spell, it is supposed to be impossible. Then again should I trust that information or is it propaganda? Honestly, I couldn't care right now.'

Ignoring this for now, Talvir stood up and made his way to the edge of the battlefield, stealth not being an option as the terrain did not allow for it. Slowly but surely he walked towards the ongoing battle, running would gather attention, plus, by walking he could observe his surroundings better. Which proved to be the correct decision as he spotted a metalic glint in the grass, about 3 meters from him and 4 meters behind a soldier standing frozen while looking at the ongoing clash, his sword out of the scabbard held tightly in his hands.

Taking a deep breath Talvir made the decision to run for it, an irrational move for sure, but it was has if the sword laying on the ground was calling his name. Like a moth drawn to flame, he ran for the sword. In his rush towards the weapon he knocked a rock, which alerted the frozen soldier which turned around startled by the unexpected sound.

Their eyes locked, and time seemed to stretch, the soldier's startled gaze contrasting with Talvir's childlike wonder as he gripped the sword in his hand. The weapon showed signs of wear, with clear indents along the edges and a jagged end replacing the non-existent tip—a clear result of breakage.

Yet to Talvir there were no imperfections, to him it felt like home, a familiar warmth, [Blade Sense]'s Description was true, his very existance seemed to love the sword. From leaning down to grab the sword next to his feet, he used his position to deliver a crude slash diagonally upwards while standing up at the same time. The result of both acts being a rather powerful slash with a crude form, blocked by the trained reflex of the Soldier.

Talvir's gaze hardened as he faced the soldier, a silent understanding passing between them, if not obvious from the deflected slash. Without a word, the fight began. The soldier, driven by trained reflexes, lunged forward, blade gleaming. Talvir, though wielding a worn sword, moved with a fluidity that betrayed his novice status.

Their blades met with a metallic ring, the vibration shooting upwards Talvir's arms. Not used to the sensation, he faltered, which the more experienced soldier took no time in exploiting, stepping in and stabbing towards Talvir's chest.

By instinct he instantly stepped backwards with his left foot turning his body sideways, reducing the area which could be hit by the Soldier's stab by trying to be as parallel to it as possible. Dodging the worst case scenario of his heart being impaled by the sword and replacing the fatal damage he would have received with a superficial cut in his upper left chest.

Seizing the opportunity presented by the overextended soldier, Talvir swiftly slashed at his opponent's right leg, targeting it as it had been extended to enhance the stab. The blade found its mark, Talvir immediately stepping back, creating distance between them.

Staggering and momentarily off balance, the wounded soldier, taken aback by Talvir's swift response, instinctively looked down to assess the damage. Above his knee, a deep gash met his gaze. Then he looked up at his assailant, a shudder running through him. Before him stood a young man, a joyful smile lighting up his visage. The soldier, gathering himself once again, steeled for the next clash.

Joy unbound, was coursing through Talvir's veins. His face twisted into a smile unwittingly during the exchange. The small melody made by the two swords clashing and the small dance that followed it was ingrained into his mind, repeating over and over. His form was crude when compared to his opponent's, but his fluidity was his weapon, his body moving as he willed better than ever before. Snapping out of this small trance he readied himself for the following clash.

The Soldier initiated the fight this time, changing his legs position, to lessen the load on the injured leg, he the burst forward with an horizontal slash aimed at Talvir's neck. To this Talvir responded by raising his sword to meet the attack, blocking it was out of question as the soldier was stronger than him, deflecting, however, was possible. By angling the sword diagonally up towards the left, he derailed the path of the slash with a clear metalic ring, the Soldier's sword grinding against his as it followed the slope he had created. Near the tip, the sword stopped, binding due to a dent in the worn out edge.

A skirmish unfolded. The Soldier finally realizing the real faulted condition of his opponent's sword, used his experience adjusting his tactics, attempting to exploit the worn edges of Talvir's weapon. Their dance of steel continued this time with the Soldier having complete advantage, utilizing the moments where their swords bound, to deliver small cuts by angling his sword towards the boy.

Talvir's, childlike, joyful smile transformed into a look of fierce focus, his movements becoming more snappy and unpredictable. By copying the Soldier's startegy and altering it to fit him, Talvir utilized the moments of binding and instead of angling it to do small damages he flicked his sword making the flat side meet the opponent's edge, bouncing it away and avoiding new cuts. The Soldier, skilled but perhaps underestimating his opponent, found himself challenged by the unorthodox style of his adversary.

As the duel dragged on, the effects of the first exchange became more and more visible, the Soldier's attacks becoming less powerful as time went, his healthy left leg now trembling in exhaustion for carrying basically his entire weight throughout the battle. Talvir's condition not fairing much better, he was tired, very tired, his inexperience with combat showed in his stamina management, his ragged breath and his sweat covered figure making it evident. It also wasn't helping that the small cuts felt like burning due to the salt filled sweat covering them.

As both of them assessed each others conditions, as if their minds were connected, both took their final stance. The Soldier raised his sword above his head, opposed by Talvir's sword being held horizontally, the handle next to his right pectoral with the jagged end next to his left shoulder, poised towards the Soldier. Both duelists stanced, awaited for the smallest opening or distraction to deliver the final blow, the tension palpable in the air.

A distant war cry shattered the tension, triggering both combatants into action. The Soldier's sword descended with formidable force towards Talvir, a crushing blow imminent. Yet, in a seamless motion, Talvir's body shifted, and his sword erupted outward. The coiled stance he had adopted allowed him to harness the strength of his back, arms, and chest for a final, decisive slash.

Time seemed to elongate as adrenaline surged through Talvir's veins. His worn sword left a faint silver trail through the air, finding its mark in the Soldier's right wrist. The blade tore through, rending the light armor braces like paper. The Soldier's slash, now lacking its guiding hand, lost power and veered off course, narrowly missing Talvir.

Talvir then using his momentum, continued his slash shifting his stance to enhance its power decapitating the Soldier in the process.

Silence. The world stopped for Talvir. His heart beating in his ears, the sound of his tired breaths and the dull sound of the Soldiers body hitting the ground, created a macabre symphony.

'I want to this again. Sword against sword, will against will, I want to do it more, better, faster.' Talvir thought as he looked away from his fallen opponent, towards the still raging battlefield.

As he observed the brutality of war the voice he heard welcoming him to the Spell spoke to him once more.

[You have slain a dormant beast, Aestival Opti Radix]

'Huh?'

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Hey there again, sorry for not posting yesterday. What did you think of the first fight scene, was it appropriate? It was my first time writing one. 

Also, I think I will make the chapters about this long now. I was looking at the chapter length and 1000 words seems too little to me at least.

Love dear readers, also thank you for the 2k views, its really exiting!

Dr_Squalid