Chapter 7 - Spar
It's been another week since I learned wordless casting.
The morning sun broke through the clouds like golden spears, casting long rays over the quiet fields of Ytval. Dew still clung to the grass, glistening like a thousand little stars. Every morning after I wake up, I tend to practice my magic for a while before moving to my day. Each day, I could feel my mana reserves are increasing, minor, but it is rising.
Clack!
Clack-clack!
Wooden swords cracked against each other in rhythmic bursts.
Out by the training patch near the barn, Lyra danced around an older man's strikes, her bare feet skimming the dirt. The man's name was Saul. He was dressed in simple clothes: a faded tunic, rolled sleeves, and boots that had seen more battlefields than I ever would. His hair was short and brown, sides had white strands, signifying his age. He was one of the farm's guards, yes, but more than that, he was a Sword Saint.
Apparently.
He's been training Lyra for the past year or so.
"Too wide, Lyra!" Saul barked between strikes, his voice sharp but not unkind. "Smaller steps! You're not trying to impress the birds."
"I am trying to dodge you, old man!" Lyra grinned, ducking a high swing and pivoting around his flank.
Their wooden blades clashed again, echoing like drumbeats across the field. I stood at a distance, watching. Arms crossed. Book still tucked under one arm.
Swordplay wasn't really my thing. Too physical, even too chaotic. I preferred precision, logic, and structure. Still, my father thought it was important. Said it was about connections, reputation, "Making sure you have people who'll back you when it matters," or something like that. Which was why Saul had been brought in to teach me too.
Father himself? He didn't even bother training us. He just smiled, shrugged, and went off to help Mother plant crops and prune trees. And yet... he was supposed to be a Sword God. A living legend, or so the whispers said. I'd never seen it. I only saw him with soil-stained hands and that gentle smile he always wore when Mother was near.
He was just... a dad. A family man. Maybe that was all he wanted to be now.
My gaze drifted back to Lyra, her movements fluid and fearless. Saul swung low, but she spun inside his guard and tapped his ribs with the tip of her wooden blade.
"Point to me!" she declared.
Saul chuckled. "You're either improving fast, or I'm just getting old."
"HAH! Why not both?" Lyra said cheekily, puffing out her chest.
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. Swordplay wasn't my thing, sure, but Lyra made it look like... a dance. Maybe I could try swinging a stick once or twice.
Clack!
"L-Lyra, could you go easy on me—Wah!" I stumbled back as her wooden sword sliced through the air where my head had just been.
"How are you gonna get better if I keep treating you like a wuss?" Lyra snapped back, already pressing in with another quick strike.
Whap!
I barely managed to sidestep, heart pounding. My grip on the training sword was awkward, too tight and too stiff. Every time I thought I had a window to strike, she'd close it before I could lift my arms. She was relentless, and fast! Her feet barely touched the ground, and her eyes were sharp with focus. Honestly, she was kind of terrifying.
Off to the side, Saul stood with his arms crossed, watching like a hawk and.. His expression was unreadable, but I swore I saw the tiniest smirk tug at his lips.
"This... is not my thing," I muttered under my breath, trying to circle away.
"Less complaining and more swinging!" Lyra shouted, already lunging toward me again like a bolt of lightning.
Her strikes came faster than I could think. I staggered back, barely dodging each one, my training sword flailing in defense more than attack.
Off to the side, Saul was still observing with that unreadable calm of his. Then came the sound of footsteps crunching over soil and Saul turned his head slightly and gave a respectful nod. "Ah, sir."
Thorskil approached, straw hat shading his eyes, cradling a pot of freshly planted seedlings. He looked every bit the humble farmer he chose to be.
"Oh, how's the training going?" my father asked with a smile.
"Pretty smooth," Saul replied, giving a slight bow before glancing back at the sparring match. "Your daughter has plenty of potential, sharp instincts, and a quick feet. She's definitely got your blood."
He paused, eyes flicking to me as I stumbled back again, barely avoiding a jab.
"Your son, though... well, he's still finding his footing. But he's four years younger than Lyra, so it's understandable."
Thorskil chuckled warmly. "Thank you again, Saul, for taking the time."
Saul straightened up. "No, no, sir—the pleasure's mine!"
Meanwhile, I sidestepped another blur of a swing and skidded in the dirt.
D-Damn, you're fast! I thought, sweat dripping from my chin.
Then, a thought slithered into my mind. My lips curled as I backed off from her next strike, I bent down as my palm brushing the soil. Lyra blinked, slowing for just a second. She dashed in with her wooden blade raised.
And squelch.
Just as I expected, she tripped. Her momentum sent her tumbling face-first into the dirt. Her Aura shimmered faintly at the point of impact, a soft burst of light cushioning the fall.
"Ow..!" she groaned, face half-buried. She blinked, then glanced down at her feet, now sunken in a small patch of suddenly muddy earth. I stepped forward, shadow stretching over her. With all the flair I could muster, I pointed my wooden sword down at her like a conquering general.
"HAH! I WIN!"
For a beat, silence. Then her fingers curled around the tip of my sword.
"...What are you—?"
YANK! She pulled my sword-dragging me along with it.
"W-Whoa!"
BAM!
Her fist collided with my gut, knocking the air clean out of my lungs. I wheezed, trying to recover, but she was already on top of me, mud flying as she pulled her foot free and started pummeling me with righteous fury.
"OW—OW—STOP! THIS IS ABUSE! AH—!"
"I'LL SHOW YOU WHO WINS, YOU LITTLE CHEATER!"
From the sidelines, Saul and Thorskil looked over just in time to see their training session devolve into chaos.
"Lyra!" Saul shouted, rushing in. "He yields!"
Thorskil sighed, shaking his head as he gently dropped the pot and stepped forward too. "Hey, stop both of you!"
***
The sting hadn't quite faded yet. I winced as a cold cloth dabbed gently against my cheek. My face still pulsed from Lyra's... passionate response to losing. Thorskil sat beside me, one knee up, calm as always. He was focused, his hands were gentle despite years of rough labor. From across the house, Reyna's voice cut through the walls like a thunderclap.
"Lyra Samsworth! What on Earth were you thinking?! Beating your little brother like that? You're grounded for a week! And no snacks after dinner!"
"I was holding back!" Lyra shouted from the other room. "He cheated with mud magic!"
"That is not an excuse to turn your brother into a punching dummy!"
Thorskil chuckled under his breath. "Sounds like she's getting the full lecture."
"Good..." I muttered, holding the cold cloth to my bruised cheek. "She deserves it..."
"Oh, come now. You did bait her," he said, raising a brow. "I saw that smug smile of yours when she hit the dirt."
I grinned sheepishly. "I was just being creative."
"Mhm." He dabbed once more and set the cloth in the water bowl. "That wasn't bad, though. Using magic like that, in the middle of a spar.. Heh, it caught her off guard."
"... You're not mad?"
He leaned back, thoughtful. "Not mad. Surprised, sure. It's not every day a five-year-old figures out how to manipulate the soil mid-fight."
I puffed my chest just a little. "So... you think I did good?"
Thorskil gave me a look; half proud, half amused.
"You used your surroundings and you thought outside the box. That's what good fighters do." He smirked. "Even if it did end with your face being restructured by your sister."
"'Restructured,' huh...?" I mumbled. "That's a fancy word for pummeled."
He laughed softly. "Next time, maybe run a little faster after you win."
"I thought I'd earned a dramatic victory moment!"
"And that moment cost you a front row seat to her right hook."
We both laughed. It hurt to laugh, but I didn't mind.
Then his voice lowered, more serious this time. "Kyro. You've got something special. I can see it. Just... promise me you'll be careful with magic, alright? Don't push yourself too hard just to prove something."
I paused, then nodded.
"Got it, Dad."
Thorskil ruffled my hair with a calloused hand. "Good. Now rest up. You'll need your energy if Lyra comes for a rematch."
I nodded. Just as he turned to leave, the door creaked open.
Lyra peeked inside. Her arms were crossed behind her back, eyes darting everywhere except at me. She hovered by the doorframe, shifting her weight from one foot to the other like the floor was suddenly very interesting.
Thorskil smirked knowingly. "I'll... go check on your mother," he said, making a strategic retreat.
As the door clicked shut behind him, silence settled like fog.
Lyra cleared her throat. "Soooo..."
I looked up from the cloth, already smirking. "Here to finish the job?"
She frowned. "No! I mean... maybe... No! I came to say..." She huffed. "Ugh, this is stupid."
I raised an eyebrow. "You, struggling to say something? Now that's rare."
She glared at me, then sighed.
"Okay, look, I'm sorry for turning you into mashed potatoes," she muttered, "It's just—! You were being all smug with your 'ha-ha I win' face, and I tripped, and it was embarrassing, and you cheated."
I blinked. "Is this your version of an apology?"
"I said I'm sorry!" she snapped, face flushing red. "Don't make me take it back!"
I grinned. "Apology accepted, oh mighty warrior who lost to a mud puddle."
She groaned. "Ugh. I should've hit you harder."
I laughed, and she finally walked over, plopping beside me with a thud.
"You really used magic for that?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yup," I said proudly, puffing my chest just a little. "Figured if I couldn't beat you with speed or strength, I'd use my brain. Though, it may not look like it, it was pretty draining."
Lyra shot me a sideways glance, eyes narrowing, but then a little smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"You gotta teach me that."
"What? Magic?"
"YES!" she practically bounced in place. Her golden eyes sparkled like they'd caught fire. "I wanna be the strongest! The strongest human—no, the strongest being in the world! I'm gonna surpass Father!"
I paused. Huh.. That's very ambitious. I cleared my throat. "That's... quite a dream," I said, trying to sound supportive instead of mildly terrified. "Anyway, learning magic isn't as easy as you think. It took me months just to make anything happen. And when I actually learned how to do it... I passed out like, twenty times before I even got a flower to bloom."
She grinned, undeterred. "Pshh, I'm your older sister. Bet I could do it in a week."
I held back a snort. Yeah, right. You can't even read yet.
"Okay, sure," I said instead, with the most neutral tone I could muster. "Totally. You'll be conjuring fireballs by next Tuesday."
She didn't catch the sarcasm. "Exactly!" she said proudly, hands on her hips. "And then I'll make a flaming sword and duel Father and win and become a legend."
I raised an eyebrow. "Right after you learn how to hold a book the right way up?"
That got her. "Hey! I can read! I just... don't like to."
"Uh-huh."
"Reading's boring! I'd rather swing swords and punch stuff. That's real learning."
"Well, I'd rather not get punched in the face every day. That's also real learning."
She laughed, nudging me with her shoulder. "Alright, smart guy. Teach me then."
I looked at her, then at my still-sore cheek from earlier. "On one condition."
"What?"
"No punching me during the lesson."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, fine. No punching. But if I get bored, I might trip you into the mud."
I gave her a tired look. "Somehow, I feel like this is the start of a very painful teaching career."
Despite everything, I couldn't help smiling.
Maybe teaching her magic wouldn't be so bad... as long as I survived it.
[End]