After reading/writing thousands of various disclaimers, you eventually get bored with them. Let's just say the game isn't mine, okay?

Swordsmanship

by Lucrecia LeVrai

"Lunge, sidestep and parry—good, but you're being too slow! Don't wait for me to stand still, because I never will! Now! Strike while I'm turning, before I can catch my balance… Yes, that's it, an upper thrust! Guard—! Aaah. Too late."

Suppressing a small sigh of disapproval, Glou Nox lowered his weapon. He had to admit that he still felt slightly uncomfortable with it, simply because he hadn't used a wooden practice sword in ages. Several months had passed since he had last trained with his son. He wished it had been different, but certain things couldn't be helped. Arzei constantly needed him by his side, in the capital, and Lord Nox was far too honorable to protest, though he would have gladly stayed home as much as possible. He had a vague impression that he was neglecting his duties in Kirlsa. Most importantly, however, he regretted not being able to spend more time with his growing child.

The boy in question, a skinny twelve-year-old with an angelic appearance and an equally devilish personality, was currently sitting on the ground, clutching his bruised shoulder. Glou didn't feel the need to ask if he was fine—the blow had been hard, but certainly not dangerous. If the brat wasn't complaining, it probably meant that he would be back on his feet in a matter of moments. Actually, Albel had already endured worse things. You couldn't hope to learn swordsmanship without learning how to deal with pain, it was as simple as that.

Patiently waiting for the child to recover, Glou used the short break to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. He would have preferred to take his whole shirt off, but unfortunately, a man of his age and position wasn't supposed to run around half-naked, not even in his own backyard. A pity, really, because the heat seemed almost unbearable. Perhaps he should have listened to his wife's advice and stayed inside, in the dark and cool manor, where there was plenty of room to train, but then again, summers in Kirlsa were never too long. You had to enjoy them while they lasted.

"Do you need to rest, Albel?" he asked calmly, looking up at the clear sky. "We could always take a break and find ourselves something to drink."

"No," came the child's perfectly predictable reply. "I'm fine."

Glou Nox suppressed a smile. He knew how much Albel loved their lessons, especially now, when his father had become but a rare guest in their country mansion. The boy was eager to show off, to demonstrate what he had learnt during the past few months, in the captain's absence. Fortunately, he had a good teacher. Glou had chosen the instructor himself, one of the best swordsmen in Airyglyph. He had absolute faith in that man's competence.

He didn't doubt his own son's potential, either. Albel was fast, cunning and ambidextrous—a perfect recipe for success, as far as swordplay was concerned. At twelve, the brat could easily win, or at least hold his own against many grown-ups. Most had already deemed him a prodigy. It didn't change the fact that he had still much to learn.

Glou watched the boy climb to his feet, and then pick his wooden sword of the ground. He looked quite tired, but it was probably just the heat taking its toll on his body.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Let's start from the beginning, then."

As usual, Glou let the boy attack first, allowed him to dictate the pace and rhythm of their match—just not for too long.

"The same mistake again! Don't pause to think in the middle of your strike! Don't hesitate! Even a second makes a huge difference! It may cost you your life! Guard or dodge, your moves have to be automatic! Why go for a horizontal slash when I can defend myself easily—like this!"

"Uh! It's not fair! You're not supposed to use your fists!"

"There's no such thing as a fair fight, Albel!" He didn't even give the boy a moment to recover, already springing forward, forcing him to gasp and leap aside. "Your opponents will always try to use every single one of their advantages! I'm taller, stronger and faster, and much more experienced than you are." To demonstrate his point, he effortlessly blocked one of his son's thrusts. "Now, what advantages do you have?"

"None!"

"Wrong, boy! That's not the answer you're supposed to give!"

"But that's just true! You said it yourself! You are superior in every possible way!"

"So the fight's still far from over, and you've already assumed that you are going to lose?"

"It's not like that!"

"Isn't it?" Glou demanded coldly, glaring down at his son through their locked swords. "Please, enlighten me—are you fighting to win, or simply to get this excercise over with?"

"To win, of course!" The boy's exasperated shout was punctuated by a furious upward strike; a very good one, Glou noticed, technically clean and impeccable.

He didn't even try to parry. He simply jumped out of the way, rolling to the left and instantly taking a few steps back, just to give his son an opportunity to catch his breath.

"Don't give up yet," he warned, as they began circling each other, both attempting to lure the opponent into a less favorable position—on a day like this, one of them would eventually end up facing direct sunlight.

"As if!" Albel panted, raising his sword a bit higher, stubbornly meeting his father's gaze, though he was supposed to watch his own shadow. "I'm not going to!"

Glou didn't doubt these words even for a moment. He liked what he saw in the boy's crimson eyes: a wonderful mixture of anger and determination. Albel would sooner drop dead from sheer exhaustion than concede that he had been defeated.

"Good. Now think. Focus. What will be my next move? How will I attack?"

"I don't know!"

"But you have to know. With my feet placed like that, what can I do?"

"Everything!"

"Then act, force me to break into a different stance! Swordsmanship is not about waiting for your enemies to kindly make their moves. Attack first, don't give your adversary the time to rethink his strategy. It's true that I have the upper hand in this match—so your only chance is to surprise me!"

The two shadows were currently forming a straight line and Glou had to squint his watery eyes in the sunlight. Had it been a real fight, he would have never allowed himself to end up like this, but now–

Albel knew better than to waste his breath on shouts and silly war cries. He lunged forward silently, without warning, taking off and bringing his sword down in a perfect, diagonal slash—only to have it parried with such force that he nearly flew backwards. Seemingly surprised, he stumbled, somehow managing to jump out of the way the moment his father went for a counterblow.

"I said think, boy! This won't do!"

Glou's sword cut through the air in front of him, but the boy was no longer there.

"You're still too predictable!" the captain cried out. He spun around just in time to see his son spring upwards—with his sword in his left hand?

Honestly, he hadn't seen that one coming. It caught him off guard, made him hesitate for the briefest of moments. He had hardly enough time to adjust his stance, twist his wrist so that he would be able to deflect a blow from the left—but in the end, years of experience gave him all the advantage he needed. The two swords met with a dull crack, and without a second thought, Glou pushed forward. Albel tried to resist, of course, but he was no match for his father's strength, the strength that easily tore the boy's weapon out of his fingers, flinging him to the ground a mere second later.

The yard fell silent.

"…Good," Glou finally said, lifting the tip of his sword from the boy's neck. "That would be enough for today. You've done well."

"I still lost," the twelve-year-old scowled, reaching out for his father's extended hand. As soon as he was back on his feet, he began to dust himself off, hissing loudly when his fingers brushed against some particularly sore spot. By the looks of it, he wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for at least a day or two. Glou resisted the urge to smile; he remembered his own training all too well, so the concept of a battered behind wasn't an entirely foreign one.

"Of course you did," he agreed calmly, picking up the dropped sword of the ground as he spoke. "I'm a better swordsman, after all."

"Have you ever lost to anyone, father?"

"I have. In the past."

"And when you were my age?"

"Especially when I was your age." He chuckled slightly, meeting the boy's unwavering gaze. "Now come, we need to rinse our hands by the well, go upstairs and change. It's almost time for dinner and I wouldn't want to miss—" He paused. "Albel? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking… Will I ever beat you, father?"

"Why would you ask me that? You already know the answer."

"Only if I try hard enough… right?"

"Yes. Success is not only about talent, Albel. It's mostly about giving one's all, hard work and determination."

"Then…" The boy hesitated, but when he looked up, there was no uncertainty in his eyes. "One day, I'll beat you. I promise."

Glou Nox smiled. "I'll hold you to your word."

Author's Notes: Rather pointless, I know, but I simply had to post it. Right now, I'm toying with the idea of writing a sequel and/or a similar story with Fayt and Albel, but it'll probably take me months just to start working on it. ;)

Now, would you please review? It's my first SO3 fic, after all…

Thanks! :)