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POEM iii.
/ICARUS + PERCY'S POV/
Three days after Percy arrived at camp, and it was finally time for him to practice his swordsmanship with Luke, just how Icarus said would happen.
"Good luck," one of the campers had warned. "Luke's the best swordsman in the last three hundred years. The only one who can best him in a duel is Icarus, and, well, you're not Icarus."
Gee, thanks. That certainly made him feel better.
"Maybe he'll go easy on me." The camper snorted at Percy's naivete.
Luke demonstrated varies parries and shield blocks, and he was in no way merciful with his actions. With every swipe, Percy became more battered and bruised.
"Keep your guard up!" And then a hit to the ribs was followed.
