Chapter 41: Joining the Training Facility
Upon entering the sparring facility, Amukelo and his companions were greeted by an interior that starkly contrasted with the building's aged exterior. The walls inside were indeed cracked but bore a certain robustness, painted with vibrant murals depicting various legendary battles and famous warriors. The atmosphere was charged with energy, and the air filled with the sounds of clanging metal and determined shouts.
They approached a counter where a young man with an easy smile and sharp eyes greeted them warmly. "Bral, Idin, good to see you guys! And you must be?" he asked, turning his attention to Amukelo.
"Amukelo," he replied, extending his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Amukelo. I'm Sabrif. Looking to join us here?"
"Yes, I'd like to sign up," Amukelo confirmed.
Sabbrif's gaze lingered on Amukelo for a moment, a hint of surprise in his expression. "Are you sure? Quite young, aren't you?"
Bral jumped in with a laugh, clapping Amukelo on the shoulder, "He's more than ready, Sabrif. Wait till you see him in action—he's got skills that outshine even Idin and me."
Amukelo offered an embarrassed grin, scratching his head as Sabrif handed him a registration form. "Alright then, how do you want to handle the membership fee? All at once or in installments?"
Glancing at Bral, Amukelo's expression showed a mix of annoyance and amusement. "You can split it?"
"It's better to pay all at once," Bral advised, "Splitting it ends up costing more in the long run."
"Indeed, he's right," Sabrif confirmed. "Paying in full upfront is more economical."
Nodding, Amukelo handed over a sizeable bag of coins, which Sabrif accepted with a professional nod. "Excellent. Feel free to head inside. Your membership badge will be ready when you leave."
The trio ventured deeper into the facility, where the sounds of combat grew louder. The building was a labyrinth of training rooms and open areas, but they were drawn to a particularly loud commotion in one of the larger spaces.
As they approached, they could see a crowd gathered around a central ring where two combatants were squaring off. The first was a towering figure, his body a roadmap of scars, wielding a sword so heavy it seemed to challenge the laws of physics. Opposite him stood a slimmer man, nearly as tall but with a wiry strength, his sword long and thin evidently much lighter, designed for speed.
The crowd's excitement was palpable, with spectators jostling for a better view. Bral, Idin, and Amukelo managed to find a spot where they could see over the shoulders of others. The air was thick with anticipation as the two fighters circled each other, each waiting for an opening.
As the tension in the room escalated, the entire crowd held its breath in anticipation. The duel between the two combatants reached a fever pitch, each movement critical and calculated.
The larger fighter, muscles bulging, raised his heavy sword high above his head and brought it down with such force that it created a small crater in the wooden floor of the arena. Wood chips and dust flew into the air, but his opponent easily sidestepped the attack. With a swift motion, he countered with a quick slash aimed at the big man's exposed side.
The bigger fighter, quick to react despite his size, attempted to block the incoming blade with a brute force punch. The slim swordsman's blade grazed the armored shoulder of his adversary, leaving only a superficial cut on his thick skin, barely drawing blood.
As the big man's fist flew towards him, the agile fighter used both hands to deflect the blow, yet the sheer force behind it sent him skidding back into the wall of the arena. The crowd gasped as the thud of his body hitting the wall echoed through the room.
Undeterred, the larger man charged forward, thinking to capitalize on his opponent's supposed disorientation. Yet, the slimmer fighter was quick to recover, rolling to the side and springing to his feet in one fluid motion. He unleashed another series of rapid strikes, aiming lower this time, slashing at the thighs and calves of his towering opponent.
The precision of these strikes caused the larger man to stagger, his balance compromised by the unexpected pain and swift attacks. As he struggled to maintain his footing, the agile fighter maneuvered behind him, delivering a sharp blow to his back.
However, the big man was not down yet; with a grunt of effort, he spun around, his large hand catching the slim swordsman off-guard and sending him flying back against the wall once more. This time, the impact visibly shook him, his body slumping against the cracked plaster.
Seeing an opportunity, the big man raised his sword for what could be a finishing blow. The crowd leaned in, the air thick with tension. Just as the sword began its descent, a commanding voice cut through the noise of the arena.
"Stop!" bellowed an old man with a white beard, standing at the edge of the sparring circle. His voice carried the weight of authority and experience, immediately halting the fighters in their tracks. "Sparring ends now!"
The room fell silent, the fighters stepping back, breathing heavily, respecting the old man's command. The intensity of the battle lingered in the air, a testament to the skill and spirit of the two combatants.
The green glow faded as both fighters regained their strength and vitality, easing away the marks of their intense battle. Dungad, the larger of the two, clapped Luin on the back with a hearty laugh, clearly pleased with his performance. "Wooh, Luin, I got you this time! You didn't expect that, did you?"
Luin, wiping a strand of sweat-drenched hair from his face, replied with a half-smile, "I didn't, Dungad. But it won't work again, you can count on that."
Their friendly banter was interrupted by the old man, who had now approached them. His face was stern, and his voice carried a mix of reproof and instruction. "Good effort, but far from perfect," he began. "Dungad, I know you're tough, but letting your opponent slice through you as if you're soft cheese isn't a wise long-term strategy. You need to block more effectively. And Luin," he turned his sharp gaze to the slim swordsman, "your agility is commendable, but your strikes lack impact. And you lower your guard when you think you have the upper hand. Always remain vigilant."
The gathered crowd, having been silent in anticipation, now erupted into cheers and claps, appreciating the critique and the skills displayed.
Bral leaned over to Amukelo, who was watching with wide-eyed interest, and whispered, "You're lucky, Amukelo. You got to see one of the best spars on your first day here."
Amukelo, still processing the level of skill and strategy he had just witnessed, asked, "What are their ranks?"
"They're both recently advanced to gold rank," Bral explained, his eyes still on the recovering fighters. "They're still new to the difficulties of higher-level quests, though."
Amazed by the prowess and acknowledgment of the fighters, Amukelo followed as Bral and Idin began to make their way through the crowd, gesturing for him to come along. They approached the old man, who was now observing the cleanup of the sparring area.
"Hey, Master," Bral greeted the old man with a respectful nod. "We've brought some fresh blood for you. He just signed up today."
The old man turned his sharp eyes towards Amukelo, sizing him up with a quick, penetrating glance. "He's just a kid," he observed aloud, though his tone suggested a grudging respect. "Though, I can see he's quite strong. Let's test his abilities, shall we?"
His words hung in the air, carrying a mixture of challenge and anticipation, signaling the beginning of what would surely be a significant moment in Amukelo's training journey.
Weekly Power Status
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