The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 7: The Blade of Ashen Frost

Nestled behind the sprawling grounds of the manor, the training yard was an orderly space, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and oaks. The grass, though worn in places, remained well-kept, and a stretch of packed earth was set aside for sparring.

Two young men faced each other in the center of the yard, practicing their swordplay under the watchful eyes of the knights and one who appeared to be a duke, his long dark hair brushing his shoulders, and his dark blue eyes are scanning. 

The clatter of wooden swords echoed in the stillness, accompanied only by the soft hum of the wind. But one of them, the younger, was growing increasingly aggressive.

"You're pushing too hard, Lucien. Control your temper," his opponent warned, eyes steady.

Lucien responded with a wild, desperate swing, his sword cutting through the air in a vertical arc. But his opponent anticipated it with ease, and with a swift strike, the wooden blade connected with Lucien's abdomen. He gasped, wincing in pain, and his sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he coughed.

"What was that? What did I tell you?" the other man demanded, grabbing Lucien by the shoulder and pulling him upright.

"I... I'm so sorry," Lucien muttered, raising a hand in apology.

"Eric, do not be so hard on your brother," the duke called from a distance.

"If this is the battlefield, the enemy won't show him mercy, Father," Eric replied, his voice firm. "He needs to be trained and ready."

He steps back and pointed his wooden sword at the fallen one, turning back to Lucien. "Now, get up. We're doing this again."

Lucien moved weakly, his right hand still clutching his abdomen, the pain sharp and lingering. If this had been a real blade, he knew it would have been fatal. He stood up and reached for his fallen sword and glanced up at Eric. His brother's gaze wasn't one of pity or disgust, just calm intensity with a hint of softness.

Taking a deep breath, Lucien gripped his wooden sword tightly, feeling his power stir within him. The air around them began to cool, a frosty mist forming as an icy sigil appeared at his feet.

"Getting serious, are we?" Eric asked, a grin tugging at his lips. Though the sword in his hand remained solid wood, the air around it shimmered with heat, daring Lucien to attack. 

Lucien lunged quickly at his brother, the air growing colder with every step. Frost began to creep up his sword, the ground beneath his feet is freezing.

Eric met his brother's strike, their wooden swords clashing with a sharp crack. The impact sent a pulse of heat from Eric's weapon, it is enough to melt the frost gathering around them but not enough to scorch the wood. The air steamed where Ignis (Fire) met Glacio (Ice), their opposing magics clashing in a dance of heat and cold.

Lucien pressed forward, swinging his wooden blade in a precise motion. But Eric, with his greater speed and experience, parried the blows easily, the heat from his sword keeping the frost at bay.

"When sword fighting, your goal is to strike your opponent, not their sword. Their blade can only defend, Lucien," Eric said, parrying another blow effortlessly. "Find a way to hit me. I can tell you're holding back."

The spectators are unable to witness their duel as the mist gradually forms. Just the sound of smashing wooden swords.

The battle lasted just two minutes. Eric quickly sidestepped and knocked Lucien's blade out of his hand with a well-timed blow. Lucien staggered backward and fell to the ground, the wooden blade flying out of his fingers. Eric's clothing remained untouched, but Lucien's skin was bruised, and his sleeve had a clean cut.