After endurance training, it is finally time to use my sword. I hurry over to yet another field, which, unlike the previous fields, consists only of newcomers. The instructor of the class is, much to my chagrin, the sword dealer that I was so disrespectful towards this morning.
He begins with an introduction to the principles of the class. "My goal is to teach you as much as I can about the vast field of swordsmanship in as little time as possible. While sometimes referred to as 'swordplay,' I can assure you that this is not a game. We fight with sharpened blades in our training, so, unless you want to die before you even get to the battlefield, do be careful. Now, to be honest, most of you will not be fit to be swordsmen. This is a highly skill intensive and difficult field to become even proficient in, and to become a master is truly a lifetime effort.
"What I teach you will be pure swordsmanship. Those of you that are capable of magic shall not use it here. You will have plenty of time during your training with magic to practice the fusion of swordsmanship and elemental arts. I would advise you against haughtiness because of your magic. While it is true that poor technique will be mitigated against a non-magical opponent, you will surely fall quickly against a magical enemy if you do not focus on your skills.
"As a measure to assess your respective abilities with the blade, I will face each of you in single combat. Now, without further ado, who shall go first?"
Our group, which has maintained near perfect silence for the duration of his speech, immediately breaks out in chatter. I remain silent as usual. Eventually, a young man of perhaps twenty emerges from the crowd, strutting confidently towards the swordsman. He is well over six feet tall, with a thick layer of muscle covering his body. A sword that he obviously brought from home (evidenced by the fact that it looks more like a cleaver than the elegant, standard-issue blades) is already held by his meaty fist. Though the sword must be incredibly heavy, he holds it as though it is made of cardboard. He must not think that the fight has started yet, as the sword drags along the ground at his side in what is an obviously horrible defensive position. This glaring weakness is immediately taken advantage of as the instructor makes a quick jab to his throat.
"Ahh!" the soldier cries out, taking a quick step back while simultaneously swatting the attacking sword away with his own. "You filthy cheater! Having the audacity to attack before the duel even started! I'll be telling my father about this!"
"Tell your father all you want," the instructor says coldly, swinging his sword in for another attack.
While their fight slowly ramps up in intensity, I overhear someone asking "Who is his father, anyway? Must be somebody pretty important to be used as a threat against a military officer."
Another soldier simply scoffs in reply, "Just a no-name baron from Kiasses. He has no power here."
While these words are exchanged in an otherwise silently observant crowd, the fight reaches its climax. Though the soldier clearly has some experience with his sword, it can not compete with the impeccable movement and swordsmanship demonstrated by the commander. He moves quite actively around the battlefield, preferring to dodge his opponent's attacks than to block them head-on. By carefully sidestepping overly strong swings, he is able to create openings for attack, forcing the soldier to immediately go on the defensive while desperately fending off a flurry of attacks.
The degree of his aggression comes as a surprise; one poor move by the soldier would surely spell his demise. Eventually, he is put into a position in which he has no option but to surrender or die.
The commander doesn't even look at him as he slunks dejectedly back to the crowd, where he is quickly revived by encouragement from his friends.
"Now, who's next?" When no one volunteers, he points straight at me. "You. I've been wondering what level of ability could have led to such levels of insolence earlier. Now, come and face me."
I calmly approach the dirt ring that he is standing in, my sword held in a defensive position. As soon as I step into the dirt ring, he says something quite unexpected. "There will be no surrender. This fight will continue until I say otherwise."
[Uh oh,] I think while raising my sword to block his first attack. The swords let off an echoing clang, and a strong vibration runs up my arm. [Yeah, he definitely wants me dead.] I quickly back away from his attack, holding my sword in a defensive position all the while. He lunges for me again and again, and each time I block, not trusting myself to be able to dodge an attack. His attacks become ever more aggressive, forcing me to keep backing up and blocking.
Suddenly he stops. "You know, you'll never win if you don't engage with your opponent."
"And? In a real battle scenario I'll have allies around me to stab whoever is mindlessly pursuing me in the back."
Before I am even finished with my retort, he returns to his dogged pursuit of me. While someone entirely new to swordsmanship would still certainly be defeated in this scenario, I am able to successfully block every attack that he throws at me.
Eventually, I feel forced to change my strategy. I begin throwing in counter-attacks after each successful block, which, though falling very short of actually injuring him, greatly slows his pursuit of me. [Ah. So that's been his strategy.] I think after noting how good of a condition he is still in, as opposed to my extreme exhaustion. [He must have a pretty high level skill related to endurance that keeps him from getting tired as easily. I had foolishly assumed that he was doggedly pursuing me out of rage, but instead it was a calculated move to weaken me to the point where I would suffer an embarrassing defeat. What a clever guy. The longer this goes on, the more that the scales will weigh in his favor. I've got to end this now, which is no easy task considering the skill gap here. It is much easier to attack while retreating than to head on, but if I don't go head on then my defeat is certain. Well, here goes nothing.]
I abruptly change my strategy again, going from defensive with the occasional counterattack to an aggressively offensive method. Memories of my many sword fighting competitions on Earth are resurfaced as we truly cross blades. While I was once the greatest on Earth, that was many years ago and I have had little practice in the interim. Furthermore, being a swordsman on Earth as a hobby cannot compare against someone who has truly devoted their life to the art of the blade. So I, the greatest swordsman of Earth, am clearly at a disadvantage here. Still, I persist in my attack, a flowing series of movements. Duck, swing, block, jab, dodge… move after move flows together until I, in my exhaustion, am defeated. The sword stabs into my left arm, then my right leg in quick succession, causing me to collapse to the ground. He raises the sword above me, point dangling mere inches from my face. Then he sighs, and, after a kick to the side, declares our duel over.
I hear a soldier comment that there must be a feud between us, before a combination of exhaustion and blood loss plunge me into unconsciousness.
I must only be asleep for a few minutes, for when I wake I am still laying on the field, a healing potion being poured over me. The master swordsman, who is surprisingly the one pouring the potion over me, stands above, a blank expression adorning his face. As soon as my eyes open, he stops pouring the potion over me. He says nothing as I push my sore body up off the ground and hobble back towards the crowd that has just witnessed my defeat.