Chapter 5.5- The Seadragon's Roar

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I blocked the attack, gritting my teeth as I felt my arm and shoulder shake from the force of his blow. Ser Manfred was terrible when it came to holding back. I moved my own sword into position but my return blow was too slow and he was slapping my blade away with a flick of his wrist in a manner of seconds.

I stepped back, mindful of my footwork to not let myself get tripped up for the seventh time today. With my step back, I took a step forward almost immediately, aiming to disorient him by not doing what I was sure he expected me to do after that particular move. I was right. This time, I forced him to move as he stepped backwards mid lunge to avoid my searching blade. I stepped forward again, steel hungry for blood but found myself on the floor in a matter of seconds.

“What did you learn from that one?” He asked with a chuckle even as I heard Ser Ben begin chuckling from his watchful position. Some sworn shield he was.

— 105 AC—

I moved my head backwards to avoid a searching swipe of his blade, biting back my annoyance to try to stay focused on the here and now. A year here and I still hadn’t managed to beat this motherfucker, not even once. So that meant every waking hour that I couldn’t get off to see. Igneel was spent here in the yard, getting my arse beaten. I was sure that if not for his natural fear of dragons and what they could do, Boremund would have banned access to Igneel already in favour of me getting even more time in the yard.

I blocked the next slash with my shield, and then was forced to block the one after that. And then another after that. “What did I say about hunkering behind that shield of yours?” I heard Manfred’s rough voice before I felt something hit my shield and send me flying into the dirt. I blacked out for a second, but when I returned, it was to find him standing over me with that look in his eyes.

“Not to” I replied the question he’d asked before he dealt out the punishment.

“Good, then don’t” He said, before taking a step back and lifting his sword, silently bidding me to keep going. Everywhere hurt, but it was not an offer I could refuse. I’d seen what lay in that direction.

—106 AC—

I pressed the attack, moving in a continuous circle of steel and motion. Each swipe of my blade led to a slash, or to a thrust, or to a stab, or something else that Manfred would have to block or deflect as I tried my level best to force him on the back foot with the sheer number of attacks. Years of sparring had beaten it into my head that contests of strength were far from the way to go. Contests of speed on the other hand? Well, Manfred was a mountain of muscle and padding while I was in his words, ‘a lithe little shit’.