My world-tree system-Chapter 96 - 95: Weapons handling

The next day, before dawn had broken over the horizon, Foster and Orëlas were already standing silently in the clearing. The morning mist still snaked through the trees, enveloping the place in an almost sacred calm. Foster’s dragon was still sleeping peacefully, but on this day, attention was focused on an entirely different learning experience.

The moment had come.

Orëlas, dressed in a light tunic, wooden training sword in hand, watched Foster with strained attention. His muscles, tired from the previous days of physical exertion, were still burning, but he was holding on. He was ready for the next step.

Foster, his own katana strapped to his belt, stepped calmly into the center of the clearing. His gaze became more serious than usual, imbued with a solemn gravity.

- Today we begin what I call true training," he declared in a calm voice. Magic is powerful, but it can never replace mastery of the body. When all else fails, when the mana runs out, when the flames go out... all that’s left is you, your breath, your blood... and your blade.

Orëlas nodded, inhaling slowly to calm the beating of his heart.

Foster gently drew his katana. The steel sang in the air. He held it in front of him with both hands, in a waiting stance, anchored in a perfectly balanced posture.

- Fencing isn’t just about strength. It’s about balance. It’s about precision. Reading. You don’t strike for the sake of striking. You position your body, study your opponent, respond to his rhythm to better interrupt him.

He stood up slowly, approaching Orëlas.

- Start with the basic guard. Left foot forward, right foot slightly open. Your knees should be supple, ready to absorb the movements.

Orëlas complied, awkwardly at first, then corrected his posture under Foster’s adjustments. One hand on his shoulder, the other correcting the placement of his hips, Foster guided his every move with the precision of a craftsman.

- Hold your blade lower. Not too high, you’re exposing your flank. There... better.

They spent the first part of the morning perfecting this simple posture. Orëlas was sweating profusely, not from the effort, but from the intense concentration this discipline demanded. Each correction from Foster fell like a lesson, brief, precise, implacable.

- We’re moving on," Foster finally announced.

He stepped aside, slowly demonstrating the forward movement en garde: heel, toe, weight shift. Then backwards. Then lateral steps. Then combinations of all these movements.

- Never cross your legs. Always stay on the line. One false step and you’re vulnerable.

Orëlas repeated again and again, staggering at times, even falling once, but always righting himself, his gaze concentrated, inhabited by a burning will.

- Good. Now, the attack.

Foster raised his katana.

- The diagonal cut. Simple. But it’s the basis of everything. Cut from the right shoulder to the left hip. You accompany your movement with the hips, not just the arms.

He demonstrated. Just once. Slow, perfect, silent. The air vibrated around his blade.

- Your move.

Orëlas lunged. His wooden blade split the air awkwardly, badly angled, without impact.

Foster said nothing. He waited.

Orëlas began again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

On the fifteenth attempt, Foster intervened.

- Stop. Breathe in. Close your eyes.

Orëlas obeyed, sweat pouring down his temples.

- Feel the movement. Imagine it. Your feet rooted, your hips swiveling, the blade naturally following your intention.

Orëlas breathed in. exhaled.

And struck.

The cut was much better. Not perfect, but promising.

Foster smiled discreetly.

- Did you feel the difference?

- ...Yes," breathed Orëlas.

- Good. Let’s get on with it.

The sun was high when Foster switched him to defense.

- There are two ways to survive a blow: block it... or avoid it. The first makes you tired. The second saves you.

He showed different defensive guards: cross, high, low. Then dodging movements, sliding steps, trunk rotations and counter-supports.

- Your body must always remain aligned with your intention. If you want to dodge, your eyes must already be anticipating. The dodge comes before the enemy’s attack, not after.

Foster attacked gently, wooden blade against wooden blade. Each blow carried a different intention. A test.

Orëlas only appeared halfway through.

But he dodged better and better.

He was a quick learner.

Too fast, in fact.

Foster was almost perturbed.

- You’re making good progress," he said at the end of the day, as the golden light of evening bathed the clearing.

Orëlas, dripping with sweat, his eyes still bright despite his fatigue, nodded.

- I’ve got a good master," he breathed.

Foster raised an eyebrow, amused.

- Don’t get too used to my compliments. Tomorrow, we start the dueling series.

Orëlas paled slightly.

- Duels... against you?

- Yes. And against others.

- Others? Who else?

Foster smiled mysteriously, then turned on his heels, leaving the young elf dumbfounded.

Orëlas sighed, then gave a nervous laugh.

He was exhausted.

Dawn had barely broken over Vollua when the training clearing was already buzzing with life. A fine mist was still rising to the ground, rippling around the feet of the giant trees. The timid sun filtered through the dense foliage, drawing shifting patterns of golden light on the ground. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Foster stood in the center of the clearing, arms folded, silently observing the installation of the final elements. Today was an important day. He had promised Orëlas: the first duels would begin. And nothing was better than confrontation to reveal progress and limits.

As for Orëlas, he was warming up a few steps away, repeating the moves he’d learned in previous days with fierce concentration. He whirled around, linking cuts and dodges, and was already sweating profusely.

Then heavy footsteps were heard behind him. Three silhouettes appeared between the trees, advancing towards the training ground.

- Here you are at last," Foster breathed, waving them over.

Yähnn, Giovanni... and a braided-bearded dwarf in supple leather armor appeared in the morning light.

- We weren’t going to miss this," Giovanni growled with a mocking smile, pointing at Orëlas. So that’s your prodigy?

- It’s him," confirmed Foster.

Yähnn nodded, watching Orëlas train with critical but benevolent eyes.

- He looks determined. But a good duel is worth all the training in the world.

- And who’s our volunteer dwarf?" asked Foster with a smirk.

The dwarf took a step forward, puffing out his chest with pride.

- Rorim Fend-Pierre, third son of Gundram Marteau-Fend. I fought in the tunnels of Eldorim and came out alive. If your kid can bring me down, I’ll call him lord for the rest of my life.

Foster smiled, amused by the bravado, but didn’t reply. He turned to Orëlas.

- These are your opponents. Three duels. You’ll face each of them. Not to defeat them. But to learn. One will be fast and unpredictable, the other powerful, and the last... more experienced than all the others.

Orëlas nodded, feeling a pressure building in his belly.

- Who do I fight first?

- Giovanni.

The half-elf stepped forward, flashing his opponent a wry smile.

- Come on, kid. Show me what you’ve got.

They took up their positions, each holding a wooden training sword. Köflik, who had come to observe, raised his arm.

- Let the duel begin! he shouted.

Giovanni attacked first, lightning-fast. His style was sharp, made up of feints, gliding steps and short but precise strikes. Orëlas barely had time to raise his blade before the wood slammed against his in a shower of dry sparks.

- You think too much!" said Giovanni as he attacked. Fencing isn’t all about thinking!

Orëlas tried to refocus, stepped back and took advantage of a moment’s slackness to strike. But Giovanni had already dodged, coming up behind him in an instant.

A blow to the back. Light. Symbolic. But clear.

- Hit," Giovanni announced. How many more?

- Again," replied Orëlas, already sweating.

They dashed off again. This time, Orëlas was more cautious. He avoided the headlong rush and began to read his opponent’s movements. On the fifth pass, he parried an attack, pivoted and countered.

Giovanni blocked, but had to step back.

- Not bad, kid, not bad...

They fought for a few more minutes, until Foster intervened.

- That’s enough of that. You’re making progress, Orëlas. But you still lack fluidity. You’re wasting too much energy.

Orëlas nodded, panting.

- I can feel it...

Giovanni patted him on the shoulder.

- Not bad at all. Keep this up, and you’ll be a monster in a few months.

The dwarf stepped forward slowly, his wooden weapon looking ridiculously small in his massive hands.

- I’m not as fast as your half-elf," he grinned fiercely. But when I hit, it leaves a mark.

Foster took a step back.

- Keep your distance, Orëlas. And watch his hip movements. If he charges, dodge. Don’t try to block. You’re not ready for that yet.

Köflik raised his arm.

- Get started!

Rorim wasted no time. He charged with the grace of a cannonball, his weapon raised high.

Orëlas leapt aside just in time, dodging the blow which crashed with a thud against the ground, sending shards of earth flying.

- Shit!" gasped Orëlas.

- TOO SLOW!" roared Rorim, immediately turning around.

The exchanges were fierce. Rorim’s every blow would have knocked out a full-grown elf. Orëlas struggled to dodge, to avoid, to find openings. And to everyone’s surprise, he found one.

A blow to the dwarf’s ribs.

Rorim winced, but smiled.

- You’ve got guts, kid. Well done.

But just when Orëlas thought he had the upper hand, Rorim spun around and disarmed him with a sharp blow.

- Brute force has its tricks too," scoffed the dwarf.

Foster nodded.

- You’ve done well.

Orëlas massaged his shoulder, but smiled.

- He hits like a stone golem...

Rorim burst out laughing.

- Thanks for the compliment.

At last, Yähnn stepped forward.

Silent.

Straight.

Serene.

There was no mockery or pride in his eyes. Just... calm.

- He’s the one you have to watch most carefully," Foster whispered to Orëlas. He’s not the fastest, nor the strongest... but he’s a master of rhythm.

They took up their positions. Köflik raised his arm.

- Go for it!

The fight was strange. Yähnn didn’t attack. He waited.

Orëlas hesitated, took a step, then another. He feinted. He feinted.

Then he tried a strike.

Yähnn blocked, counter-attacked, then returned to guard without a word. He controlled space, dictated distance, and kept Orëlas on his toes without ever hurting him.

- He reads my movements before I do them..." murmured Orëlas.

He accelerated.

So did Yähnn.

He slowed down.

Yähnn remained perfectly calm.

Suddenly, in one swift stroke, he hit Orëlas in the chest. The student fell backwards, panting, beaten.

Yähnn bowed slowly.

- Well done," he murmured. You’re on the right track.

Orëlas looked at him, fascinated.

- How do you do it...?

- By listening. Breath. The step. The vibration in the arm. Intention before gesture.

Foster stepped forward.

- Well, my friend, I didn’t think you’d concentrate so hard on making progress! he said, giving him a hug.

- Times have changed, Foster, and so have I," he said, moving away in a tone that lacked joy.