“Would you do the honors, Carine?” Mother gestured to me.
It took my mind a second to fully catch up.
How cruel could this world be? I was to be the referee to my own slaughter.
I, as Carine, stepped off the mat. The soft, springy fabric gave way to the cold stone floor beneath my feet, and weirdly, it felt like returning to reality.
The other me though? Yeah, tough luck.
I, as Feyt, remained planted in place. I had picked up my sword, but my grip on it was nothing but firm. The sweat dripping down my cheeks was definitely not from heat either, in fact, my body felt cold, as if it already knew it was meeting death incarnate.
Mother paced herself slowly as she made her way to the mat. It was like she’s savoring the tension she was creating.
When she reached the center, she lifted her blade in a motion so fluid it felt like watching someone breathe. Her expression remained as cold as it ever was, but now it felt even more certain.
That confirms it. She wants to kill me.
Mother, she was always our instructor for the Sareid style, along with Father. But their approaches couldn’t have been more different.
Father taught with passion. Sure he could be rough and harsh, but all of his teachings were delivered with his passion for teaching. I could tell just from how he shouts out his orders that he enjoys this role.
Mother, however, embodied precision. She taught the Sareid style not for the sake of teaching, but creating top-of-the-shelves knights. That means every student must have a more-than-adequate understanding of techniques, perfect consistency, and true understanding of their Talents.
Clearly, not everyone can achieve that feat so easily. Any mistake would be followed with personalized scoldings that would, more often than not, cut deeper than any blade.
But here’s the thing.
I’d never actually seen her fight.
The most she ever did was disarm reckless students in a blink, or bring a wooden ruler down across someone’s knuckles faster than they could flinch.
I didn’t know about Mother's Talents. She never ever told me about them. But judging from her being here and all, I assumed some of her Talents involved combat.
Standing across from her. Our blades in hand.
The mat stretching between us felt like an open grave. Mine, probably.
This wasn’t going to be a scolding, nor a punishment where you’re just supposed to take it. No. This was a spar. A real one. And it was about to commence under my own signal.
The good news about it was that it allowed me to start the spar at basically my own pace. And you bet I was going to wring that mercy for everything it was worth.
I took a deep breath, slow and deliberate. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I had to steady myselves. Letting panic take the reins would be the quickest way to an involuntary backflip off the mat and into a week of bedrest.
I had enough of being confined to a bed, thank you.
If I kept dwelling on the gap between our skill levels, I’d freeze up before we even began. I had to believe she was just another opponent.
I firmed my grip. Adjusted my stance. Focused my eyes forward.
Mother did the same, but with much more ease and elegance than me. It was like she swimmed through clear water while I trudged on mud.
I shook my head slightly.
Just another opponent. She’s just another opponent.
I repeated my form of coping inside my head as I tried to keep focus.
Once my heartbeat had slowed down. Once my focus had become unbreakable. That was when I raised my hand as Carine.
I shouted out the words that would most probably mark my end.
She stepped decisively, closing the distance between us. She let her sword remain low in a relaxed guard, as if she wasn’t even trying. At least, that was what she was trying to make me think.
My instincts screamed at me to run, to backpedal my way off of this mat and, if possible, of this situation altogether. But that was the thing. I couldn’t.
Any attempt at retreating would give Mother an opening. Any attempt at cancelling the spar would be met with expulsion. I had no other option but to fight.
It was the softest sound. The air pushing her blade, her foot skimming the mat, a shift in how she inhaled. Those tiny sounds no normal human could hear, I caught them.
To confirm my suspicion, I looked through Carine’s eyes. I saw it, she shifted her elbow. A cut was coming.
Wood met wood with a hard crack, and I stumbled nearly a step back just from blocking it. My arms trembled from the impact, and it wasn’t even a heavy strike. But it was so precise, that it felt like it struck my bones directly.
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. You’re quick,” she murmured.
I didn’t respond, well, more like couldn’t. I was busy rebalancing, ready for another strike. And that other strike came the moment I felt I was ready.
I blocked them again, but god knows how long I could keep this up.
I leaned forward as Carine, in hopes to get a more clear view of the field.
The vantage point from the sides gave me clarity, angles that both Feyt and Mother couldn’t possibly see. I could see how her foot twisted slightly before any slash, how her shoulders dip when she was about to lunge.
Call it cheating, call it unsportsmanlike. But whatever you call it, I’d still use any advantage I got. Because it was the only chance I had at surviving this mess.
An overhead cut! I raised my blade to deflect the incoming attack. The rıghtful source is 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝘯𝘦𝘵
The way her blade struck mine made me question if we even held the same type of sword. Hers felt like a stone with how much weight it carried with each hit.
I spotted a small opening. Mother was reeling back from the cut, perhaps preparing for a game-ending strike. I wasn’t going to let her.
I had been defending this whole spar. This was my chance.
I stepped forward, blade raised low. A quick attack meant to interrupt whatever it was she was planning. But instead of surprise, she looked calm, as if she was expecting it.
Clearly, that was the first clue that I should’ve backed up.
She shifted sideways. Her movements were fluid and elegant. She positioned her sword as if to block. It was then I noticed the opening was closed as soon as I saw it.
Carine’s eyes had reacted to it. But Feyt’s body hadn't. I had no choice other than to commit to the strike, and if I didn’t, I would stumble head first and kiss the mat.
My blade didn’t clash with hers, it merely grazed it as she redirected it. She moved her sword minimally, just a small tilt. But it was enough to send me off track of my stance. With my arms to my sides, I was wide open.
Before I could recover, she stepped in. Her arm whipped her blade like it weighed nothing.
I could see her attack clearly through Carine. And I could also see how there really was nothing I could do than to take it.
Her blade hit mine near the hilt.
My fingers reflexively spasmed.
My sword fell, hitting the mat softly.
What followed was silence.
My breath caught. My arm stayed frozen in mid-swing, hand now empty.
Any other student would’ve been confused as to what just happened. But Carine’s eyes recorded everything clearly. Her disarming technique was fluid, quick, and flawless.
And with that, the spar was over.
I exhaled heavily. At least I gave it my all.
I thanked the gods that she targeted the blade instead of me. Had she gone for me specifically, who knows how long I would need to spend on a bed?
Mother scoffed, breaking the silence.
“You…” she said, her tone low and trailing off. “Your movement doesn’t fit you,” she said with her eyes narrowed.
I was unsure what she meant. I merely blinked, since I wasn’t sure if I was permitted to speak or not.
“Your form,” she clarified. “It felt like Carine’s.”
For a moment, shock enveloped me.
Did she know? Did she suspect something?
“So the rumors are true…” she murmured to herself and clicked her tongue, clearly intending it to be heard by no one.
What… What rumors were she talking about?
Oh gods, please don’t let it be those kinds of rumors.
After a moment of silence, Mother straightened up. Her eyes pierced through me, cold and sharp. “It would seem Carine is quite the instructor.”
…What? How does that tie into all of this?
"Hmph, so what if it's true?" She turned away, heading towards the weapons basket. Her words continue, “No matter how good of an instructor Carine is, however…” Mother placed her wooden sword back where it belonged. Then, she faced me. “You won’t survive on mimicry alone.”
There was a pause, as if she was letting the words sink into me.
Then, with a final glance. “Tomorrow. Same time, same room.”
And with that, she left the room. The doors closed behind her with a sharp click.
Then silence returned.
I stood there for a while, trying to figure out what lesson Mother was trying to tell us.
After a few minutes of serious thinking, I came to a conclusion:
…I had absolutely no idea.