A Good Man Awakens

Chapter 32: Sword Training

I met Trendil at first light. He stood casually in the courtyard, leaning against the wall, munching on an apple. The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted stone. The air was crisp, biting against my skin, and despite the supposed warmth of this enchanted place, I felt the chill deep in my bones. My head pounded slightly, and there was a sour sickness stirring in my stomach. I had taken the bandages off the night before; the wound was healing nicely, but it wasn't the wound that was bothering me. No, it was the wine. This younger, more energetic body of mine apparently wasn't as resilient when it came to indulging.

"Feeling alright, my lad?" Trendil asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he tossed the apple core into the bushes.

I forced a smile, unwilling to admit my discomfort. "Fine, just fine. Not used to such soft beds, is all."

"Oh, I can change that for you if you'd like—no trouble at all," he said, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

"No, it's fine. I'll get used to it." I waved him off. "What are we doing out here so early?"

Trendil straightened up, brushing his hands against his tunic. "Straight to it, I like that about you, lad. Good. Your light weaving, although impressive and quite unusual, isn't going to protect you—or me—out there in the real world. Until we can work out this other power of yours, the best and quickest way to prepare you is the good old-fashioned way—with a sword."

I blinked, caught off guard. A sword? Why would I need lessons in swordsmanship? If only he knew... I'd probably run more men through with a blade than he had eaten meals. The thought stirred a strange mix of nostalgia and bitterness within me. Trendil didn't know who I really was, or what I'd been through. I'd fought in battles that would haunt even the most hardened soldiers, wielding a sword as naturally as one might wield a quill.

"Don't worry," he continued, misreading my expression. "We'll go slow. It's not as difficult as people make it out to be. It's all about muscle memory and focus. Staying focused, very focused. Now come along, follow me."

As we walked, we passed the library. I sneaked a glance inside and froze for a moment. Books were flying through the air, darting from one shelf to another, arranging themselves as though guided by invisible hands. Was Trendil really this powerful, that he could manipulate the entire library while talking to me? I shook my head and kept walking, curiosity tugging at my thoughts. Soon, we passed a closed door, wrapped in thick iron straps. It felt ominous, as if something dangerous lay beyond, held back by the heavy bindings. Was it keeping something out—or something in?

Two more doors later, we reached the end of the corridor. Trendil flicked his wrist casually, and the large double doors in front of us swung open with a creak.

The room beyond was enormous—if you could even call it a room. It felt more like a grand hall, the ceiling towering so high that a fall from it would mean certain death. A wooden staircase hugged the side wall, leading up to a mezzanine dotted with chairs and tables. One wall slanted outward as if it had been carved from the very mountainside itself, with massive windows stretching along its entire length, offering a panoramic view of the snow-capped peaks outside. The mountains stood tall and silent, their icy ridges shimmering in the early light, a stark contrast to the warmth inside.

Weapon racks and training dummies were scattered around the hall, along with shields and armor. The hay-stuffed targets stood waiting, their blank faces daring us to strike. I couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration for the space—it reminded me of the training halls back in the king's army, though this place was grander, more suited for legends than mere soldiers. I could only imagine how much stronger my men would have become with access to such a facility.