"No striking the head or face," Oliver said. "The first person to find a fatal opening or disarm the other wins."
"Understood," Neve agreed.
"Then ready your sword, My Lady," the knight ordered, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. After a moment, his expression grew serious. "You must avoid injury. If something is wrong, yield immediately."
Neve nodded, slightly annoyed that Oliver didn't seem to consider the possibility of her becoming the victor. Though, given her current state, Neve wasn't surprised.
"I shall, Sir Oliver," Neve replied evenly.
Neve lowered her hips, stabilizing her body. She lifted her wooden sword into the versatile Second Guard position–the Lady's Guard.
In turn, Oliver fell into the Sixth Guard–Middle Iron Gate. His right foot was placed ahead of his body, in a slight lunge forward. Oliver held his sword securely, the point angled downwards and kept low to the ground. This was a defensive position.
'He is letting me strike first,' Neve realized, a little indignantly. 'I'll make use of this opportunity, Sir Oliver.'
Oliver breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly as his eyes grew frightfully focused. "Let us begin."
Almost as soon as the words left Oliver's mouth, Neve leapt toward him. She brought her sword down in a sweeping motion, using the force of her body's movement for additional power.
But Oliver was quick to react, raising his wooden sword to meet Neve halfway. Neve's sword ricocheted off Oliver's blade, and she darted back on quick feet.
'He's strong,' she thought, noting how easily Oliver had absorbed the attack. 'I must be quick, then.'
The duellers both fell into the Seventh Guard–the Short Guard–as they circled each other. They kept the hilts of their swords close to their bodies, sword points facing forward and up. It was a neutral position, as they both waited to spot an opening.
Oliver shifted his back foot, the small movement catching Neve's attention. That small moment was all the time she had to react. In the blink of an eye, Oliver was almost in front of her, his arms outstretched into the Fifth Guard–the Long Guard–and ready to thrust his sword past Neve's defenses.
Neve moved instinctively, lifting her sword to change the path of Oliver's sword. She raised her sword into a messy Fourth Guard–the Left Lady's Guard. It swung past her shoulders, effectively angling Oliver's sword away from Neve's body.
But this position left Oliver another opening to strike. Neve raised her right leg, kicking Oliver in the centre of his chest. He stumbled back, still steady on his feet, but Neve exploited the brief lapse in his defense.
She propelled her body forward, positioning her sword in the Lady's Guard. Her sword was angled over her right shoulder, poised to strike. Without hesitating, Neve brought her sword down in a tight arc.
Oliver was ready. He raised his arms quickly, their swords crossing at their midsections. They were locked in the Eleventh Guard–the Crown. They both applied pressure to their swords, leaning into each other's blades. But Neve felt her grip weaken first.
Neve mustered her strength and pushed Oliver's sword to the side, giving her enough space to move back. Again, they faced each other watchfully in the Short Guard position.
Despite the cold, a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Neve's face. She was already tired, her short breaths producing small puffs of fog in the cold air. Oliver was a skilled swordsman–much more so than Neve.
Scowling, Neve tightened her grip. 'Even if I can't win, I shouldn't make a fool of myself.'
This time, Neve and Oliver both charged forward. They knew this would be the deciding round.
Neve carried her sword behind her in the Ninth Guard–the Long Tail. It allowed her to move faster, though it limited her offensive options. Oliver charged forward in the Eighth Guard–the Boar's Tusk. It was a low, defensive position, but it still left him in the position to strike.
As Neve swung her sword, Oliver raised his. Their eyes met just before their blades collided.
Clack!
Neve's sword was deflected, the force of the impact too mighty for Neve's hands to bear. Still, Oliver's grip was steadfast and unyielding. Neve's sword flew from her hands and landed on the dirt-covered ground with a quiet thump! A small plume of dirt erupted into the air.
"It appears to be my victory, My Lady," the knight teased. He straightened his posture and offered Neve a slight bow.
"You don't sound surprised," Neve muttered.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Are you? With all due respect, Lady Neve, I am a knight. I have trained with the sword for over a decade."
"No, I'm not surprised," Neve sighed. "But you haven't even broken a sweat, Sir Oliver. I didn't expect you to win so easily."
"That can be your objective for the next time we duel," the knight suggested. He laughed at Neve's irked expression. "You must set reasonable goals, My Lady. We only have two weeks."
Neve, a person who had never before known failure, was frustrated. Furthermore, she didn't have the luxury of time to hone her swordsmanship.
"I understand your frustration, Lady Neve," Oliver continued. "But you're not in a bad position. You're already leagues ahead of many of our army's infantrymen."
'They're commoners,' Neve thought derisively. 'Or more like cannon fodder.'
Neve sighed and shook her head. "Well, complaining about it certainly won't help," she said. "What's next?"
At this, the knight smiled, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Exercise," Oliver responded simply. "And lots of it."
–––
Oliver leaned into Neve's line of vision, his wide frame blocking out the light of the setting sun. He casted a long shadow over her prone body, where she had fallen after her legs gave way.
"Good work," Oliver said cheerily. "That was your final set."
Neve's chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. She was unable to speak, so she just glared up at the knight. She had completed Oliver's rigorous exercise regimen, designed to improve her strength and stamina. It was intense, and she had been exercising for the better part of the day.
"You're evil," Neve managed weakly.
"You still need to stretch, My Lady," the knight spoke, ignoring Neve's protest. "Would you like some assistance?"
"Yes," Neve sighed. "I don't think I can move."
Oliver crouched down, helping Neve sit up. He maneuvered her body into an assortment of poses, making her muscles ache. But by the end of it, Neve felt significantly more relaxed. She rolled her shoulders, only a subtle flare of pain remaining.
"Make sure to stretch in the morning, too," Oliver reminded her. "You're going to feel infinitely worse tomorrow."
"That sounds wonderful," Neve deadpanned.
"It'll all be worth it," the knight smiled, clapping her on the back. Neve cried out in pain. "Whoops, sorry."
"Save your breath," Neve barked, wondering belatedly if she had spoken too harshly. But Oliver seemed unbothered, as he just laughed heartily.
The knight stood up, offering Neve his hand. She took it, letting herself be hauled to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly, but at least she could stand.
"Join me at the knights' manor later," Oliver said. "It would be good for you to acquaint yourself with the other knights. Plus, I have to fatten you up a little bit. Can't build muscle if you're all bone."
"Blame it on the Capital diets," Neve replied. "I'll meet you at the manor after I bathe."
Oliver shrugged. "Everyone's going to stink, anyway."
"I am still a lady, Sir Oliver," Neve said, rolling her eyes. "Imagine what my father, or Vale, would say."
"Suit yourself," Oliver ceded. "Just make sure to bring your appetite with you."
Neve winced, feeling her stomach grumble. "You don't have to tell me twice."