The cool morning mist clung to Rayne's troll armour as he stood in the training grounds right behind the tower. Pale sunlight filtered through the clouds and a group of soldiers sat on the side, some drinking milk from the barrel and others chewing tobacco.

  Other than the usual suspects that were his party members, he recognized Hobbs and Ardan among them, both of them whispering to each other while smoking.

  The troll armour sat on his shoulder like heavy metal and he held his helmet under one arm. He'd no idea it would feel this heavy when he had carried it to his room. But now, each step felt like a struggle in itself.

  “Don't give me that look. It's not that heavy,” said Bran, waiting in front of him. Unlike him, he wore no armour and held a basic sword in his hand.

  “You should wear it. You will know then.”

  “Every armour takes time to adjust. Your body's just not used to it. But it doesn't take much time before it feels like another skin. Just follow the basics of a spar and you will be fine.”

  Rayne raised an eyebrow. “Which one of the basics?”

  Bran grinned. “Always focus on the opponent instead of yourself. Now shall we?”

  He didn’t square up like most swordsmen. He simply angled himself, weight light on his feet, the tip of his blade facing the ground.

  Rayne slid his helmet on, feeling the world shrink to the visor’s slit and held his sword with both hands. He missed his shield, but wanted to learn how to fight without it.

  “Ready.”

  Bran gave him no time to react. He burst out towards him with the speed of a bullet, his sword tracing the air to strike at his chest.

  Rayne put his sword forward in a block. Their blades clashed and he saw Bran's grin widening.

  Before he could push back on him, Bran's blade slid out from the clash and his feet moved rapidly as another blow came from the side. Rayne barely blocked him.

  “Good,” his opponent murmured. “But you need to do better.”

  Rayne gritted his teeth, moving on the offensive. Knowing he couldn't rush at Bran with the weight pressing down on his shoulders, he waited for him to close the distance and sidestepped.

  The blade missed his waist by a fraction as Rayne aimed at Bran's ribs, but he jumped out of the way, faster than he expected.

  A round of cheers went on from the side, and Rayne heard soldiers taking his name. But he kept his focus on Bran.

  That didn't seem to do much.

  Every time their blades clashed, Bran slid off and snapped at him from another angle, chipping away at his guard. He blocked each strike with precision, but slowly, his strength chipped away.

  The armour dragged him around and before he realized, he was on the defensive, blocking several attacks from different directions.

  “Stop fighting your armour. It's not holding you back,” Bran said between blows, his voice calm despite the flurry of movement. “You only think it's holding you back.”

  Rayne didn't respond as a thrust came from the side. Instead of blocking, he jumped back, the shoulder plates grinding. But when he looked to slash back, he saw Bran missing.

  His eyes widened and his instincts screamed at an attack from the side. He turned around, just in time to block the blade from striking his shoulders.

  But yet again, Bran casually slid the blade off, moving like a dancer around him. He never stayed in one place for more than a heartbeat, taking advantage of the wide ground.

  To his credit, Rayne kept blocking and dodging, even if the odd strike touched his armour. He didn't falter, but with each exchange, breathing became a little harder.

  A flash of movement caught his eyes from the side. Rayne turned as he saw Bran charging at him again, his sword moving up in a graceful swish.

  He raised his blade to block, already knowing how it would go, but the strike never came. Bran changed directions at the last moment.

  Rayne thrust at his shoulders, but Bran ducked.

  A sharp pain hit his legs and Rayne felt his vision swimming as he fell on the ground with a thud. His sword loosened out of his grip.

  He took out his helmet, sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes before raising his body to look at Bran who stood in front of him with a smirk.

  It didn't feel mocking, but very close to it. Like an adult looking down on a kid.

  Rayne felt anger burning at that before he took a breath. He couldn't lose his focus to rage right now. This was a training session and he had never seen such a sword style before.

  As if guessing the question on his tongue, the veteran replied. “It's called the Swiftwind Style. It's one of the few famous sword arts and easy enough to learn for even a scout like me. There are quite a few knights that use it.”

  “I never saw anyone using it,” he replied.

  “It doesn't use a shield. When fighting monsters, you need some protection. But some sword masters pride themselves on being faster than any monster. Hence the name.” He explained slowly. “I won't recommend using it against a troll. They could be fast, but in a duel, it's a really good art to chip down on your opponents.”

  Rayne opened his mouth to ask more questions. He'd never ventured into any particular sword arts, but before he could, Hobbs' voice rang out.

  “Why are you just sitting around, forsaken? Go for another round. Stop wasting time.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Bran smiled. “So, shall we? I think you will do better this time.”

  Rayne nodded and got up. He put back on his helmet and took a breath. He readied his stance before looking at Bran who stood in the same position he had in the previous duel.

  “Let's go!”

  Rayne didn't keep standing in one place this time. Bran was right. He focused too much on the armour. In a spar, he needed his focus to stay on his opponent and he did just that.

  He made sure his eyes stayed on Bran as he circled around him, rushing at him every time he saw a blind spot.

  Rayne answered by trying to match his speed. Knowing that each exchange was simply a means to get in his guard, he anticipated them and answered appropriately.

  His blade moved to attack his wrist and he even kicked at him every time Bran got close enough. Unfortunately, the armour proved a nemesis again as once, he nearly slipped.

  Bran grinned at him, and kept going, displaying his sword skills in full glory as the soldiers hooted and cheered every time his sword brushed him.

  He caught the edge of Rayne’s strike, redirected it, and slid in with a flurry of short, stinging taps against the armour.

  Bran’s movements never faltered. Each step was placed with intention, each twist of the wrist cutting off Rayne’s momentum. His swordwork was all about angles—hit, slip away, return from a blind spot.

  By the end of the bout, Rayne’s breath rasped inside his helm, sweat pooling at his neck. Bran had barely broken a sweat.

  Still, he had done far better this time. The spar had stretched over ten minutes already, and he still stood, facing an opponent that was hard to touch, much less strike.

  But he refused to give up.

  As Bran charged in again straight at him, Rayne blocked his blade again. It slid and he snapped to the side, aiming for his left shoulder.

  Instead of dodging, Rayne let his blade come closer. He dropped his sword to his right hand as his left hand moved to catch the blade.

  Bran widened his eyes, pulling back his blade. Rayne rushed in, swinging his blade in a vertical strike.

  He almost made a cut along Bran's hands, but the veteran jumped back in time, giving him a guarded and almost amused look.

  The chattering and murmurs increased from the spectators at his move. But he didn't listen to any of them.

  Exhaustion took over every cell of his body as he took deep breaths, going down on the ground to rest. That had been his final move, final chance to land a strike. But he failed.

  Rayne knew he would do much better without the armour, but that simply felt like an excuse.

  He took out his helm and put a hand over his armour. None of Bran's strikes had even hurt, partly because he was holding back and due to the sturdiness of his armour. Though, that didn't take out the sting from losing so pathetically.

  “You did well. You were moving far better by the end of the spar.”

  Rayne raised his head as Bran stepped towards him. “I still lost. I thought going down on the ground with a punch from Hobbs was the worst.”

  “It is,” said Bran in a lower voice. “He fights like a barbarian. But you need to be exposed to other sword arts if you want to level up your skills. A high level in sword mastery would save your life a lot.”

  “I barely seem to level that up.”

  “Because stabbing a monster only gives you experience, maybe some sort of a strength skill as you level up, but that's rare. Weapon mastery skills level up when you learn more about the use and knowledge of that weapon,” he said, briefly looking at the group of soldiers snickering and talking, then back at Rayne. “Unfortunately, growing skills is much harder than killing a monster.”

  Rayne actually knew that. One of the things that were taught in the training camp, but like most things, it was simply glossed over. Or his acquired memories about it were missing.

  He could level up his [Pain Tolerance] by simply feeling more pain, but sword mastery meant actually learning more about the sword. At this point, he knew the basics, but the army refused to teach any sword arts.

  Still, he had a feeling just learning different techniques wasn't the only measure.

  Rayne thought about that, eyes narrowing. “Do I simply have to learn the sword arts, or also perform it in battle? Not a spar, but a battle?”

  Bran's lips curved into a smirk. “The system only rewards when you are in danger. At least mostly. If you have a blood spar, I'm sure it will be adequate.”

  He frowned in response. “The system loves suicidal tendencies.”

  “And stubbornness,” Bran added. “It likes stupid people who are desperate enough to risk death to grow stronger.”

  Rayne nodded, pushing himself up from the ground. He sweated hard and his throat was dry. He made his way back to the spectators with Bran as he got more smirks and smiles planted in his direction. None of them any good.

  Kesh handed him a waterskin. “You didn't do half bad.”

  “Half bad?” said Rayne, taking a sip. “I would like to see how—”

  A horn echoed out. Its blare rolled across the fort, cutting through their conversation.

  Everyone froze for half a breath before urgency kicked in.

  “Attack,” Ardan muttered, already pushing himself into a run.

  The yard burst into motion. Soldiers pushed themselves up, grabbing their weapons and following Ardan. Shouts came out from the entire fort and Rayne gulped down the whole waterskin in seconds.

  He put his sword back in the hilt as his party started running at the same time.

  They fell in with the rushing tide, boots hammering against the stone as they moved towards the wall. Groups of soldiers were climbing up the battlements.

  Rayne’s chest burned as they stepped on the stairs and reached the top.

  Beyond the outer wall, two trolls stood, the same as the last time they had attacked the gates. Arrows flew at them from the walls and he saw Bran firing his own, having picked up a bow when he hadn't been looking.

  The air trembled with the sound of their guttural roars.

  Soldiers already clashed with them in the churn of mud and stone outside the gate, shields and steel intercepting the monsters. The men shouted, delivering blows after blows at the trolls.

  “How many times has it been again?” Nate asked. “I lost the count.”

  “I believe four, no five times. The warlord is really just sending trolls to die,’’ said Kesh, just as one of the trolls went down on one knee.

  “The warlord isn't stupid. It's probably trying to use these to damage the walls and gates. Would make for an easier assault when the time comes.”

  “I think they have already succeeded in that.”

  Rayne steered away from the conversation, eyes landing on the right where a part of the wall had already broken down. The first assault of the trolls two days back had been wholly unprepared in the middle of the night.

  “Losing these trolls would surely make the warlord angry,” said Heins. “I wonder if it's gonna launch a full-blown assault soon.”

  At those words, Bran loosed another arrow before looking at them. A grim smile covered his face. “It should be sooner than your expectations. I think you all should go back and get some rest, especially Rayne. We will be in the middle of war soon.”

  No one spoke and the conversation died down. Rayne looked back at the trolls, already down on the ground by the assault of dozens of soldiers and arrows.

  He gripped the stone railings as the soldiers cheered. Only one thought rang in his mind.

  He would soon be in the first war of his life.

  ***