Chapter 21 #2
I rotated to stop Rashid’s next blow, and before I knew it, we fell into a new rhythm as we engaged in a flow of swords and staves.
The baton had always been my best weapon when training with Vann, and it was serving me well now, as adrenaline replaced nerves, and frantic agility kept me safe. His blows were strong, and he wasn’t completely inept, but he lacked finesse and intention in a way that was becoming easy to read.
Sebastian, on his own, had been more of a fortress than the three of them combined. They didn’t work as a cohesive unit. They were not only terrible at guessing my next move, but they couldn’t read or work cohesively with each other. I had this.
Rashid came in for another thrust, but just as I’d started to gain confidence, he feinted the move then switched to an upwards strike.
I reacted quickly, but not soon enough to stop him from knocking the baton from my hands, and sending it careening onto the next mat.
I ducked his next swing, but disarmed, I was now relegated to little more than a game of keep-away, dodging and evading, without any recourse to strike back.
He wasn’t a perfect fighter, but he was fast and relentless enough that I had little time to counterattack so long as he was coming at me. He now had the range advantage, and I couldn’t get in close enough to figure out some sort of reversal.
But no one was coming to help me. I had to find some way to turn the tide, and I had to do it fast.
Winded, but refusing to give up, I dodged a downward strike, then sidestepped a diagonal slash.
I made an attempt to use that small window to get in close and disarm him, but in an unexpected turn of events, he went low instead of high, favoring the side that I had thought was injured.
My balance was already compromised from my position, and I didn’t have the time to change direction before he’d taken my legs out from under me, and I landed hard on my back.
With a flick of the wrist, the swordsman had his training blade at my throat and a satisfied smirk on his face.
I saw Sebastian about to raise a hand to call the match.
“Not yet,” I snapped, refusing to say I’d lost after I’d come this far. His hand stopped mid path.
“Not yet? I think we’re already at checkmate,” Rashid said, dropping the blade from my neck to my chest.
While for all intents and purposes, one could say we were in a definitive position, a fight was never over until the other person either surrendered, or you rendered them unconscious or dead.
When my childhood bully had his hand on my neck and decided he was entitled to my rations, when he’d assumed I surrendered because I was in a position that he could easily strangle me if he wanted to, his real mistake was that he didn’t fucking do it.
Because when I shoved my knee hard between his legs, and he lost his grip and doubled over in pain, I got away with everything in my pack and everything in his, and Vann and I ate like kings that night.
Sure, our swordsman friend here put me on the ground, but battle training or not, it wasn’t over until he made physical contact with that blade. Intimidation moves weren’t enough on the mat or otherwise. If he wanted my surrender, he’d have to connect that strike.
“Check, you mean.” I corrected him, before grabbing the training blade with my hands, and squeezing it firmly, until even that semi-dull edge dug in deeply enough to draw blood. “Checkmate is when you win. All you did was show me your hand.”
Wide-eyed, he tried to pull back his blade, but he was too late.
All he would have had to do was press his blade against my chest, but he hesitated so he could gloat, and he’d waited too long to secure the win.
Now I wasn’t letting go. I concentrated every ounce of strength I had into not allowing him to advance or retreat with that weapon, so he reacted in the only way that made sense, I watched his expressions, his body language, his enraged eyes.
I waited until he shifted on his toes, and tried to put all of his weight into forcing down the blade, then I switched from lateral force to horizontal force, and let him throw all of his weight into penetrating the mat beside my head.
The safety mechanism on the training blade kicked in on impact, the blade retracting at the rate of pressure as the point was forced into something solid, and I leveraged that brief moment to get out from under him and dart for the discarded training staff of his unconscious teammate.
Weapon in hand, and my opponent fully recovered and charging at me, I calculated a new plan.
His once passable swordsmanship got sloppier and slower the more frustrated he got, and it was easy to block and switch to the offensive.
I pounded on his right side, repeatedly forcing him to take the brunt of every impact while bracing on that injured foot, and I slammed into his weapon again and again and again.
I’d thrown away fanfare and fluidity, and I turned to unyielding brute force.
I didn’t need to be the strongest when I had the leverage of my long staff, and every blow was disproportionately punishing compared to my normal fighting ability.
My moves were completely predictable, but that was the point.
I gave him no choice but to block that same, exact hit over and over, until he dropped to a knee with an aggravated groan, his foot no longer able to take the repeated impacts.
My window was brief, but it was enough. I twirled my baton, then used every ounce of its power and momentum to send him careening onto the floor. I jumped, and landed with a knee on his chest, and my staff pressed into his Adam’s apple, full contact, and not just a threat.
“This is what Checkmate looks like.”
“Okay okay okay, you win. Fuck, you win.” Rashid threw up his hands on the mat beneath me, dropping his sword in surrender.
My heavy breathing consumed my mind, and my adrenaline had my whole body vibrating. He was the last one. I got all three.
The world came back into focus around me, when a hard, violent pat on the shoulder ripped me back into the present.
“Not bad, Pipsqueak.” Breaker said, while I slowly took in the many gawking expressions around me.
“I won?” The words came out as a question, as my brain was catching up. I turned to face Sebastian, who was simply watching on with an expression that said nothing and everything all at once. He tipped his chin, a single signal of acknowledgement.
“You’re dismissed,” he said to the group.
Other cadets in my unit helped up my opponents, offering sneers rather than praise as they left. Once again, I was making no friends.
I hadn’t done anything wrong, had I? Why was everyone looking at me like that?
Sebastian said nothing. No “congratulations,” no “good job, sport,” not even a “defeat them faster next time.” I frowned as he turned on his heel and left me behind.
Something about the dismissal took all of the pride and joy out of what should have been a stupendous accomplishment.
Sebastian headed to the locker room. The rest of the groups dispersed, and I found myself standing with Breaker in the sparring area, while everyone else went to lunch.
I looked at the training staff still in my hand, and I pressed the central deactivation button, until it retracted back into its ball form.
“Did I do something wrong?” I frowned, while Breaker remained at my back.
“Nope.” He had a curious grin on his face, and I couldn’t help but think it meant more than it implied in simple appearance. “You didn’t even do anything mildly neutral. That was incredible.”
“Why’s he being so cold to me then?” I scrunched my nose as I looked towards my mentor, the only person who wasn’t a total jerk most days. “I thought that was what he wanted me to do.”
“Seba’s complicated.” He dismissed my worries with a single wave of his hand.
“But that was exactly what you were supposed to do. You just can’t expect a lot of praise in a place like this.
” He was right, obviously. I was being completely ridiculous to expect anyone to compliment me just because I was proud of what I’d done.
Who needs self-esteem and external validation when you can live in crippling self-doubt while questioning your worth every day?
“You’re really good with a staff, by the way. I’d lean into that.”
“Thanks, it’s always been my favorite weapon.
Range is kind of my best advantage, being…
” small and weak? Nope, not saying that out loud.
Everyone else said that enough without my help.
Especially considering I was actually reasonably strong by real standards.
These guys and their toxic masculinity was starting to rub off on me.
“being one of the shorter guys around here,” I said instead.
There, I could live with that. I was factually shorter than everyone else, so that was simply a statement and not an assessment of my merit.
I rubbed my bloodied hands. The gashes were shallow and they’d heal easily in the restoration chamber. “I’m doing my best, but I guess what’s monumental to me is probably pretty inconsequential to you guys.”
“You know, you really don’t strike me as inconsequential in any way, shape, or form.
” Breaker ruffled my hair affectionately, and everything about that made me blush.
Judging by the way his grin stretched just a little wider, he probably noticed, which only made me blush harder.
Fuck. Stupid hormones. “You’re kind of an over thinker, huh?
” He said as he started walking towards the locker room. He waved for me to follow him.