Calder wasted no time putting Rowen to work. By dawn the next day, Rowen was at the clearing, drenched in sweat as he performed drills Calder barked out with precision and impatience. The older man's gaze was sharp, missing nothing as he corrected Rowen's every mistake.
"Your stance is sloppy, boy!" Calder snapped as Rowen tried to block an imagined strike. "Your feet are too close together. You'd topple over if someone sneezed in your direction."
Rowen widened his stance, biting back a retort. His muscles burned, and his arms felt like lead as he raised his wooden sword again.
"Better," Calder said grudgingly. "At least you don't look like you're about to fall flat on your face now."
In his mind, Zoreth's voice chimed in. "Charming fellow, isn't he? It's a wonder the army didn't give him a medal for morale boosting."
"Would you stop?" Rowen muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Calder asked, his sharp ears picking up the grumble.
"Nothing," Rowen said quickly, refocusing on the training.
Calder narrowed his eyes but didn't press further. "Good. Less talking, more learning. Now, try this!" He thrust a second wooden sword at Rowen, gesturing for him to take it.
The training grew more grueling as the days turned into weeks. Calder had Rowen practice with various weapons, but Rowen found himself drawn to the swords more than anything else. There was something about the balance of speed and strength they offered that felt natural in his hands.
"Not bad with those," Calder remarked one afternoon after a particularly intense sparring session. Rowen was panting, but he'd managed to hold his own against Calder's attacks. "You're fast, and you've got decent reflexes. You're not brute strength like some fighters, but you've got enough to back up your speed. That makes you dangerous, if you can figure out how to use it."
"For once, I agree with him," Zoreth said. "Though he could've said it with a little more flair. 'Dangerous' is such a basic compliment."
Rowen ignored the quip, focusing instead on Calder's assessment. "So… the swords are good for me?"
"They're better than good," Calder said, handing him a second short sword. "See what you think about using two of them. You've got the balance for it, and you're ambidextrous enough that it might work."
Rowen took the second sword, his movements clumsy at first as he adjusted to the weight. Calder circled him, watching closely.
"Don't swing both blades like they're clubs," Calder said. "One is for attack; the other is for defense. You're not trying to look cool, you're trying to stay alive."
Rowen nodded, making a few tentative swings. The blades felt awkward at first, but as he practiced, the movements began to feel more natural.
Calder wasn't just teaching Rowen how to fight, he was instilling a philosophy. During breaks in training, he often shared stories from his time in the Lionecian army, weaving lessons into his tales.
"You think strength is about power?" Calder asked one evening as they rested by the fire. "It's not. Strength is about knowing yourself, your limits, your skills, your weaknesses. The strongest fighter in the world isn't the one who hits the hardest. It's the one who knows how to win when the odds are stacked against him."
Rowen leaned on his sword, absorbing the words. "But doesn't a strong ability make it easier to win?"
Calder gave a sharp laugh. "Easier? Sure. But it's a crutch if you don't know what you're doing. I've seen men with abilities that could level a battlefield fall to soldiers who had nothing but grit and a blade."
"Finally, something interesting," Zoreth said, his tone unusually contemplative. "The mortal might have a point. Not that I'd admit that to him."
"I'll tell him you said that," Rowen whispered.
Calder shot him a look. "Talking to yourself again?"
"Uh, no. Just… thinking about what you said."
"Good," Calder said. "Use your brain, it's the best weapon you've got. Now, get up. We're not done yet."
....
Sparring was a daily ordeal, and Calder didn't go easy on Rowen. The older man moved with a precision that Rowen could only hope to match, exploiting every opening in Rowen's defenses.
"You're relying too much on your speed," Calder said during one match, blocking a flurry of strikes with ease. "Speed is good, but it won't save you if you're predictable."
Rowen adjusted his approach, feinting with one blade before striking with the other. Calder parried the strike but nodded approvingly. "Better. Keep your opponent guessing."
Rowen adjusted his grip and tried an overhead swing, only for Calder to sidestep and tap him on the back with the flat of his blade.
"Too slow," Calder said.
Rowen growled in frustration, stepping back to reassess. He decided move even faster and to start using feints. Using his speed to aid in helping him be more unpredictable, Calder became stunned at the sudden change.
Calder barely had time to parry, his expression shifting to approval. "There it is! Finally using your brain. Took you long enough."
"Don't let it go to your head, Rowen," Zoreth said. "The old man's standards aren't that high."
"I heard that." Calder muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Rowen froze. "Wait, what?"
Calder smirked. "You think you're the first kid to mumble to himself during training? Don't worry, I won't tell your dad you've got an imaginary friend."
Rowen's cheeks flushed, and Zoreth cackled in the back of his mind.
The weeks of training began to show results. Rowen's movements grew more fluid, his strikes more precise. He still had a long way to go, but Calder's relentless coaching was paying off.
"Not bad, boy," Calder said one evening as they wrapped up a session. "You've got the makings of a decent fighter. You're not there yet, but you've got potential."
Rowen couldn't hide his grin. "Thanks, Calder."
"Don't thank me yet," Calder said, smirking. "You'll hate me again tomorrow when I make you run laps before breakfast."
By the end of the sixth week, Rowen had grown into his dual-wielding style. The two swords felt like extensions of his arms, and he'd learned to balance offense and defense with Calder's guidance.
"You've got your weapon," Calder said one evening as they stood in the clearing. "Now you need to figure out what kind of fighter you want to be. It's not just about skill, it's about purpose. Why do you fight?"
Rowen hesitated, the question catching him off guard.
"Think on it," Calder said, clapping him on the shoulder. "When you know the answer, you'll be ready for whatever comes next."
As Rowen walked home that night, his swords strapped to his back, he felt a new sense of confidence.