Rise Of Royal Phantoms And Qixi Festival

Episode 19

The crisp morning air bit at my exposed skin as I stood amongst the other trainees, anticipation thrumming through my veins. Today was the day – the day we would finally ditch the wooden practice swords and graduate to the real deal. Real steel, real weight, real danger.

Across the training ground, our superiors – seasoned warriors clad in gleaming armor – awaited us, their expressions stoic but their eyes glinting with a challenge. Captain Amelia, ever the picture of imposing authority, scanned us with her piercing gaze.

"𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚," she boomed, her voice cutting through the nervous chatter, "𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕. 𝑨 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒚, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of recklessness. We weren't children anymore. We were trainees about to wield the instruments of war, and the weight of that responsibility settled upon my shoulders.

Captain Amelia barked out orders, pairing each of us with a superior. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I was matched with a tall, imposing figure named Sir Gareth.  His reputation as a master swordsman preceded him, and a flicker of apprehension danced within me.

We took our positions, the weight of the real sword unfamiliar but strangely comforting in my hand.  The polished steel gleamed in the morning sun, a stark contrast to the rough-hewn wooden blades we were used to.  Sir Gareth raised his sword in a salute, his blue eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and challenge.

"𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐?" he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly.

"𝑨𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆, 𝑺𝒊𝒓 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒉," I replied, my voice surprisingly steady despite the churning in my stomach.

With a curt nod, Sir Gareth launched into a flurry of attacks. His movements were lightning fast, a blur of steel that forced me to react instinctively.  Drawing on the lessons learned from weeks of grueling training, I parried his blows, my wooden sword clanging against his real one with a jarring ring.

The difference was stark. The wooden blade I had grown accustomed to felt light and awkward in comparison.  Each parry sent a jolt through my arms, and sweat beaded on my forehead as I struggled to keep up with his relentless assault.

Sir Gareth, sensing my struggle, slowed his attacks a fraction.  "𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑻𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐," he boomed, his voice filled with a hint of encouragement, "𝒂 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒚. 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒔. 𝑳𝒂𝒍"

His words echoed in my mind as I watched him, dissecting his movements, searching for an opening. He favored powerful overhead blows, but his footwork seemed slightly off, betraying a hint of a limp.

Suddenly, an opportunity presented itself. As he wound up for another powerful strike, I feigned a retreat, my heart pounding in my chest. He fell for it, committing his full weight to the blow. It was then I saw my chance.

With a swift movement, I dipped beneath his attack, rolling to the side.  He stumbled slightly, thrown off balance by the unexpected maneuver. Seizing the moment, I lunged forward, my steel blade aimed for his unguarded leg.

But before I could make contact, Sir Gareth recovered with surprising agility.  He deflected my blow with a flourish, the clang of steel echoing through the training ground.   He laughed, a booming sound that startled me.

"𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝑻𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐, 𝒍𝒂𝒍!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine amusement. "𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒚. 𝑹𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅. 𝑳𝒂𝒍"

The training session continued, a whirlwind of parries, blocks, and missed strikes. Slowly, with each clash of steel, I began to adapt. My movements gained fluidity, my anticipation sharpened.  I fought not just with muscle memory, but with a newfound strategic sense.

By the time Captain Amelia called an end to the session, my arms were heavy with exertion, and my breath came in ragged gasps. But a triumphant grin stretched across my face.  I had faced a real blade, a real challenge, and I had survived. More importantly, I had learned.

As the other trainees exchanged their experiences, a sense of camaraderie, forged in sweat and steel,  settled amongst us. We had crossed a threshold, tasted the danger and the thrill of wielding real weaponry.  The path ahead was still shrouded in uncertainty, but one thing was clear – we were no longer just trainees. We were fledgling swordsmen, and the future stretched before us, as sharp and as thrilling as a freshly sharpened blade.