Alexander took a deep breath, feeling the hilt of the sword slightly slipping in his sweaty palm. He gripped it tighter, trying to suppress the faint trembling that betrayed him.
- My first duels… Their gazes, their expectations - too much depends on how I prove myself now, - the thought flashed, echoing in his mind. But he straightened up, hiding his doubts behind an impenetrable look.
- Who is ready to show their strength? - Alexander's voice tore through the silence again.
His words sounded calm, but in the surrounding stillness, they echoed like a thunderclap. Several druzhinniks exchanged glances, as if assessing who dared to accept the challenge. Their faces reflected a mix of doubt and determination. One of the young druzhinniks stepped forward, his gaze momentarily meeting that of Voyevoda Yaromir, as if seeking permission.
Voyevoda Yaromir, standing nearby, squinted slightly. His calmness was almost palpable, yet within, he felt anticipation. Alexander's previously displayed skills had already sparked interest and respect, but true strength is tested only in a duel.
He nodded. The young druzhinnik took a deep breath and stepped forward. His stance looked confident, but his eyes betrayed the anxiety he was trying to conceal.
- My prince, allow me to test myself, - he said reservedly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
Alexander looked at him intently. A young warrior, barely twenty years old, stood proudly, though his eyes revealed a struggle between fear and determination. His frame was slender but with strong shoulders - clearly, he was no stranger to training and hard work. He was a man who did not allow himself to give up.
- What is your name? - Alexander asked, slightly raising his sword.
- Igor, my prince, - he replied. His voice was firm but still carried a youthful enthusiasm, untainted by hardships.
- Too young, too impatient, - the thought flashed in Alexander's mind. - But the resolve in his eyes… it's stronger than fear. And me? I cannot lose. If I falter, they will all notice. I must give it my all. Show them that I am worthy to lead them
His fingers gripped the hilt tighter. Alexander felt the sweat breaking on his palms but strove to mask his unease behind an outward calm. This was not just a fight. It was the first step in his new role - a trial on which everything depended.
- Very well, Igor, - he said, his voice confident, though a shadow of doubt still lingered within. - Show me what you can do
Muted whispers arose from the edge of the training ground. Their voices blended with the rustling wind, but Alexander caught a few phrases:
- Will Igor manage? He's still so young… - murmured one of the younger druzhinniks.
- Can't deny his courage, - replied an older one, shaking his head. - Even stepping up against the prince is a feat for him
Alexander averted his gaze from the crowd, focusing on his opponent. Igor raised his sword, taking a low stance. His movements were precise, as if by the book, but they carried a certain stiffness. Alexander took a deep breath, trying to quell the tremor in his hands, and assumed a combat stance.
- The first duel, - crossed his mind. - I won't forgive myself if I err. Only forward
Yaromir, straightening slightly, raised his hand. A heavy silence hung over the area, the air seeming to freeze in tense anticipation. Alexander felt his heartbeat quicken but maintained the appearance of complete composure.
- Begin! - Yaromir declared loudly, dropping his hand.
Igor took the first step, quickly closing the distance. His lunge was precise but too straightforward. Alexander easily dodged, letting the opponent's blade slice through nothing but air. The young warrior immediately stepped back, maintaining his balance.
- Fast, - Alexander noted to himself. - But not yet enough
As Alexander parried another thrust, Igor stepped back, his breathing uneven.
- How does he move? As if he knows in advance what I'm going to do! - flashed through Igor's mind.
Igor attacked again, this time from a more complex angle, aiming at Alexander's side. The prince raised his sword, blocking the strike, and the blades collided with a loud clang. The force of the blow was tangible, traveling from the hilt to his shoulders. Alexander took a step back, analyzing his opponent's tactics.
Igor did not relent, his eyes blazing with determination. He rushed forward, delivering a series of strikes. Alexander parried them but noticed how each successive blow became more precise. The young warrior wasn't merely striking; he was learning in motion.
- He's changing before my eyes, - Alexander thought. - This is no longer a simple training match. This is his chance to prove to himself and others that he is worthy
Spotting an opening in Alexander's defense, Igor feinted, his blade darting toward its target with lightning speed. However, the prince anticipated this maneuver. Alexander dodged, and Igor, losing his balance, took a step back, almost stumbling. But at that very moment, Alexander moved forward with remarkable speed, his blade gently yet firmly resting against the young warrior's wrist.
The air seemed to freeze. Igor stood still, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling sharply. Their eyes met. The young warrior's gaze was filled with disappointment mixed with respect. After a moment, he lowered his sword, acknowledging defeat.
Muted murmurs of surprise arose from the ranks of the druzhinniks.
- He makes it look too easy… - someone whispered, breaking the silence.
- Easy? - replied an older druzhinnik, keeping his eyes fixed on Alexander. His voice was hoarse but carried a note of respect. - Look at his face. He's giving it his all, just doesn't let us see it
Alexander lowered his sword. His shoulders felt heavy, his arms strained from the fight, yet he stood upright. His gaze rested on Igor, who remained motionless, defeated not so much by the loss but by his own uncertainty.
- You… didn't falter, - Alexander said, his voice steady but with a warm undertone. - That's important. Sometimes the most crucial thing is not to stop, even when it seems there's no way forward. Once you start walking, keep going to the end
The words were quiet, but their simplicity and firmness carried strength. Alexander felt the sweat trickling down his back but refused to show any weakness. He noticed a spark in Igor's eyes - not a fading spirit but a rekindling fire.
The young warrior tightened his grip on the sword, as if it had become an extension of himself. Then, bowing his head, he said quietly but firmly:
- Thank you, my prince. I, Igor… I will prove to you that I can become better
His voice trembled, yet it held resolve. Alexander gave a slight nod, a faint smile acknowledging the warrior's determination. Even the weight of the previous duel couldn't suppress this light, almost fatherly pride. After all, Alexander himself was far past forty.
Igor stepped back, bowing his head even lower. At that moment, it seemed he made a vow not to the prince but to himself. His shoulders straightened as he slowly walked away, leaving behind a sense of respect for the prince who not only won but inspired.
Restrained voices rose from all sides.
- Even after all that, he isn't breathing heavily… - murmured a young druzhinnik, fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. - I'd already be sprawled on the ground.
- Are you joking? - the older druzhinnik shook his head, chuckling. - That boy Igor is nothing. I'd handle him without even breaking a sweat. And you, I see, need to double your training. Too quick to admire
The young druzhinnik averted his gaze in annoyance but remained silent, acknowledging the elder's authority.
Alexander caught the words faintly but had already focused his attention on the new opponent. Onto the training ground stepped a senior druzhinnik of middle age, known for his skill in reading an opponent in combat. Nikita, nicknamed "The Fox," was renowned not only for his swordsmanship but for the cunning with which he controlled the flow of a fight.
His movements were measured, but his sharp and cold eyes studied Alexander, as if uncovering all his weaknesses before the duel even began.
- My prince, if you are not too tired, allow me to test myself, - he said, taking a combat stance. His voice was calm, but it carried the confidence of someone for whom battle was a natural element.
Alexander slightly raised his sword, assuming a defensive stance. His body felt the strain of the previous fight: his shoulders ached, his breathing was slightly heavier, but he focused, forcing himself to forget the fatigue. This opponent did not appear hurried, yet every movement spoke of experience.
- Very well, - said Alexander evenly, though his heart beat faster. - Attack
The air around seemed to thicken, and a tense silence enveloped the training ground. Nikita began moving slowly in a circle, not rushing to strike. He circled, waiting, as if testing how quickly the young prince would lose patience. Alexander, unwilling to show his uncertainty, stepped forward, closing the distance.
- In a fight, quick wit matters more than a quick blade, my prince, - Nikita remarked, suddenly making a feint. Alexander raised his sword, but the blow never came.
In the next instant, Nikita changed the angle of attack, and his sword slid sharply downward, nearly grazing the prince's thigh. Alexander barely managed to step back, catching a glimpse of a smirk on his opponent's face. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to breathe steadily. His eyes followed Nikita closely, trying to predict his next move.
- Observe more, think less of glory, - Nikita continued, as if hammering his words into the rhythm of the fight.
Alexander tightened his grip on the sword hilt. His shoulders ached, but he forced himself to focus on his breathing. - Learn to wait... and observe, - he whispered to himself, never taking his eyes off his opponent.
The next strike came suddenly and sharply, like a snake's bite. Nikita's first real blow was powerful and precise. The swords met with a loud clang, and Alexander felt the force of the strike reverberate through the hilt, causing his fingers to ache. Nikita, not giving him a moment's rest, continued his assault. His strikes were swift but deceptive, testing the prince's defense.
Attempting to seize the initiative, Alexander lunged but too hastily. Nikita easily dodged and, parrying immediately, ran his blade along the prince's shoulder. The chainmail held, but the blade left a deep scratch.
- No need to rush, - Nikita remarked calmly, stepping back. His tone was like that of a teacher giving a lecture. - In combat, patience matters as much as skill
His words stung Alexander. He gathered his thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate. His breathing slowed, and he began to notice details: the subtle shift in Nikita's torso before a strike, how his sword slightly rose before a feint.
When Nikita lunged again, Alexander abruptly changed his defensive trajectory, dodging to the side. Nikita's blade missed, and the prince, seizing the moment, struck. The blade of Alexander's sword hit Nikita's hilt, knocking the weapon from his hands.
For a moment, everything froze. Nikita, realizing his defeat, exhaled quietly and slightly inclined his head.
- A good fight, my prince, - he said, his voice devoid of resentment, only respect. - You learn faster than I expected
Alexander exhaled heavily, feeling the tension leave his body. Sweat trickled down his temples, his shoulders throbbed, but he straightened, refusing to show fatigue. His gaze was firm, though his mind was racing.
- It was not a flawless victory, - he thought. - But I learned a lesson. Mistakes make me stronger
He nodded to Nikita, accepting his respect. At that moment, Alexander understood that every fight was a step forward and that the path to leadership began not with victories but with the ability to acknowledge one's weaknesses.
He took a deep breath, letting the air refresh his strained lungs. A breeze cooled his face, bringing a touch of relief. Another moment passed, and a short exhale, filled with resolve, escaped his lips. Alexander lifted his gaze to the surrounding druzhinniks.
- Who else wishes to challenge me? - his voice rang out evenly and firmly, breaking the tense silence. Yet within Alexander, conflicting emotions boiled.
He clearly felt the fatigue - his muscles ached, his breathing grew heavier, sweat trickled down his temples - but something within him elevated him to a new level. As if the exhaustion didn't weaken him but instead transformed him into something greater. It felt like every movement at the edge, every strike deflected at the limits of his abilities, made him stronger than before.
- My prince, after two duels, are you not tired? - Mstislav stepped closer. His voice carried a mix of concern and restrained anxiety. The upcoming coronation weighed heavily on his mind; if Alexander were seriously injured, it could turn into a disaster.
Alexander cast a quick glance at him and shook his head.
- I'm fine, - he said firmly but not loudly. - I feel excellent. Let's continue
His tone held no challenge, only determination. He understood that his body was urging him to push forward, not to stop, and he had no intention of yielding.
Mstislav lingered his gaze on the young prince for a moment but said nothing. He stepped back, allowing the next challenger to step onto the ground. Those who had been observing the duels exchanged glances. Watching the two fights had sparked a desire in many to test their strength, but no one attempted to break the order. The elders decided first, and only then, with their permission, the younger ones.
Onto the training ground stepped the next senior druzhinnik, whose name made many of the young men in the troop tense slightly. Mstivoy, nicknamed "The Shield," was known for his impenetrable defense. In his hands, he held a sword, and before him, a large round shield with an intricately carved wolf - a symbol of strength and cunning.
His stance was as unmoving as the ground itself. Mstivoy calmly looked Alexander over, as if assessing him not as a prince but as an equal opponent.
- My prince, - he began, his voice low and steady. - A shield can be stronger than a blade, and strength lies in patience. Allow me to test your skills in this
Alexander, though showing no outward sign, felt a slight tension. This warrior radiated confidence. His figure seemed to dominate half the training ground, and the shield was an extension of his body. Alexander understood that this fight would demand more than strength.
- Very well, let's begin, - Alexander replied firmly, taking his combat stance.
Mstivoy inclined his head slightly, accepting the challenge. But he was in no hurry to attack. He moved slowly in a circle, placing Alexander in a position where any attack would seem risky. The shield tightly covered his body, while the sword peeked threateningly from its edge.
- What's wrong, my prince? Not rushing in? - Mstivoy taunted with a faint smile, his words calm yet carrying an underlying challenge.
Deciding not to fall for the provocation, Alexander sidestepped cautiously, waiting. But suddenly, Mstivoy stepped forward, his shield appearing at Alexander's chest level in an instant, knocking the wind out of him. The prince staggered but managed to remain standing, blocking the sharp sword strike that followed.
- A shield is not just defense, - Mstivoy remarked, retreating. - It is strength, a weapon, and skill
Alexander frowned. This fight was different from the previous ones. Here, every attack met an unyielding wall, and every attempt to find a weakness ended in failure. He made a thrust, but Mstivoy's shield easily deflected the blade. Mstivoy didn't counterattack; he simply waited for Alexander to make another mistake.
- You have endurance, my prince, but you're too hasty, - Mstivoy called out, raising his shield. - Show me you can have patience
Alexander realized that ordinary techniques were useless here. His breathing evened out, and his movements became deliberate. He began circling Mstivoy, trying to find a moment when the shield would slightly expose his side. But Mstivoy moved as if following a manual - precise, rhythmic, leaving no openings.
- A shield is stronger than a sword, my prince, - Mstivoy remarked, his tone unwavering. - Here, strength is not enough. You need cunning
Alexander strained to recall fragments of the past owner's memories. How had he defeated such opponents before? A shield could be a weapon, but it always had a flaw - the moment it shifted position.
- There must be a way… - the thought flashed.
At one point, Alexander decided to take a risk. He feinted, then swiftly attacked from the side. The shield still met his blade, but Mstivoy stumbled slightly. The moment was brief, but Alexander seized it. He stepped forward, struck the upper edge of the shield, forcing it to drop slightly, and delivered a sharp strike to the side. The blade barely grazed Mstivoy's armor, but it was enough to mark victory.
Mstivoy froze, then shook his head slightly, stepping back. His face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed respect.
- Clever, my prince, - he said, inclining his head slightly. - Striking my shield to make it falter? Not everyone can manage that. You learn quickly
Alexander was breathing heavily but stood tall. Sweat ran down his face, and his shoulders ached from the shield's blows. However, within, he felt satisfaction. This fight had been not only a test of strength but a lesson in patience.
- You're strong, Mstivoy, - Alexander said, extending his hand. - Every fight is an opportunity to improve. Thank you for the duel.
Mstivoy bowed his head respectfully, accepting the gesture.
- And you, my prince, surprise me. You have not only strength but the ability to think. That's a rare combination. We'll look forward to seeing you in future duels
As Alexander watched Mstivoy leave the training ground, he realized that these battles had become more than just practice for him. They were bringing him closer to becoming a true leader - someone his people could respect and follow without hesitation.
He straightened up, catching his breath. The adrenaline was gradually subsiding, giving way to focus. Alexander surveyed the gathered druzhinniks. Their faces reflected a mix of respect and doubt.
- Who's next? - his voice rang out clearly and confidently. There was no challenge in it, only determination.
A murmur spread through the ranks like a breeze before a storm.
- How much longer can he keep going? - one of the young druzhinniks asked, not taking his eyes off the prince.
- Look at him, - another replied, shaking his head. - He's breathing as if he's only just warmed up. And that's after three fights
- Do you think he'll last much longer? - a third added quietly, addressing an elder.
The senior druzhinnik frowned, studying Alexander's figure as he stood leaning on his sword. His face remained calm, but his eyes betrayed an inner struggle.
- The prince's endurance is like that of a beast, - he said quietly, clenching his hands at his belt. - But even beasts are not eternal. It'll be interesting to see what he shows next
His words carried no mockery, only respect. The druzhinniks exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air growing palpable.
Every new fight felt to Alexander like a step deeper into an unfamiliar yet strikingly familiar zone. His body, as if driven by its own memory, worked flawlessly. Strikes were precise, movements fluid, and every action seemed calculated to the millimeter.
Breathing was becoming harder, but Alexander's breaths remained steady and almost imperceptible. His movements were exact and deliberate, as if every action emerged from the depths of his subconscious. He parried strikes, attacked, retreated - all with cold, almost mechanical confidence. Yet with each new duel, his legs grew heavier, and his shoulder ached as if to remind him: even endurance has its limits.
- Don't stop, - his body seemed to whisper, urging him to forget the pain. - This isn't over yet
Alexander straightened, allowing himself just a moment to recover. His body responded with pain - his shoulder throbbed, his legs felt heavy - but he maintained a calm expression. His gaze fixed on the figure slowly stepping onto the training ground.
Tall and slender, with a long spear in his hands that seemed like an extension of himself. This was Borislav, known among the druzhinniks as "The Point." His reputation preceded him, one step away from the title of spear master, capable of keeping opponents at a distance and striking with incredible precision. Each of his steps was deliberate, each movement confident and smooth, as though it were part of a meticulously rehearsed choreography.
Borislav stopped a few paces away, and the silence, as if holding its breath, enveloped the training ground. He slowly spun the spear in his hands, testing its balance. A faint smirk touched the corners of his lips, but his eyes remained cold and piercing, like a blade. He wasn't just looking - he was studying.
- My prince, they say you know no fatigue. Let's see if that's true, - he said with a light mockery, assuming a combat stance. His voice was steady, like the rustle of the wind, but it carried an underlying threat.
Alexander slightly raised his sword, taking a defensive position. He already understood that this fight would be entirely different. A spear was not a sword. It gave Borislav absolute advantage in distance, and to attack head-on would be madness. Alexander took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
- Let's see, - he replied curtly, striving to infuse his voice with firmness despite the rising tension.
***
I would appreciate your feedback. This way I can see that I am doing everything right.