'Good.'
Draven didn't slow down; that only willed him to push Kael harder.
He struck again with deadly precision, and again, each time pausing to correct a flaw.
"Don't chase the blade. Let it come to you."
Tap.
"Don't swing from the arms. Use your hips."
Tap.
"Breathe with your strikes."
Thwack.
"No, not like that, watch."
Draven repeated a simple parry, then slowly again. Kael watched. And something clicked.
The next time Draven lunged, Kael's sword moved more smoothly, clumsy still, but correctly aligned.
His stance adjusted, legs wider. He began to see, just barely, the rhythm in Draven's steps and movements.
'It's not about moving just the sword, but your whole body, the sword becomes an extension of your body,' He realised.
A dozen more strikes passed. Then a dozen more. Kael began to sweat, panting, but his eyes gleamed like lit coals.
'It's becoming easier to time my strikes.'
He copied Draven's movements, mimicked his feints. He failed, but only once.
Every misstep was followed by a correction, not from Draven's lips any longer, but Kael's own instinct, his own adjustments.
Draven and Elara were stunned watching Kael improve every time they clashed; it was like watching a child grow in real time.
But Elara was the most stunned, because she had the clearest view of the three of them.
She had been the one to clearly see Kael stumble a few hours ago, and now somehow, he had his movement and footwork down.
"He's… learning as he moves," Elara murmured, stunned.
Draven grunted as Kael blocked his next blow cleanly. Not by luck, it was all intentional, and well-timed.
'Wow!' Draven thought.
A flurry began: Draven pressed forward, a cut, a thrust, feints, all in a breath.
Kael defended with ragged parries, his sword scraping Draven's blade, each clash ringing metallic and full-bodied.
He stumbled back, nearly toppled by the force of Draven's deliberate rhythm.
Draven touched the point of Kael's blade with his own, halting their clash.
"Your footwork has improved, but it's still predictable. Shift weight before you strike."
He stepped aside, a gust of wind swirling Riven's hair.
Kael's next attack was quieter, his foot pivot sharper. He slanted his blade downwards, chin lowered, eyes narrowed. Draven blocked, but his eyebrow rose at the correctness of form.
They exchanged blows again: this time, Kael anticipated. He stepped in with a swift thrust, drawing Draven's guard slightly forward.
Then, with motion like water breaking rock, Riven pivoted, turned his blade to slash low toward the master's hip.
Draven blocked in surprise, sweat beading at his temple.
"Good!" he exhaled, tone grudging yet awed. "Again."
The spar escalated. Steel screamed as they crossed blades, Kael's strokes sharpening, becoming streamlined.
Clang!—clang!—clang!
A chorus of steel on steel, footwork sliding over stone in rapid interplay. Kael blocked a thrust, swiveled, hurling a feint-high, then slipped low, a deceptive rhythm Draven had not taught.
Draven hesitated, and then he decided to increase the tempo.
Kael matched it.
His feet shifted with more confidence, his parries tighter. A surprise thrust from Draven was met with a lean and a counterstrike, not graceful, but dangerously close to landing.
"That adjustment…" Draven whispered under his breath, parrying. "He saw the opening."
They continued.
Draven pressed again, an onslaught of strikes. Kael absorbed them, parried, stepped, and turned each defense into a counter.
He caught one of Draven's blades on the flat of his, twisting, trying to rip free. Draven withdrew his steel with a grunt, nodding in recognition.
Hours ticked by, past midnight. They all got absorbed in the beauty of swordsmanship. The two engaged in combat. And the sole spectator, Elara, was mesmerised.
Over time, Kael began integrating corrections of his own.
He stopped trying to mirror and began to meld. His movements, though raw, eventually became a blend of learned precision and spontaneous ingenuity. And then, unexpectedly...
A feint.
Draven blinked.
Kael had faked a high swing, drawing Draven's guard up, only to pivot and strike low, nearly catching his ankle.
"...He's never done that before," Kaelron muttered.
Another feint. A misdirection. A rapid turn and reverse slash.
Kael was dancing now, and though sweat ran freely down his brow, his body now moved like it had known the blade in another life.
Draven accelerated, launching a rapid succession: high slash, low cut, thrust, three moves in a breathless flurry.
Kael blocked twice, then feinted left, ducked low, and sent a backhand cut spinning toward Draven's guard.
Draven deflected at the last instant, arched an eyebrow, and offered a rare smile.
Elara had risen to her feet, lips parted, frozen. Her voice was but a whisper. "Are we… are we witnessing the birth of a genius?"
That was all she could say; she could not even believe her own eyes.
Draven didn't answer. He struck again. Kael blocked, a fluid, clean block. And then, he countered.
The night was coming to an end. The yard outside was bathed in faint moonlight, fading away to give way to the rising sun. They fought still.
The light glinted off Kael's brow and blade, illuminating his ferocity.
Where once his moves were disjointed and raw, now they flowed, feints, sidesteps, cross-slashes.
Every flaw pointed out earlier, grip too tight, swing too broad, shoulders locked, was now gone.
He had learned mid-fight, adapting, evolving.
Finally, Draven stepped back, breathing heavier than before. "Tell me, Kael… Are you certain you've never held a sword before?"
Elara interjected with her own question, in the back. "Or anything like it?"
It was like they had forgotten how clumsy he had been at the beginning of this training session.
His real-time improvements had overwritten all those earlier errors. All that occupied the duo's minds now was how good this young man was with the sword.
Kael paused. His eyes, glowing faintly in the moonlight, his gaze held no pride; he felt oddly calm and composed still, no sense of accomplishment from that sort of improvement in a single session in the night, like it had all unfolded exactly how he expected it to in the end.
"No. Never. This was the first time ever, holding any weapon, to be exact."
Silence.
Draven lowered his sword, a slow chuckle escaping his lips. He looked at Elara, who only shook her head in stunned disbelief.
"A monster in sheep's clothing," Kaelron said, eyes gleaming. "What absurdity have we found here?"
"Kael, you are one hell of a talent, your future is exciting." Draven went up to shake Kael's hand.
"Uhm, thanks." He did not know how to respond to another man complimenting him like that, but he took it in stride.