บท 27: The victor and the review
It took him only a short time to find Marcus in the village. Marcus was in the blacksmith shop, where Gresvin found him talking to the blacksmith's daughter. Her name was Pearl, and she was one of the few women who had survived the raids all those nights before.
When Gresvin first saw her, he was honestly quite surprised the big and brawny blacksmith of a man was able to have such a beautiful daughter. She had rich auburn-colored hair that was often kept in a practical braid or bun to keep it out of her face while she helped out at the forge.
Sparkling green eyes exquisitely complemented her features, and a few freckles on her nose and cheeks were beautifully complemented by her cheerful and sweet personality. That being the case, Gresvin did not find it strange that Marcus seemed to be attracted to her.
Her personality made everyone around her feel at ease and attracted to her, and the warriors were no different.
The smithy was quite open, and as such, Gresvin could see Marcus from afar. When Gresvin walked closer, he saw the two people conversing cheerfully. Gresvin saw the light smile on Marcus's face, and he could not help but exchange a glance before he, too, smiled willfully.
"Marcus!" Gresvin shouted out loud. Marcus had been happily conversing with Pearl when he heard his name being called; he turned around to see Gresvin stand outside the smithy and gestured for him to come near.
Marcus, upon seeing this, turned and said, "Forgive me but duty calls" in greeting and walked over to Gresvin. "Morning my Lord," he greeted with a light bow.
"Morning," Gresvin looked at Marcus and smiled. You seem busy this morning," he said, speaking with a playful tone in between. Haha, you jest, my Lord." Marcus, knowing full well what Gresvin meant, hid his embarrassment and laughed.
"Mm," Gresvin smiled knowingly, "I wanted to speak to you about something. Come with me," he said and walked off towards the cabins. Marcus was left behind with a confused expression but quickly shook his head and ran after Gresvin.
The two men slowly walked up the slight hill road when Gresvin spoke, "I wanted to speak about your sparring sessions."
"What of them, my Lord?"
"I want you and the other men from now on to spar with one another daily in hopes of increasing your skill with a sword. And with that, I will participate in the training, in hopes of bettering myself as well," he said in a soft tone, conveying his meaning without hesitation.
"My Lord?" Marcus asked with a confused expression. Gresvin saw this and answered, "I know you already spar with one another but I want each warrior to have a set amount of time they practice, that is the first thing and the second is that the reason I am participating is because I sense an opportunity to break through" he lied.
Gresvin knew he was nowhere near a breakthrough in skill level, but Marcus and the rest did not need to know about such things yet.
"Then, with that being said, why don't we start now?" Gresvin suggested, to which Marcus heartily agreed. The two men went to the training area near the cabins, and they prepared for the upcoming spar.
***
The late morning sun cast long shadows across the training yard as Marcus and Gresvin circled each other, blades glinting in the golden light. Sweat already beaded on Marcus' brow; the summer heat was at its finest as the sun made strides towards its peak.
The two men faced each other, wooden practice swords gripped tight, their expressions severe and focused. They had switched out their real swords for the sparring match as neither was a 'master' of the blade by any means. Thus, the safe option was chosen.
Gresvin's sharp nod initiated the match. He lunged forward, his blade aimed at Marcus' chest. With a calm composure, Marcus deflected the blow, the wood meeting wood with a satisfying thunk. He countered with a swift horizontal slash aimed at Gresvin's legs, forcing him to leap back. Gresvin landed gracefully, with a light smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth.
The initial clash was but a prelude, and with it, the ice was broken. The two men quickly found the rhythm in their movements, and a dance unfurled on the training ground. Gresvin moved with precision and control, using only the right amount of strength. He parried and blocked Marcus' attacks and only counter-attacked when an opening was spotted.
The sounds of the wooden swords colliding against one another took the shape of a melody that rang out across the yard. The sound drifted across the open air, seemingly inviting others to come and witness a grand spectacle.
Marcus grew colder as the frustration got to him; since the beginning of the match, he had yet to land even one clean blow. He feinted left, then launched a right diagonal slash. Gresvin was taken by surprise but quickly reacted and sidestepped clumsily, leaving him momentarily exposed. In a flash, Marcus took the chance and, with a lightning-fast thrust, aimed at Gresvin's throat.
Gresvin threw his head back just in time, the wooden blade whistling harmlessly past his ear. He stumbled back, heart hammering in his chest. The clash between the two men was even, and it was nigh impossible to determine who was to obtain victory.
The pace slowed. They circled again, each man gauging the other, searching for a weakness, waiting for that one single opening. Marcus, remembering Gresvin's earlier defensive maneuver, shifted his grip on the sword, shortening his stance. He launched a series of quick jabs, aiming for Gresvin's unprotected arms and legs.
Gresvin once more found himself momentarily on the defensive. He blocked just in time, the wood cracking under the force of Marcus' unexpected assault.
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