Chronicles of Dras

Chapter 3: The Journey to New Haven and the Art of the Sword

As dawn painted the morning sky with shades of orange and pink, Dras found himself already awake, tending to his belongings as the camp was being dismantled. Vantos, the seasoned mercenary and their de facto leader approached him, his eyes betraying a hint of amusement.

"Hey boy, remind me of your name again?" Vantos asked, feigning forgetfulness.

"My name is Dras," he replied, his voice steady despite the knot of excitement in his stomach. He was securing his bow and quiver, the tools of survival he had known all his life.

"Right, Dras. As we journey to New Haven, I plan to teach you the art of the sword. I suppose there's no better time than the present. You will then need to travel to the capital, Barso" Vantos handed him a sword, one of the spoils from their encounter with the bandits the previous day. The weapon was heavier than Dras had expected, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings, its blade sharp and deadly.

"Thank you, but why do I need to go to the capital?" Dras asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Vantos chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet morning. "That's where the Legionnaires recruit and test their candidates. Usually, you'd need a recommendation letter from your local barracks commander to even get a foot in the door. But I have faith that the commander in New Haven will vouch for you."

With that cryptic remark, Vantos left Dras to his own thoughts. "We'll start your training this afternoon, during our lunch break," he called over his shoulder.

As the party moved forward, Dras found himself grappling with a flurry of emotions. He was excited and a little terrified. He was skilled with a bow and knife, but a sword was uncharted territory. He examined the weapon in his hand, the cold metal, the intricate hilt. With a sense of trepidation, he belted the sword and scabbard around his waist. As he began to walk, however, the scabbard poked his leg uncomfortably, and soon he tripped, causing a round of laughter among the mercenaries.

A gruff voice echoed through the laughter. "You need to put your hand on the hilt, lad. Lifts the scabbard away from your legs."

His face flushed with embarrassment, Dras stood up and adjusted his grip on the sword, following the merc's advice. The sword now comfortably away from his feet, he continued on with the group.

Their journey took them deeper into the forest, the terrain growing rougher with each passing hour. By noon, they came upon a small lake nestled within the expansive forest. The snowy peaks that had seemed so far away the day before now loomed large before them. After a brief rest, Vantos came to Dras, a familiar grin playing on his lips.

"Time for your first lesson, Dras," he announced, unsheathing his own sword. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, a look that told Dras something interesting was about to happen.

Dras pulled out his own sword, standing opposite Vantos, ready for a duel.

"No, no, we're not going to fight. Not yet. You've never swung a sword before. For now, I want you to observe how I swing mine." Vantos demonstrated a simple exercise: He raised his sword above his head and swept it down to the left, then up again and down to the right.

"I want you to repeat this motion, from now until we make camp in the evening," Vantos instructed, the smile never leaving his face.

"While walking?" Dras couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Exactly, while walking. This is your first lesson. If you manage to keep it up, we'll move on to the second lesson this evening."

With that, Vantos sheathed his sword and rejoined the others, leaving Dras alone with his new task.