Rise of Tyrus

Tyrus fidgeted where he stood, clutching a practice sword in his shivering hands.

A biting wind nipped at his exposed face. A puff of white mist, which was carried away in the breeze, accompanied every breath he let out. In the middle of the stone platform, Igneal stood nearby, a practice sword resting on his arm. Sir Wayne stood between the two, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

"Don't get cold feet now, Tyrus. I've been looking forward to our rematch for a while now."

"I'm not afraid," Tyrus said, trying his best to stop his trembling hands. "Just a little cold."

"Aren't you a black tiger? The cold shouldn't be a problem for you."

"I'm not a fully black tiger. Remember, I'm a Demi-human. Plus, I don't have fur all over my body for protection from the—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Igneal interrupted. He yawned and rubbed his chin. "Let's get this sparring session started already. We'll be using the same rules as last time, but this time with another rule added. No using magic or mana, only our physical abilities."

"That's fine with me," Tyrus said, though slightly disappointed. His enchanted coat offered some resistance against the grueling winds, but it gave him an unfair advantage.

With a heavy heart, Tyrus shed his coat and stored it inside his ring, letting the icy-cold winds wrap around his body. A fresh wave of chills swept through his body, but he endured it.

Sir Wayne cleared his throat, his voice booming. "May the sparring session begin!"

Igneal dashed forward without hesitation, his sword held high. Tyrus, who was caught off guard by Igneal's sudden attack, barely managed to raise his sword in time to block. The impact of the blow forced Tyrus to step back. However, by the time Tyrus received the blow head on, Igneal was already two steps ahead.

Pain flared into his body as Igneal kicked him square in the gut, sending him falling onto his back. The air in his lungs rushed out in a gust, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to stand back up.

"I told you I wouldn't go easy on you," Igneal said. "Underestimating you was a mistake I have learned from. We might be part of the Great Lineages, but I cannot allow myself to be beaten so easily by someone younger than me."

Tyrus glared daggers at the noble. "I never expected you to go easy on me. I can't get better if you do. Besides, you should be the one worried, not me."

"I guess you have a point," Igneal replied, watching Tyrus get into a stance. "You are a Demi-human, especially one born from the Great Lineages. Your strength and reflexes are better than mine, I'll grant you that."

"Wow, thanks for the compliment," Tyrus grumbled.

Since they were only fighting with swords, nothing else, Tyrus was at a severe disadvantage. Obviously, Igneal was more skilled than he was, so he probably knew all the in's and outs of taking advantage of an inexperienced fighter. He was fighting Sir Wayne, a knight, one-on-one, and held his own. Expecting to beat Igneal again would be a dumb idea.

But that kind of mentality was how weaklings think, and Tyrus wanted nothing to do with them.

With a grunt, Tyrus shot forward, closing the gap between them. Igneal shifted his feet and leveled his sword. Tyrus swung his sword in a vertical motion, mimicking Igneal's movements. A flash of surprise appeared on the Lockhart's face, and instead of blocking, he sidestepped the incoming blade.

Igneal slashed low, striking Tyrus right on his left thigh. He yelped and instinctively covered reached down to cover the wounded area. He realized too late his mistake and caught a swift strike to his right arm. Another shot of pain raced along his body, and his weapon clattered to the ground.

"Ow!" Tyrus cried, rubbing his wound. He could already feel bruises forming.

"You are full of openings," Igneal remarked. "And you dropped your weapon from a bit of pain. I was taught to never drop your weapon. What's the point of having it in the first place if you drop it the moment you receive a blow?"

Sir Wayne nodded. "You are right, young master. The Demi-human is too focused on the offensive, subjecting him to a series of counterattacks. His attacks are predictable, and his movements are not as smooth as his opponent's. His stance and grip are also not firm enough, making him susceptible to being disarmed. He should divert more of his attention to your movements."

Tyrus remained silent while he flexed his hand, quickly retrieving the weapon that had been dropped. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and tightened his grip on his sword.

In this instance, he made the decision to adopt a more measured approach, avoiding any unnecessary aggressiveness. He knew that if he focused too much on attacking, he would have to lower his intensity and concentrate on minimizing vulnerabilities. Despite not being real, these swords still hurt a lot, and that pain increased in the cold. Walking around with lumps the size of melons would make him look stupid.

This time around, Tyrus didn't charge. Instead, he kept his distance and observed his opponent. Igneal happily obliged in attacking first. He dashed forward with a quick stab aimed at the abdomen. Tyrus swatted it away with his sword, but his opponent quickly retracted and countered with a slash to the shoulder. Tyrus jumped away from the swing and got into a defensive stance again.

"Now you're using your head," Igneal said.

Igneal swung his sword in a circular motion, resembling a wheel, as he cautiously advanced. When he reached a close enough distance, he launched an overhead slash. However, Tyrus expected the attack and positioned himself to block it, only to be taken aback by Igneal's smirk. In a sudden twist, Igneal pulled back at the last moment, redirecting his strike and piercing Tyrus directly in the stomach. Despite emitting a groan, Tyrus mustered the strength to weakly swing his sword at Igneal. The movement was sluggish, allowing Lockhart to effortlessly evade it.

Darn, I thought I had him there!

"I didn't expect you to counterattack as soon as you were hit. If this were a real fight, you'd be bleeding out—or dead."

Once the pain passed, Tyrus shook his head. "No, I would have augmentation and my coat protecting me."

Igneal rolled his eyes. "Your enchanted coat only has a few uses, and you don't have unlimited mana coursing through your mana heart. An Augmentation Sorcerer's defenses can be pierced. Whether it be from a fist or sword coated with mana, or even a spell capable of sapping their strength. There are so many ways to counter the augmentation ability as long as you have a brain."

Tyrus contemplated his words and said, "Are you telling me to not get too comfortable with augmentation?"

"I'm glad you aren't stupid," Igneal muttered. "Now, stop talking and start moving your feet."

They faced each other, the wind howling in their ears as it blew around them, sending a fresh cold draft to dull their senses. It was weird how Igneal wasn't shivering from the cold now that Tyrus thought about bit. Maybe all this movement helped keep the cold at bay.

Throughout continuous breaks and hours, their sparring session lasted from morning to late afternoon. The sun had already passed its peak and was dipping its rays below the horizon.

Tyrus was covered in sweat and bruises, his breathing shallow. His muscles screamed for relief as he lay slumped over the platform's edge, trying his best to keep his eyes open. Every breath sent white-hot pangs that raced along his chest, making it impossible for him to get a full breath.

Meanwhile, Sir Wayne and Igneal stood next to him, breathing heavily as sweat dripped onto the platform.

"I've worked up a sweat fighting you," Igneal said cheerfully. "We'll be doing the same thing tomorrow, same time, same rules. Right now, a bath and a meal await."

With an irritatingly wide smile stretched across his face, Igneal left Tyrus in his wake and made his way towards the grand manor. Sir Wayne hesitated for a brief moment, his gaze shifting towards Tyrus.

"You may have your uses, Demi-human," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of condescension. "Remember where you stand."

Tyrus, exhausted, couldn't summon the strength to deliver a sharp retort. Instead, he weakly waved the knight away, watching as he departed. As his breathing steadied, Tyrus felt a tingling sensation in his hand, hovering over a knot. With focused determination, he began the soothing incantation of Healing Touch, the faint hum of magic filling the air.

***

The next day wasn't all that much better. In fact, it went the way Tyrus expected: his butt getting kicked repeatedly.

"You're welcome to land a hit anytime!"

Igneal's sarcastic comments were beginning to wear thin, and Tyrus was about to lose his patience. He had spent the past hour blocking and evading, never once able to get a single attack to land. No matter what he tried, whether it be a feint or using brute force, Igneal always saw through his tricks.

Tyrus' frustration reached its peak when Igneal tripped him up and sent him face-first onto the cold stone floor. A small cry left his lips as he rose, and a drop of crimson tainted the ground. Tyrus checked his lip, the familiar taste of blood stinging his tongue.

"This is getting stupid! How is this supposed to help me!? Shouldn't you be giving me advice or something?"

Igneal's brow furrowed. "We did that yesterday and you're already learning from your mistakes. You used to only focus on the offensive, but now you're too focused on defending. There needs to be a balance between the two, unless you learn a specific fighting style. Oh, and no matter how many times I beat you, you haven't dropped your weapon yet.'"

"...It sounds like you're praising me, but I get the feeling you're making fun of me," Tyrus mumbled, getting to his feet.

"That's just your imagination. Now get up and try to land a blow."

Easier said than done, Tyrus thought.

The guy moved like a snake, yet with a ferocity that didn't match his body. Tyrus had always known this, ever since his first match with Igneal, but his feet were quick and sharp. Every time he moved with his sword, no movement was wasted. Igneal was deliberate with every action, as if each limb had a mind of its own.

However, Tyrus lacked finesse unlike Igneal. He heavily relied on his speed, which was his sole weapon in reality. Without magic, Tyrus had no other options at his disposal. Although he had the option of using Beast Transformation, he knew Igneal would see it as cheating. This battle was meant to test their swordsmanship skills, not to use every tool available to them. Moreover, Tyrus aimed to learn and improve in this fight. If he were to utilize Beast Transformation, victory would undoubtedly come easily for him.

Tyrus spat out a wad of blood and wiped his mouth. Once he regained some of his energy, the sparring session continued until late afternoon. And just like how predictable the sunrise was, the outcome of the fight ended with a victorious Igneal and a slumped over loser with more bruises than there were stars in the sky.

"A great session as always," Igneal called out from a distance. "I hope this experience doesn't dampen your fire."

Not long after Igneal stepped into the grand manor, Tyrus gently tended to his wounds, beginning with his battered face. The cool touch of Healing Touch brought relief, easing the stinging pain that had engulfed his entire body. As time passed, the pain gradually faded, leaving behind a numbing sensation. Tyrus released a contented sigh, his body sprawled in the dampness of his sweat-soaked clothes. His gaze drifted lazily towards the sky, captivated by the sight of clouds lazily floating by.

Sometimes, as Tyrus gazes up at the sky, he finds joy in imagining clouds as majestic ships, sailing gracefully through the vast expanse of the blue skies. Fluffy white clouds contrast with the sturdy wooden ships that roam the seas. The wind playfully shifts the clouds in various directions, while ships sail steadfastly, carrying people and precious cargo. The taste of salt lingers in the air, as if the sea itself has been transported to the sky.

Was being beaten senseless driving him crazy?

"Hey there," said a familiar voice. In that instant, a head emerged within his line of vision. Fiona floated above him, her hair forming a protective barrier against the chilling gusts, as if shielding him from their bite.

"Hi," Tyrus replied.

"Finished with the session?"

Tyrus nodded meekly and slowly rose into a sitting position. "Like yesterday, Igneal kicked my butt for hours. As much as I don't want to admit it, but he's way better than me."

"No offense to you, but that is to be expected," Fiona said. "From what Aunt Selena told me, Igneal's been training with the sword for years. You just started, so of course you'll lose to him."

Running a hand through his hair, he still felt the lingering sensation of defeat. He could handle losing, but only if he could genuinely see himself making progress. Despite Igneal's reassurances that he was learning from his mistakes, Tyrus couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't improving at all.

Fiona patted him on the shoulder and said, "Don't let it get to you, Tyrus. You'll get there eventually, just not right away. Think of it this way: do you think a sapling will grow into a tree overnight?"

"With earth magic."

"You can't use magic during your sessions. Your skills will grow naturally, like a sapling. It will just take time."

She had a point. There was no such thing as an overnight success. It was foolish to expect instant results, especially considering his inexperience. Tyrus should have known better, yet the defeat still hurt. Even if it takes days, weeks, or even years to at least become competent with the sword, then so be it. As long as he didn't give up, then he'll reach his dreams of becoming a powerful sorcerer.

"You're right," Tyrus said. "Sorry for being dumb."

Fiona beamed. "I know I am. When have you ever seen me wrong before? Now, let's get you washed up. A growing boy needs his energy, after all. I also need to tell you and Igneal about the speech His Majesty gave earlier today."

Tyrus paused. "The emperor gave a speech today? I wasn't told about this."

"Oh, I didn't tell you? Must've slipped my mind. While you and Igneal were too busy sparring yesterday, Grant relayed a message from his father that the emperor would make an appearance at the plaza in the outer district today to talk about that warehouse fire."

That makes sense. He probably wanted to answer some questions that his people had. It was a pretty big fire, and it sounded like it wasn't all that common.

It took some effort, but Tyrus rose to his feet. As soon as he straightened himself, his stomach growled.

Fiona laughed. "Let's add getting you fed to the list of tasks as well. Come, follow me."