The next few days became a blur of covert observation and solitary practice. Kael spent every spare moment watching the guards train, his gaze intense and unwavering as he dissected their techniques. He quickly discovered that his ability wasn't limited to swordsmanship. The same analytical focus allowed him to decipher the nuances of spear fighting, the weight distribution and leverage in wielding a warhammer, the subtle tells in the stance of a dagger fighter. Each observation session was followed by hours of dedicated practice in his room, the Archive notifications steadily ticking upwards: \[Spear Mastery +2], \[Axe Mastery +1], \[Dagger Mastery +2].
He soon realized that his initial subject, the burly swordsman, had become… predictable. His movements, once a source of fascination, now seemed almost rudimentary. 'I guess he's still learning,' Kael thought with a hint of detached superiority. He needed new subjects, more experienced fighters to further hone his skills.
His gaze shifted across the training grounds, settling on a lean soldier practicing with a spear. The fluid movements and the deadly reach of the weapon intrigued him. 'I wonder…'And so began another silent study, his mind absorbing the intricacies of thrusts, parries, and the deceptive footwork required for polearm combat. By the end of the day, another splitting headache drove him back to his room, but this time, it was accompanied by a burning eagerness.
He approached Erick the next morning, a newfound confidence radiating from him. "So," he began, his voice surprisingly steady, "I was wondering if I could… borrow a spear."
Erick raised a skeptical eyebrow, his usual morning gruffness evident. "A spear? What in the blazes for, Kael? I thought we were focusing on swords for now. You've barely scratched the surface of basic techniques."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Kael replied dismissively, waving a hand. "Just… testing a theory." He offered a disarming grin, hoping to quell Erick's suspicion. Surprisingly, he, perhaps intrigued by Kael's unusual request and the subtle shift in his demeanor, relented and instructed a nearby guard to fetch a practice spear.
Back in his room, Kael immediately began to practice, his mind replaying the movements he had observed. The feel of the longer weapon was different, requiring a different kind of balance and coordination. But the mental blueprint was strong, and his body quickly adapted. Hours later, another chime echoed in the quiet room: \[Spear Mastery +2]. A smirk tugged at Kael's lips. 'Jackpot.'
The week that followed was a whirlwind of silent study and dedicated practice. Kael became a shadow on the edge of the training grounds, his eyes constantly scanning, analyzing, and absorbing. He cycled through different weapons, his mastery levels increasing with each focused observation and subsequent practice session. He was learning at an exponential rate, his unique ability allowing him to bypass the usual slow and arduous process of trial and error.
Eventually, however, his progress began to plateau. He had studied almost every guard on the training grounds, and their techniques, while competent, no longer offered any significant challenge for his rapidly developing skill. He was beginning to see the flaws in their stances, the predictability in their attacks. A disconcerting thought began to form in his mind:Could it be that I've already surpassed them?
After a night of restless contemplation, Kael made a decision. The next morning, he approached Erick, his gaze direct and unwavering. "Erick," he announced, much to the surprise of the nearby guards, "I wish to request a spar.."
A ripple of disbelief and muffled snickers spread through the assembled soldiers. They had witnessed Kael's grueling training, his initial clumsiness, and his recent silent dedication. The idea that he, a novice of barely two weeks, would dare to challenge a seasoned soldier was met with a mixture of amusement and irritation.
Erick stared down at Kael, his expression thoughtful. He had indeed observed the boy's unusual progress, his almost unnatural absorption of every lesson. He had seen the raw talent, the surprising stamina, and the latent strength. He had even entertained the notion that Kael possessed a rare gift for combat. But a duel? Against experienced soldiers? It seemed ludicrous. They hadn't even begun to delve into advanced techniques.
Hadn't he learned from the beatings he received last time?
Yet, there was something in Kael's eyes, a quiet confidence that intrigued him. It wasn't arrogance, but a steady conviction that Erick couldn't quite decipher. Curiosity overriding his reservations, he finally nodded slowly. "Very well, Kael. Any volunteers?"
A hulking soldier named Mike, known for his powerful sword arm and dismissive attitude towards the "Lord's pet project," stepped forward with a smirk. "I'll be happy to teach the boy his place, My Lord."
'A swordsman. Well, this should be easy,' Kael thought, hefting his blade with a practiced ease as he faced Mike in the center of the training ground.
"Begin," Erick declared, his voice cutting through the sudden silence.
And the swordsman lunged, his movements practiced and swift, aiming a precise thrust at Kael's chest. The steel tip glinted in the afternoon sun, closing the distance rapidly. But just as impact seemed inevitable, a dark staff materialised in Kael's hands, intercepting the thrust with a sharp thwack. The force of the block sent a tremor through the swordsman's arm, disrupting his follow-through. He shifted his stance, feinted high, then swept low, aiming for Kael's legs. Again, with an almost lazy grace, a buckler appeared on Kael's forearm, deflecting the sweeping blow with a dull clang. Frustration flickered across the swordsman's face as his attacks, honed through years of training, were met with such effortless and baffling defense.
The duel continued in this manner for what felt like an eternity to the onlookers. Mike's attacks grew increasingly desperate, his movements losing their precision as his frustration mounted. Kael, on the other hand, remained a picture of calm, his defenses appearing almost instinctive, his chosen weapon – be it staff, buckler, or a suddenly appearing scimitar – always in the right place at the right time.
Finally, Mike stopped, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. "Help me," he gasped, turning to his stunned comrades.
The other soldiers exchanged bewildered glances before turning towards Erick, who watched the spectacle with an unreadable expression. A barely perceptible nod from him was all the encouragement they needed. Weapons drawn, the remaining four soldiers charged Kael simultaneously, a flurry of steel descending upon the seemingly defenseless boy.
And that brings us back to where we are now, with five exhausted teens sprawled on the ground, and Erick and his lieutenant exchanging stunned glances at the edge of the training.