Penitent-Chapter 19: Sparring

Michael caught up with the rest of the group as they were being paired off. They were starting with sword and shield, which was his favorite pairing, and because he and Pyotr were the last two to arrive, they were paired together. They took some time to put on their lightweight boiled leather training armor suits that smelled of all the sweaty bodies that had worn them before and took their places in one of the small circles made of stones.

Pyotr dropped into a low and practiced stance very quickly. He was graceful, which made sense, he’d been a member of the Russian ballet before he’d retired.

Michael took a more conservative middle stance, he didn’t worry about being pretty, just wanted to make sure his footing was stable.

The guard watching them clapped once, the signal to start, and Pyotr took two elegant steps toward him and lashed out with his sword.

Michael batted it away with his shield and sent his own blade toward Pyotr’s arm.

Pyotr twirled, and Michael stepped forward for a shield bash, but Pyotr managed to meet it with his own shield and send out another strike. They went back and forth for a while with neither of them managing a solid hit on the other.

Kline eventually reached them on his rounds. “Pyotr, don’t go easy on him. He’s not tired. I want this sparring at full speed. I want to know who the best is.”

Pyotr nodded in acknowledgement and Michael pushed forward at that second, trying to take advantage of how distracted he was, he twirled away from him, but that was exactly what Michael wanted. He threw out a leg and nailed Pyotr solidly in the center of his back, moving forward for another blow. The one thing Kline always coached Pyotr on was to never show his back, but it was a bad habit he was finding hard to break.

Pyotr recovered more quickly than Michael expected and managed to hit his leg with a solid blow causing him to fall over. Before he could recover, Pyotr had a sword pointed in front of his face.

Kline nodded. “Good reaction, but Michael would’ve had you if he’d chosen to use his blade instead of his foot.” He looked up and hollered. “Change partners.”

Next Michael fought Kash, then Ekon, both of whom he had the advantage over for the majority of their fights, then he was unlucky enough to be against Davi.

Davi already had the square jaw of a man, and red whiskers were starting to grow across his upper lip. He was almost a head taller than Michael, and while they were still using swords and shields that were not quite at the weight of the real thing, he could’ve easily handled them at their full weight.

Michael smiled at him, and Davi smiled back. He knew he probably wouldn’t win, but he was damned well going to give it a shot.

When the soldier clapped, Michael tried to take the initiative, rushing forward and swinging above the small round shield he was holding up.

Davi raised his shield in time to block and brought down his own sword in an overhead strike, mirroring Michael's own.

Michael threw his shield up to meet it, forcing it to bounce off. He’d hoped that would make Davi take a step back, but instead he threw his bulk forward, shoving Michael back with his shoulder. He followed that up with a half dozen more powerful strikes.

The main problem with Davi was, even though he was big, he was also talented. He didn’t rely entirely on his strength, and his technique was nearly as good as Pyotr’s. He was also still very fast in spite of his bulk.

Michael managed to block or parry all of his attacks, maneuvering himself well to keep from taking the full brunt of any of his blows, and threw out his shield where Davi’s head would be only for him to back up at that moment.

He knew at this point he wouldn’t be able to win by strength or technique, so he began to consider guile. Old age and treachery always won out over youthful strength, at least a pin he’d been gifted by a young kid he trained to replace him when he’d retired had said so. He began to work his magicka along the longest channel he had that extended through his left arm. He’d managed to extend the range at which he could cast spells to nearly a foot and a half since he’d started forging new channels every night.

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He stepped forward, feinting with his sword before bringing the edge of his shield toward Davi’s face as if he was going to hit him with it. Davi again dodged before it could land, but this time he said “corto!” as his left hand got within range of Davi’s helmet. The clasp on it rapidly tightened and dug into the bottom of his chin, the front of it sliding in front of his eyes. With him blinded and distracted, Michael squared up for a shield strike and slammed it into his shoulder. Davi fell backward and dropped his sword.

Michael quickly put the metal of his training sword against Davi’s neck.

Davi started to force himself up angrily, then stopped. He peeled the helmet from his eyes and undid the strap and began to laugh.

Michael started to laugh too, and held out his hand.

Davi took it, and Michael pulled back hard to lift him up.

“Seu cuzão,” he muttered, what little of his accent had come with him into his new body bleeding through, “I was not expecting that,” said Davi, rubbing where the strap had dug into his skin.

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“I wasn’t expecting it to work.”

Kline walked over to them. He frowned and squinted at Michael, he’d been observing another two takers when he’d Davi had gone down.

“How’d you do it?”

“I, uh, used the tighten spell to constrict his helmet strap. It pulled down the front of the helmet and blinded him. I’d only expected it to distract him, not blind hm.”

“That’s not fair,” said another Taker from nearby. “We can’t use magic in sparring!”

Kline turned to him with an eyebrow raised. “Who gave that order?” He looked out at everyone. “You should all be looking for ways to win fights against stronger opponents. Regulars will be able to rely on their brothers standing next to them, in numbers, but you will all be sent on assignments where you’re much more likely to be outnumbered or up against those stronger than you. That said,” he looked at Michael. “That trick won’t work on most helmets, or in most encounters. I wouldn’t rely on it.”

Michael nodded, and Kline tilted his head back up. “Alright, one more round with your current partner and then you savages can eat!”

There were some cheers and Michael reluctantly returned to the pit with a smiling Davi.

“You’re going to enjoy this, I assume?” he asked.

Davi gave him a smile and a nod. Then he did enjoy their rematch, immensely.

…

When they were finally done for the day, almost everyone was beaten and bruised beyond reason. They all ate dinner like zombies and washed away tremendous amounts of grime and sweat in the small cold showers before returning to their barracks for the hour of light they were given before bed. Michael felt rough too, but not nearly so bad as everyone else. Many of them were already snoring heavily in their beds, including Ollie and Davi. Marcus was spending an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom, but Michael wasn’t feeling too eager to find out exactly why.

Michael readied a clean uniform for the morning, and then walked over to the nearest of the two mirrors used for divining. He usually focused more on forging channels or just chatting with everyone else before bed, but this time he was curious. He looked into the mirror, and started to bring the golden lettering that swirled in front of him into focus.

Titles:

Michael Mann

The Restored

Deeds:

Blessings:

Healing hand

He didn’t focus any harder, taking a quick moment to make sure there hadn’t been any changes. Then he looked closely at his ‘The Restored’ title. There was a small amount of text floating near it. Spidery and small, but definitely there. He brought his full attention to it, and very suddenly the text revealed itself.

The Restored

Grants: Major Recovery

He held it in his vision for a few moments, then blinked the divination away. It was what he’d suspected. He recovered quickly after burning magicka channels, after spending all morning healing people, and now with his performance at the physical conditioning. He still grew tired obviously, but he took far less rest than everyone else to recover. Did everyone else have an ability tied to the titles they received as takers? Someone had mentioned that takers tended to have advantages others didn’t. His recovery ability was incredibly useful, not very flashy, but it was definitely the exact kind of thing that could help a soldier. He’d have to try divining the others when he got a chance, though when he’d practiced on them before he’d only been able to pull up that first layer of information.

He yawned and turned around to head to bed. He took a few moments to do a short walk around the barracks and heal those with visible injuries, for which they were all grateful. They’d mostly been hurt by Davi, so healing them kept them from feeling too vengeful about it, and any unnecessary fights from starting. He arrived back at his bunk and laid down a few minutes before the lights turned off. He spent a half hour burning another two magicka channels, then fell asleep.