Chereads / Amukelo: The Burdened Path / Chapter 41 - First Sparring

Chapter 41 - First Sparring

As the old man instructed Amukelo to meet in ten minutes, he scrutinized the young man's sword with a discerning eye. "Don't use this sword, and it's better not to bring it here at all," he cautioned with a slight frown. "While this is the best place for getting stronger, not everyone here has honorable intentions."

Acknowledging the advice with a solemn nod, Amukelo discreetly relocated his sword in a way that was less visible to everyone. Bral stepped in, offering further assistance, "Give your sword to me; I'll keep it covered and safe."

As they moved away to prepare, a small group of four men in a dark corner of the room cast glances in their direction. A man with dark hair and a calculating gaze, nudged his leader, a rugged man with white hair similar to Amukelo's and a prominent scar across his face. "Boss, did you see that? The grip of that sword looks like it could be worth a fortune," he chuckled quietly.

The leader, with a mischievous smirk, responded, "Yeah, I saw it. Let's keep an eye on that kid."

While Bral and Idin helped Amukelo secure his sword, Sabrif approached with a standard longsword, handed it to Amukelo, and relayed a message, "The master told me to give this to you for your sparring session." Accepting the sword, Amukelo expressed his thanks and prepared himself mentally for the upcoming challenge.

"You'll be in arena number three," Sabrif informed as he pointed towards the corridor leading to the sparring areas. "Your opponent should already be there."

Following Bral and Idin's lead, Amukelo entered the bustling arena number three to find a crowd slightly smaller than the first, yet filled with eager spectators. In the center stood his opponent, a confident young man with fiery red hair and a slightly taller frame than Amukelo. The master introduced him, "This is Padrin, he'll be your opponent today."

Bral, seeing Amukelo's opponent, expressed his concern to the master, "Him?! Are you sure, master? Padrin is one of the top young fighters here. Isn't this match a bit too challenging for Amukelo's first spar?"

The master, unphased by the concern, replied sternly, "Giving him an easy fight for his first time would do him no good. It's like handing candy to a child—it satisfies for the moment but brings nothing of value."

Bral persisted, slightly dismayed, "But that's an impossible match..."

"Enough," the master cut him off firmly. "Return to the crowd. I'm about to lay down the rules."

With a resigned nod, Bral retreated to join the spectators, his eyes lingering worriedly on Amukelo as the young fighter prepared to face a daunting challenge in the heart of the arena.

As the rules of the spar were outlined by the master, the tension in the arena thickened palpably. "The fight will be to the first touch," the master announced, his voice carrying clearly over the murmurs of the crowd. "If Amukelo is hit, he can choose to continue or not. If he manages to hit Padrin, the sparring session ends, and he is declared the winner." He paused to survey the young fighters, ensuring the terms were understood. "Any questions?"

Padrin shook his head, his demeanor calm but focused. Amukelo, however, had a query. "Are there any rules about the fight? Are certain moves off-limits, or things I can't do?"

The master's response was firm, reflecting the seriousness of their training philosophy. "You can do whatever you need to secure victory. We're here to prepare for the real world, not just the training ground. In the real world, it's free for all." His words resonated with the gravity of their implications, underscoring the brutal reality of what it meant to survive outside these walls.

Amukelo nodded, accepting the no-holds-barred nature of their engagement. "No more questions," he affirmed.

"Good, take your positions," instructed the master, stepping back to give them room. The fighters moved to opposite ends of the designated area, the crowd's anticipation becoming a near tangible force around them.

Padrin's eyes narrowed, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he regarded Amukelo across the distance. "Expect no mercy from me," he stated, his tone as cold as the steel of his sword.

Amukelo responded with equal resolve, though his voice carried a hint of respect for his opponent's skill. "I'll also do my best."

With the stage set, the master gave the signal. "Begin!"

Instantly, the gap between them closed as both fighters surged forward with impressive speed. Amukelo, despite his prowess, was taken aback by Padrin's swiftness. His reaction was just in time to parry a vicious strike, the force of which jolted his arm backward, straining his grip on the unfamiliar sword he wielded.

Recovering quickly from the initial shock, Amukelo braced himself for the next attack. He saw Padrin's blade arcing towards his waist, a clear intent to end the spar swiftly. In a desperate countermove, Amukelo slapped at Padrin's sword hand with his free hand while twisting his body to the side. The impact altered the trajectory of the blade just enough; Padrin's sword hissed past Amukelo's clothing, missing flesh by mere inches.

Regaining his footing, Amukelo readied himself once more, his breathing measured under the weight of his opponent's relentless assault. Padrin, slightly off-balance from the unexpected resistance, regained his composure and prepared to strike again.

"Not bad," Padrin conceded, a grudging respect in his tone as he circled Amukelo, seeking another opening. "But not enough to win."

The clash of steel echoed through the arena as Amukelo and Padrin engaged once more, their swords meeting with a sharp clang that drew gasps from the spectators. Padrin, agile and cunning, used the momentum from their lock to swing around Amukelo in a fluid, sweeping motion. His sword came slicing through the air from the other side, forcing Amukelo to react swiftly.

Caught slightly off balance, Amukelo couldn't align his sword in time to block effectively. In a split-second decision, he attempted to disrupt Padrin's attack with a kick aimed at his arm. The move, while bold, was slightly mistimed; his foot only grazed Padrin's forearm, causing only a minor deflection of the blade. Despite Amukelo's effort, Padrin's sword grazed his cheek, leaving a shallow cut that started to sting immediately.

Padrin halted his assault, stepping back as the rules required, giving Amukelo a moment to assess himself. "I want... I want to continue," Amukelo declared, wiping at the blood with the back of his hand, his determination unshaken.

Acknowledging his resolve, the master nodded for the spar to resume. Padrin charged once more, his movements a blur of speed and precision. Amukelo met his advance head-on, their swords clashing with a resonant clash that echoed around the room. Padrin swiftly transitioned into a thrust, aiming directly at Amukelo's midsection. This time, Amukelo was prepared; he angled his blade to redirect Padrin's sword toward the ground, then swiftly stamped on the flat of the blade, pinning it under his boot.

Seizing the momentary advantage, Amukelo swung his sword in a wide arc towards Padrin, who was momentarily hampered without his weapon. To Amukelo's surprise, Padrin reacted with exceptional agility, releasing his sword and blocking Amukelo's arm with his now-free hand. The move was unexpected and effective, stopping Amukelo's attack cold.

With a fluid motion, Padrin then executed a precise roundhouse kick that caught Amukelo off-guard, knocking the wind out of him and sending him stumbling backward. The kick gave Padrin enough time to retrieve his sword from the ground, regaining his composure and stance with a confident smirk.

"You are good," Padrin acknowledged, his tone mixed with genuine respect as he observed Amukelo recovering his breath. "I like you," he added, his smile broadening, appreciating the challenge and spirit Amukelo had shown in their brief but intense exchange. Meanwhile, Amukelo, still catching his breath from the kick, managed a nod, acknowledging the compliment despite the physical toll the spar was taking on him.