3 days had passed, but it felt as though I hadn't walked in months.
Confined to my bed, I wasn't let out or allowed to even get my own food, usually being brought to me by a servant.
It was a weird dynamic—a servant tending to a slave—but I had no other choice.
Nevertheless, it was only awkward for a time. I had now accepted it by this point.
Karaf had invited me to train with him once again. He dropped by my bed an hour before I was to be discharged.
Four days I had spent in this place. Out of the four, three were spent in bed.
I walked passed the door, my eyes caught upon the man who had put me there in the first place.
He grunted, flicking his head in a gesture that told me to follow him.
Rather than spending another 3 days in bed, I chose to comply.
Thankfully it was to the training room with Karaf, rather than some dark closet where he'd try to finish the job.
"Fork, there you are", he appeared to notice the drop of sweat that ran down my face. "I know you two aren't on the best of terms, but no one trains as well as Agaroth".
"Right", my shoulders sunk in a way that showed my hesitance, but I had seen his strength first hand.
"You use the sword, why?".
Agaroth finally chose to say something to me. Although his question was weird, I answered nonetheless, "My father was a swordsman".
"Here", he tossed me a sword. "Come".
…
I stared at the sword for a good second, another wave of Deja vu sweeping over me. When was the last time I actually trained with a sword, rather than just fight?
"What are you waiting for? Scared?", he smirked.
"Just because I'm a little patient and trying to be the bigger man, doesn't mean you can talk to me like that!".
I charged. My sword flew to the side. A sword in his hand, held to my neck.
It hadn't even been a second and I was already dead.
"You're temper is that of a child, grow… up…", he put great emphasis on his last two words. "Again".
I let out a rough sigh, picking my sword from ground.
Again and again, my sword flew. Every time a loud clang resonated within the room.
"Why? Why can't I hit you?", my strikes turned more barbaric.
"You're tempo is off".
*Clang*
"You're pushing too hard".
*Clang*
"You're left foot is too far out".
*Clang*
"You're—"
"Shut up!", a figure merged between Agaroth and a man who's face had turned hazy.
Only a moment later, my neck was stained with blood.
"You have no right to return my goodwill with slander".
Block, kick to my side.
"You have anger, yet no technique. You have intuition, yet your mind is so clouded. You curse the world, and you curse more when it does not go your way".
Block, grab and punch to my stomach.
"I'm sure I'm not the first one who's said this to you, and I'm sure I won't be the last".
His words stung, but the sinking feeling that grew with every unsuccessful attack hurt more.
"Have you killed a human before, fork? Do you know what it feels like to have the blood of your own kind on your hands? Do you understand what it means to take up this blade?".
He stopped his movements.
"Or have you only been able to attack with the thought of the enemy as a monster".
It seemed that the training had turned into more of a counselling session. But my eyes widened with his every word. It seemed as though he had lived countless lifetimes, and I was still a toddler in his eyes.
"Have you ever loved someone?".
My eyes widened in disbelief at his words. Love, of course, my mother… but he probably means a woman— so no… But uhm, I was… training? No. Erm fighting? That's basically the same thing. During my entire life I had never once fallen in love.
"It seems you have not".
"Whuu— of course I've loved, many women have… wanted to have been my—".
"Right".
"Have you loved anyone?", I asked him back.
"There was one", his face turned solemn. "We loved each other, but I was too indecisive. Too afraid of what could happen. So I left. She probably hates me now, or has forgotten me".
He clapped his hands together after he sheathed his sword. He looked towards Karaf as he did so, "Now then…".
"Right, more explanation…", he took in a deep breath. "Teams of five participate in a death match against the other in a tournament based system. By now you've met, the whole team right?"
"Whole team?".
"You know, Viktor, me, Agaroth and Freya".
My mind blanked as I heard the last name.
No, no this can't be…
Me?! On a team with that bitch?
I can't. This can't be happening.
"You don't look so good, I'm sure you've realised by now we're all pretty strong. I don't think you need to worry that badly", he scratched his neck, laughing.
"No it's not you".
"Oh so it's someone else?"
"…"
"Freya?".
"Don't you say her name, my hands are shaking".
"What are you guys talking about?".
"Eek".
"What's up with him", Freya pointed towards me as I seemed to have constricted like an animal trying to play dead.
If I don't move… she can't see me.
She stepped closer to me.
"Urk", another step. "Eek", another. "Eagh".
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Whyyy", I was currently held in a head lock.
"You were pissing me off".
I don't think this is going to work out…
Viktor stood, leaning against a wall some distance away.
It seemed that he didn't want to join in the commotion.
I don't blame him. After all, she was here.
I barely managed to escape her grasp. I almost suffocated.
Another second and— I imagined my cold body laid on the ground.