Hohenfels

“Let’s start with a simple enhanced lunge,” Arnold ordered. “Take up the– Ah, I forgot to ask: Which school do you practice? My best guess is Moreau, or maybe Beauvais.”

“Moreau is correct… Are you sure you’re not an expert?” Katharina replied, astonished. ‘He got that from a mere three exchanges?’

“I like to think of myself as decent with the smallsword, but I could never measure up to actual experts like, say, Princess Klara,” he shrugged.

Katharina was not convinced. “How would you rate your skills with a saber, then?”

“Hmmm. I suppose I could call myself an ‘expert’ with the saber, yes. Still, my cousin would win seven out of ten spars against me, and my sister nine.”

‘That means he has a one-in-ten chance of beating a Paladin in a duel… Christ almighty. And Friedrich is even more of a monster?!’

Arnold must have seen the awe on her face, because he hastily tried to explain himself. “It’s nowhere near as grand as you imagine. There is a lot of luck involved in duels, and I merely accounted for that.”

“Still, that sounds incredible,” she cooed, trying to mask her genuine wonder with her best ‘amazed damsel’ impression. “Say, who would win in a duel between you and Princess Klara?”

He considered her words for a moment. “If we’re fighting with rapiers or smallswords, probably her. With sabers, the odds might be slightly in my favor.”

“And if both of you use your favored weapons?”

“I would lose every match, unless she trips over a rock.”

That made Katharina pause. From what she had heard and read about high-level dueling, the difference in weaponry would be almost negligible compared to the skill of the fighters involved. If anything, the heavier saber might even have an advantage.

“Why is that?” she asked, not even having to fake her interest.

“Because her weapon of choice is the glaive. Mine is the saber. She would disable me thrice before I even got in range.”

Katharina suppressed a spark of annoyance. A glaive was hardly an appropriate choice for a duel! Still, that was a very interesting piece of information. “Princess Klara is an expert with both the smallsword and the glaive?”

“It would be more accurate to call her an expert in stabbing. Give her a spear, a rapier, a smallsword, a glaive… It barely matters to her. My uncle calls her a prodigy, and he despises House Eisenberg. Take that as you will,” he explained. “Speaking of stabbing: Take up the initial stance, please. I still need to examine your forms.”

Her mind was still reeling from the concept of a ‘stabbing prodigy’, but she mechanically moved into position, ready to lunge at the practice target. The earth underneath her shoes felt very different from the stone floor she trained on, and while that was not that much of a problem for magic-less fighting, the increased power behind an enhanced lunge might pose some difficulties.

“What’s wrong?” Arnold had clearly noticed her hesitancy, but failed to deduce the reason, which was strangely reassuring – he was not omniscient, after all.

“I’m worried about the ground,” she admitted. “I’m used to the stone floor in my father’s sparring hall.”

“I can imagine. Moreau’s style is very… classy. If you want Klara’s respect, you should definitely learn how to fight under less controlled circumstances.”

His distaste for courtly fencing was painfully obvious, and Katharina could not muster enough indignation to disagree. If his self-assessment was even remotely correct, he stood head and shoulders above most of his fellow students in combat, lending his opinion a significant weight.

“I understand. Is there anything I can do right now?” she asked, still shuffling around her feet to find a comfortable stance.

“Yes. There are two main factors you need to adjust to. The first is grip: Generally speaking, you will have to expend less magic for the same effect when fighting on earthen ground compared to smooth stone. Conversely, you will have to expend more when fighting on sand, like in the colosseum’s arena.”

He dug his soles into the earth as a demonstration, and she immediately realized the implications. “That would also mean it is easier to injure myself, right?”

“Indeed! On smooth surfaces, excess power will bleed away because there is less friction. But if you have near-optimal grip, you might accidentally break your ankles if you use too much magic.”

With shining eyes, the Prince launched into a lengthy monologue that went on for almost half an hour, describing various different ground compositions and the relative amounts of energy needed for lunging on each of them. Katharina nodded along, posing questions when appropriate. It went far beyond what seemed relevant to her situation – she sincerely doubted that she would ever fight dismounted Polanian cavalry on half-dried bogland – but his enthusiasm was contagious and just a tiny bit adorable.

Finally, he realized what was going on and blushed in embarrassment. “Ahem. Enough of that. Where was I?”

“We were talking about the two things I can do right now to deal with the difference between stone and earth,” she giggled.

“Ah, right. Using less magic is the first. The second one is easy in theory, but difficult in practice. You need to get used to a wider stance to make up for uneven ground, and be very careful with your footwork.”

He pointed at the groove in the earth he made earlier. “Even something as minor as that can turn the tide of a duel if your foot gets caught in it and you lose your balance.”

That made a lot of sense. She never had to think about that, and it might prove fatal if she ever had to fight outside of a neat stone arena. It was a terrifyingly huge blind spot in her fencing education. Though, if she had shown more interest, her teacher might have gotten to it at some point, so she couldn’t blame him.

“With that in mind, let’s get back to it. En garde!”

She did her best to widen her stance, but it felt just a little off. And ‘just a little off’ easily translated into ‘painful accident’ when dealing with magic, so she made her distress known.

“Mhm. Turn your left foot a little further to the left, and keep your torso upright. No, not like… Haaah,” he sighed.

Then, he nonchalantly put his hands on her shoulders and firmly adjusted her position.

Katharina’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest.

She did her best to channel her indignation, and turned her head to face him. “Y-you can’t just touch a lady like that!”

Arnold’s face went through a rapid sequence of confusion, then shame, and finally amusement. ‘Amusement?!’

He had the sheer audacity to grin at her, seemingly reveling in her embarrassment. “Right now, you’re just my student, and your stance is lackluster.”

Then, while she was busy trying to reply without stammering like a fool, he grabbed her shoulders again!

“Much better,” he laughed after fixing her torso positioning once more. She resigned herself to an annoyed grumble, which only served to amuse him further. “Now, show me your best lunge.”

He released her shoulders and moved a few steps to the side.

“Hmph. Have you already forgotten about–” Katharina stopped herself a few moments too late. Aura contact was the absolute last thing she wanted right now! ‘Why can’t I just shut up?!’

“Oh, right. I wanted to observe your magic directly. Are you ready? Or would you rather delay that until our next lesson?” he said with an infuriating smirk.

The smart choice was to take the loss and avoid the potential shame of him noticing just how intense her lingering embarrassment was. But… Katharina had already lost so many times today! Her fencing clothes, the three losses with the sword, the unexpected inspection of her forearm, and now the shoulder touch. Even under consideration of her two wins – his reaction to the uniform and his cute monologue – she was clearly losing. And he knew it. He enjoyed it.

“That won’t be an issue,” she pouted. “I’m ready.”

It was always a strange experience to be enveloped by another person’s aura, and this time was no different. Arnold’s magic felt curious, but reserved – constantly prodding at her own, but never in a truly intrusive manner. She did her very best to suppress any strong emotions, and concentrated on the target and her leg muscles.

“All right, I think I got a general feel for your aura,” he said, now professionally distant instead of the light and teasing tone he had earlier. It helped her greatly with getting herself under control. “You can begin as soon as you’re ready. Try to aim for center mass.”

She nodded in assent, and then flooded her muscles with magic. Once the comfortable warmth had spread throughout her legs, she lunged forwards.

= = = = =

Friedrich was nearing his limits. The fight had gone on for the better part of an hour, and with the exhaustion came a sense of impending doom.

He did not fear losing to the damned Princess – she was in no better state than him, using the longer and longer breathers between exchanges to desperately regenerate the most debilitating cuts she had received, while he supplied his various punctured organs with magic to discourage internal bleeding.

No, he worried that he might have gotten Arne into major trouble by provoking her into a ‘practice match’. He hadn’t been able to completely follow his cousin’s explanations on the matter, but he had grasped the rough outline: Arne and the aura lady were trying to distract everyone from the stupid engagement rumors by pissing off the Sonnenfeld prince. But now, he was making a huge spectacle of the Hohenfels–Eisengrund conflict, with more and more onlookers arriving at the colosseum to watch the duel.

Even if he managed to end the fight with the next blow, it was too late.

At least Father was half an Empire away and couldn’t tan his hide for fucking up so badly.

On the opposite end of the arena, Princess Klara inhaled a deep, rattling breath and took up her stance once more. Friedrich lifted his aching arm in response, ready to hopefully deflect the incoming stab with his increasingly dented practice saber.

They circled each other for a few heartbeats. Then, she lunged. He felt the attack coming more than he saw it, and rapidly directed his waning magic reserves into his sword arm to intercept the blade.

Her smallsword was knocked aside with the force of a charging bull, but the sheer momentum behind his parry made it impossible to launch a counter before she retreated back out of range. An error in judgment. He was getting seriously tired.

But so was the Princess. Her foot slipped on the sand, disturbing her balance for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. His thighs burned as he forced magic through his protesting muscles and charged her.

He was already right in front of her when his instincts screamed a warning. The bitch had baited him! Her sword was racing towards his heart. He managed to twist his body just far enough for it to glance off a rib and puncture his lung instead, but the desperate maneuver had put his sword arm behind him.

There was only one option left. He sent every last drop of magic into his left fist and punched.