Azel watched as the dagger stretched outwards, the total amount of mana was the same, even if the shape grew longer. So the elongated blade grew more transparent as it morphed into the shape of the much larger bastard sword. Well, Azel called it a bastard sword, however the blade wasn't quite there yet.
The term 'bastard sword' comes from its hybrid nature - it is neither a pure one-handed sword nor a fully-fledged two-handed sword. Due to its adaptable nature, Azel found himself quickly drew to the blade compared to the various other weapons Colwyn had on storage. It was a precise weapon, both the weight and size had to be exact for the bastard sword to truly be at its best.
Unfortunately, Azel was not yet familiar enough with its measurements to the point where he could replicate it from memory alone. The mana constructs were either to heavy and large to the point where swinging the blade looked clumsy, or to light and small which often resulted in the tip breaking off during Azel's practice swings.
After just under half an hour, the zombie felt confident enough in his mana-construct to begin his training. Colwyn had only trained Azel for a few days before he had left to investigate the nebulous vulture, but due to Azel's prodigious nature in combination with the Drake knights ruthless teaching, the zombie had had the basics of swordplay drilled into him.
Fundamentally, the flow of combat revolved around just four elements: Timing, balance, technique and luck.
Sometimes, you need a small, precise move to gain control of a situation, while other times, a larger action is necessary to secure a decisive outcome. It's all about making choices. When you grasp the concept of timing, you can quickly assess how much time is available in a given moment and how much time your movement creates for setting up your next action. Fights, even between evenly matched opponents, are often resolved in an instant.
Balance is controlled through footwork, which is essentially how you move—whether it's forward, backward, in a straight line, a semi-circle, or a pivot. The main purpose of footwork is to maintain a stable centre, allowing you to lunge, advance, retreat, attack, parry, or execute any action effectively. Perception plays a key role in choosing the right footwork. By understanding your own abilities and evaluating your opponent, even to a basic extent, you can determine the optimal distance needed to strike and how quickly you can retreat if they surprise you with a lunge.
Now, all these things are meant to be practiced over and over, until they're instinctive. Thoughts are too slow for an actual fight. In theory thoughts are great, but in practise with steel in your hands, there are few thoughts. There are instinctive feelings for distance, perception, and timing, and then there is what you can actually do with your skill set.
So Azel would hone his already sharp instinct into a powerful, deadly force of nature. The zombie would master magic, swordplay and every other source of strength he could get his hands on. After all, for someone like him, strength wasn't an option for his survival... It was a necessity.
Ignoring the Siamese cat that was now lounging out on his rickety table, the zombie begun exchanging blows with an imaginative enemy. The zombie would parry the weaker blows and dodge the stronger ones, and if that wasn't possible Azel would just block the attack directly. The wispy figure he imagined had naturally taken the appearance of his most powerful opponent yet, Colwyn.
Even though the drake knight hadn't taken his duels with Azel seriously, it was impossible not to notice the overwhelming skill Colwyn demonstrated. No matter how quickly Azel attacked, or how cunningly he planned, Colwyn's sublime footwork and perfectly weighted strikes always put him in a position where he had the upper hand.
Azel, with all his genius, wouldn't be able to kill Colwyn regardless of the circumstances. The gap between them was like heaven and earth, it was insurmountable. Despite the inaccuracy of the mana construct, each strike was made with purpose, replicating the footwork and technique Colwyn had drilled into him. He visualized the Drake knight in front of him, his mind racing through the techniques they had practiced—parry, dodge, block, riposte—and applied them to the phantom foe.
Each time his blade clashed with the invisible opponent, he felt a small thrill, the rush of combat coursing through him. But as always, Colwyn's imagined strikes were quick, precise, and always found a way to push Azel into a disadvantageous position. His instinctive response was always too slow, his footwork too clumsy, too imperfect.
The bastard sword, even in its imprecise form, felt heavy in his hands. He swung it again, only to watch the blade break apart at the tip, the mana flickering and sparking. Azel cursed under his breath and steadied the hilt, dismissing the construct before recreating it.
He knew the truth. He couldn't rely on brute strength alone, and magic, as unpredictable as it was, couldn't be his sole answer either. He had to master every aspect of combat—every weapon, every technique—and push his body and mind beyond the limits he thought were possible.
Finally Azel gave in to his tired mind. Despite the zombies immortal body constantly replenishing itself with energy, Azel's mind had to rest itself occasionally, especially after a taxing task such as conjuring up a mirage to duel with whilst making not to damage his cramped home.
The Siamese cat stretched lazily on the table, its half-lidded eyes watching him with an almost mocking indifference. Azel had never bothered naming the feline, though it seemed intent on staying around. It wasn't his cat—not really. But it always found its way back to his doorstep, no matter how often he shooed it away.
"Enjoying yourself?" Azel muttered, running a hand through his ashen hair. The cat yawned in response, revealing sharp little teeth before curling up into a tighter ball.
The soft sound of rain pattering against the roof of his small run down cottage broke the silence. The cat stretched again, rolling over onto its back, as if mocking Azel by shadowing his current lazy posture. "You've got it easy," Azel muttered, glaring half-heartedly at the feline. "No magic to master, no enemies to fight, no secret nature to keep hidden."
The cat's tail flicked lazily in response, its eyes closing as though dismissing his complaints entirely.