I held my blades against myselves. Like a mirror, I could see just how nervous I was about the prospect of this spar.
I didn’t know for sure why Mother wanted us to spar all of a sudden, but I had a theory. She wasn’t satisfied with our previous one.
She stared at the both of me a lot back when Feyt first started training. I’m sure you still remember how she chewed us out for a bit since I instinctively held back against myselves. I tried to fulfill her wishes but it seemed like it wasn’t enough.
Now she wanted us to spar again. Holding back means risking expulsion.
I still remembered her words.
“—But if he proves himself to be anything other than cooperative, I will personally strip his title as one of our students once and for all. No arguments.”
If I didn't put up a convincing show for her, it would be the end of my chance to train with myselves.
Both pairs of my hands tightened on the wooden grip. If it weren’t for our standard-issue training gloves, I would’ve scraped my palm already.
My eyes were locked between each other. Not because I was captivated, but it was the fear of Mother questioning why I would break eye contact with an enemy.
On the corner of my eyes I observed Mother. She stood absolutely still, yet her glare spoke a thousand words. She was breaking down every part of our stance in detail. Any imperfections, any sway… anything that could be used as an excuse to drill me with instructions.
Of course, it seemed like she focused way more on Feyt than on Carine. Though I had knowledge of how to do the stance thanks to Carine’s memories, Feyt’s stance was still not as machine perfect as Carine’s.
I wouldn’t say my form wasn’t good, but that might just be my pride talking.
I exhaled quietly through my noses. I really didn’t want to do this spar.
First of all, going out of my way to hurt myselves was something I had a hard time imagining doing, let alone actually doing it. I could already picture myselves stopping my blade just before actual contact. But Mother wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t she?
Second, Mother’s promise of “the one hit first will be punished.” I find it less of an incentive and more of a threat. Because no matter how this spar goes, I was going to be punished either way.
But then I got logical.
If one of us would get punished either way, Carine would be the best candidate. Mother clearly had her own thoughts about Feyt, judging from the way she had been keeping a close eye on me. Whether it was good vibes or bad vibes, I didn’t know. But I figured it was most likely—No, very much likely the latter.
Mother wouldn’t punish her own daughter too harshly. Maybe she would punish me as harshly as other students at most. But Feyt? I wasn’t going to take any chances. If she decided to use this chance to let it all out on me… It wouldn't end well.
But then another thought occurred to me.
Carine clearly had more experience in swords, trained from the ground up to one day succeed the house. Against a farmer’s boy from the boonies, it wouldn’t make much sense for her to be overpowered.
If I somehow made it happen, Mother would see it as me being soft to a commoner boy, and that would spark something worse than a rumor…
I exhaled again and lightened the grip against my swords.
There really was no point in overthinking this. Since this would end badly for me no matter what happened, it was best to just look at the positive side of things. Mainly, on how this could be beneficial to me.
A chance. I could treat this as a chance to train my synergy. Sure, I could’ve sparred with myselves without being under the watchful eye of another, but let’s just say that this session had… “stakes” involved.
With a new goal in mind, I shifted my thinking from who should win, to how to go at myselves full-force… without hurting myselves too much.
This kind of sounded like coping, not gonna lie. But it was the only thing I could think of.
I saw a shift. Mother had moved her hands forward. This was it.
I glared at myselves. Grip firmed.
I launched myselves forward, my dull blades drawn.
As I got closer to myselves, every part of my body screamed for me to stop before I actually hit myselves.
But… If I needed to improve myselves, I couldn’t afford to half-ass anything.
I swung, treating the “me” in front of me as just another opponent to cut down.
Our blades clashed—harsh and perfect—meeting dead center on the training mat. I stepped back, quick and clean, only to lunge forward again.
The room was filled with the distorted rhythm of wood against wood. Attack, parry, divert. Lunge, pivot, strike. The tempo of our blades was fast, but my mind perceived every move clearly.
Each technique, I could copy. Each block attempt, I could anticipate. Each opening I spotted, I instantly closed. This was what it was like to truly see into the minds of your opponent. Problem was, the opponent was me.
Like playing a game against my own shadow, the fact my skills came from the same pool of memory began to grow crystal clear.
But, no matter the fact that the mind is singular. The bodies… They are different.
As I surged forward, ready to strike from above as Feyt. As Carine, I saw the perfect chance for a strike.
I had taken a wrong step, a wavering lunge that was heading for an inevitable opening. It was weird, seeing myself flawed . But I was serious about not half-assing this. If there was a chance, I needed to take it.
I lunged low, gritting my teeth as I prepared to strike. I slid under my own guard and struck. The wooden blade hit true, right on the lower rib.
The pain hit me instantly. As Carine, my body froze after the strike. Physically, it didn’t feel anything, but…
As Feyt, I stumbled back, balance wobbling. My ribs ached and I was out of breath. The wooden sword fell softly on the mat as I dropped to my knees.
Damn, how hard did I hit myself?!
It felt like that strike was enough to send a goblin hurling into the air. Clearly, I got too deep in trance. But whatever focus I had before was shattered immediately. No longer was I two students sparring, I was just someone who just hit themselves.
Eventually, the pain and shock subsided. With that, clarity. With a subtle glance, I took a peek at Mother, hoping to gauge her reaction.
But her words told me everything I needed to know. Read full story at 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕·𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎·𝚗𝚎𝚝
“Intriguing…” she said. “Never once had I seen Carine spar for this long.”
I worried that I might’ve oversold Feyt’s abilities. But that shouldn’t be a problem. The better I portray myself as Feyt, the less incentives Mother would have to kick me out.
“It would seem my daughter did not hold back, as expected.” Mother approached us slowly as she continued. “But for you to last this long against her?” she said, her glare locked onto me—Feyt. “I find that hard to believe.”
The room fell into silence.
Only the sound of our breaths and heartbeats echoed through Feyt’s ears.
“Hmph,” Mother scoffed. “Nothing to say? Very well, then. Let’s move on, shall we?” she said, her glare wisped away. She took a step back, as if to give me space. “Regarding your punishment…”
Punishment… Right, I lost as Feyt.
I bit my lip, preparing myselves to whatever punishment she was going to concoct.
“Your punishment is simple,” she said, her tone cold.
She gripped her wooden blade firmly and raised it, pointing the tip of it to Feyt,
“A spar, between you and me.”