Dual Wielding

The day of each summer festival in Straetum, a small martial tournament was held. Divided into several age groups, the fighters in the village would compete in a series of one-on-one spars to determine who was the strongest, and in the case of the non-adults: who were the ones to look out for. The winner of the youth bracket would win the right to challenge the victor of the adult bracket, with the goal of imparting wisdom onto the new warrior.

Corrin and Wyn were banned from competing.

After Wyn had won their first tournament at age twelve, he’d challenged the winner of the adult bracket and lost in a narrow defeat.

The next four years only widened the gap, with them winning both brackets each year after. In the last year, Corrin won without even taking a single blow from anyone other than Wyn. As such, it was decided–with their agreement–that the best thing for the tournament would be for them to intentionally sit out, which was something tomb guards had done in the past, meaning there was precedent. While some of the fighters hadn’t been happy about such a turn of events, it was probably for the best.

This year, the reward for the winner of both brackets would be the same: The right to challenge one of them. Unfortunately, this meant they would have to watch the whole thing as per tradition. On the upside, they got free food the whole time, and Corrin was starved.

He tossed a handful of dried fruits into his mouth, watching the current match with mild interest. “Ya know, they’re not too bad this year, what’s his name again?” He pointed to the boy who had just claimed victory.

Wyn gave him a deadpan look, “Don’t talk with your mouth full Corrin. I think they said his name was Tobias. You’re right, he’s actually pretty good. Think he’ll win?”

Corrin swallowed, “Mmm maybe, if nobody exploits how heavily he favors the right, I’d say he could.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. I’ll point it out to him after. Hey, isn't your brother fighting this year?”

“He fights in the next round,” Corrin confirmed. In truth, he would’ve come to watch the children’s bracket even if he hadn’t been forced to, just to watch Ezra’s matches. The younger boy had come to him for advice about a month ago in preparation for his first year in the tournament. He hadn’t come back since, so Corrin was pretty sure he’d been slacking off, but he was looking forward to watching, nonetheless.

As if on cue, the younger boy’s name was called, and Corrin’s sandy-haired little brother made his way into the ring. The leather armor they’d given him was a bit too large for his wiry frame, and he was trembling slightly from the nerves, which Corrin thought made for quite the funny sight. He looked over towards them from within the small circular dirt ring, and Corrin shot him an encouraging thumbs up.

His opponent was another twelve-year-old in his first year as well, he was slightly taller than Ezra, but a little stockier, and he looked like a troublemaker. He gripped a soft-tipped spear—which had been cut shorter to better fit his height—contrasting Ezra’s wooden sword. That would make things difficult for Corrin’s brother: spears were much easier to use and tended to have an advantage in an open environment like this. Thus, for a fight between relatively untrained combatants in this tournament, their advantage was two-fold.

“Begin!” The judge declared.

The two shuffled towards each other, exchanging a few testing blows. Ezra was having a hard time closing the distance, and took two light hits, but the judge allowed the fight to continue. This being their first “real” battle, it would likely come down to whoever became comfortable first.

After a minute or so of brief skirmishes, Corrin could see the breaths begin to come easier for his younger brother, and his stance became more confident.

Good job lasting this long, he thought. Now get in there.

Ezra dashed forwards, the sudden change in pace catching the other boy off guard. He threw out a weak strike which Ezra deflected, closing the distance, and landing a solid blow on the boy's shoulder, sending him tumbling back.

“Point!” The judge yelled, “Ezra.”

The two boys reset and began again at the call of the judge. There was no hesitant testing this time, instead they began immediately, trading blows. Since both were hit, no point was called, and they continued. It was sloppy, but entertaining, and Corrin couldn’t help but yell out a few words of encouragement.

Three rounds later, the score was tied at two points apiece, so the next point would win. Both boys were breathing a little heavier at this point and had been covered in grime from getting knocked into the dirt.

The judge called to start, and the final exchange began. In the adult bracket, final rounds tended to be more exciting, a chance for both parties to reveal any techniques they’d held onto, and put everything on the line, but for the younger ones, the pressure to not lose seemed to weigh them down. The testing strikes were back, neither boy wanting to take a risk that may cause them to lose.

“Attack Ezra! Stop waiting!” Corrin called, which prompted a tentative strike from his brother that didn’t amount to much. It was a natural inclination, hard to break he supposed.

Eventually, the other boy stumbled in the dirt, and Ezra rushed forward, landing the final–if a little underwhelming–blow.

Cheers broke out from across the ring where the rest of their brothers and sisters had come to watch with Fenfreth, and Ezra jumped up and down with a huge smile on his face.

Corrin couldn’t help but smile too, “Nice one! Good job!”

“Winner, Ezra!” The judge declared. Ezra ran towards the edge of the ring Corrin and Wyn were on. Corrin held out a hand for a high-five, which Ezra ran past like it wasn’t even there.

“So Wyn! How’d I do?”

Betrayal.

“Wha–” Corrin started,

“Not bad, you got over the nerves in the first round which was the most important part, but you need to be ready to get him if he chokes up on his spear like that. You could’ve won 3-0 if you’d done that. Also, you still need to work on your footwork more like we talked about.”

“Got it! Thanks for all the help!” Ezra said.

“Now wait just a minute!” Corrin exclaimed, “You’ve been going to Wyn for advice??”

Wyn snorted, before breaking down laughing.

Ezra looked at Corrin blankly, “No offense Corrin, but you’re not very good at teaching. Saying ‘step in with a whoosh and swing with a swish’ while miming movements isn’t very helpful.”

Wyn laughed even harder.

“Well–hang on, that's not–” Corrin stuttered.

“It can be hard for people who do everything on instinct to explain their thought process to others,” Wyn said, patting Corrin on the shoulder.

“Well, I’m going to go say hi to the others!” Ezra ran off.

“You little traitor!” Corrin shook his fist at the brat while he ran away, prompting yet another round of laughter from Wyn.

He grasped angrily at some more dried fruits, but his hand came up with nothing. He glanced over to see the bowl empty.

Truly, there was no justice in this world.

***

The rest of the tournament passed about as expected, with one of the sixteen-year-olds winning the younger bracket–though Ezra made a great showing for his first year, winning his second match before losing in the third of five rounds–and a recently promoted member of the guard winning the older bracket. Corrin was pretty sure Irym or Terris could’ve won if they’d thrown their hats in, but neither seemed interested, content to enjoy their retirement.

In the ring, the judge was finishing up his speech commemorating this year’s tournament.

“Congratulations to you both, you are the winners of this year’s tournament. For the rest of you, use this as an opportunity to grow stronger.”

“Definitely better than last year, the finals were actually exciting this time,” Corrin joked, earning an elbow from Wyn.

“As the victors,” The judge continued, “You have the right of challenge towards any other competitors. Or should you choose, you may challenge our new tomb guardians.” He gestured towards Corrin and Wyn.

Corrin waved, and the winning guardsman sneered.

Oh boy, here we go.

“Those two’s refusal to participate in this tournament sullies my honor, the implication that they are somehow too strong is an offense to the tournament itself. Therefore, I will exercise my right of challenge to bring the one named Corrin into the ring.”

Corrin shrugged, “Okay sure.” He hopped the fence effortlessly, ceremonial robes fluttering. Most would wear leather armor for such an event, but Corrin liked to show off. Wyn let out a sigh from behind him.

“Oh yeah, and you? Would you like to challenge me as well?” He asked the children’s bracket winner. His name was Lucas, and he’d put up a good fight in the rounds so far. Lucas had lost to Corrin in the finals last year, quite thoroughly.

Lucas bowed, “I would love a rematch to see how I’ve progressed since our last bout.”

“Great, how about this. Let’s make things a little more interesting, I’ll take both of you on at the same time.” He smirked at the guardsman, who seemed ready to pop a blood vessel in his forehead at the suggestion.

“I don’t need this boy’s help to put you in your place.”

“Humor me, alright grumpy? If you win, I’ll fight you one-on-one next.”

Corrin didn’t fail to notice some of the other guards snickering at the edge of the ring, and several coins getting passed around between them.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these before, were you here last year?” He asked.

“I was unable to participate the last two years. Had I been there, you would’ve never been able to grow your head so large.” He took a step back, settling into a stance, “Enough chat. Prepare for the duel.”

The judge looked awkwardly towards Lucas, “Do you accept the terms of the duel?”

Lucas nodded, “Yes, I accept.”

“Then it is decided, let the two on one duel begin!”

“What is this farce? The boy doesn’t even have a sword!” The guardsman cried out.

“Don’t worry!” Corrin laughed, bouncing a little on his feet, “I’ll just take yours, ok?”

That pushed him over the edge, and the man yelled indignantly before he charged forward and brought his sword down.

He was just so slow.

Corrin pivoted on one foot, dodging the clumsy strike with ease, and vaulting away from a follow up by Lucas, who’d been ready to capitalize.

“Hey nice read! You’ve gotten better since last year!”

Lucas smiled and leveled his swords again. His style of double-shortsword fighting was quite effective, and one of the biggest reasons he consistently did so well in the tournament. It would be difficult for Corrin to find an opening without a weapon of his own. Corrin could simply out-speed and overpower him, but that wasn’t as fun, and Wyn would probably make fun of him if he needed to do it.

The guardsman growled, swinging wide towards Corrin with his wooden blade. If he’d been smarter, and willing to work with Lucas more directly, he may have been able to force Corrin to do just that. Corrin had watched his other matches; he was certainly good enough. Fighting two coordinated opponents was difficult, even if there was a large skill gap. The difference in the number of actions taken each second meant that even if the single fighter fought well, they may take a strike from sheer bad luck. But this guardsman was angry, off balance, and seemingly ensured of his own victory, which meant this wouldn’t be difficult at all.

Corrin stepped into the strike, catching the hilt mid-swing, and stopping its momentum. His open palm slammed into the man’s chest and a moment later, the sword was in Corrin’s hand, and his opponent was on the ground, a look of shock and surprise on his face. Corrin wanted to laugh.

Lucas came from the side though, interrupting his gloating moment and forcing Corrin to defend, parrying one strike, and dodging the other.

Wielding two short swords had many of the same advantages as carrying a shield, but unlike a shield, was allowed in the tournament. While one sword could defend, the other could attack at the same time. This theoretically would allow Lucas to make two moves for every one of Corrin’s, it was a big advantage, and one that had almost defeated him five years ago when they’d fought for the first time.

Now, it was just routine.

Corrin swung hard with his longer blade, forcing Lucas to commit both of his to the defense to stop the heavy blow, two hands against two. But by the time their swords met, Corrin was only wielding his own with a single hand. The other was embedded in Lucas’ stomach.

The momentum of his feint dictated that the actual strike was weak, but its unexpected nature caught Lucas off guard, knocking the wind out of him.

Corrin quickly followed up with his foot, sweeping Lucas’ out from under him, the swords falling from his grasp as he hit the dirt.

Without looking, Corrin thrust the longsword behind him, stopping it just before it struck the chest of the guardsman who had gotten up to attack him from behind. The man managed to stop just in time, and for a breath, he stared at the tip of the sword in front of him.

Then Corrin pushed it forwards, hitting the man in the chest again hard enough to knock him over.

“And victory goes to Corrin! Guardian of the tomb!” The judge declared, and the crowd clapped and cheered at the spectacle. Several of the soldiers groaned and handed over money, having lost their bets about one thing or another, while those who had bet favorably laughed and celebrated.

Corrin reached down and grabbed Lucas’ hand, “Not bad, you’ve gotten faster, but if you let me take the initiative like that you’re never going to win. I know I’m stronger than you, but don’t fight scared. Use that tempo advantage and make me respond to you, not the other way around.”

Lucas chuckled, pulling himself up, “I’m pretty sure that chance passed me by five years ago, but thanks for the advice. Maybe I can win the open bracket next year.”

“Yeah, I’d say you’ve got a decent shot. That dual wielding is no joke.” Corrin smiled.

Lucas bowed respectfully, “Thank you for the instruction, I hope to fight you again next year.”

Corrin winced, “I hope to as well.”

The guard, for his part, did apologize for his behavior, admitting that he’d thought the rumors about the two of them were exaggerated.

Well, I guess he’s not all bad.

Corrin walked over to the other side of the arena, where Fenfreth was flirting with one of the women who had come to watch. “Hey Fenfreth,”

He didn’t respond. And kept shamelessly flirting with the poor woman.

“Hey, Fenfreth!” Corrin tried, only to be ignored again.

Corrin kicked him in the behind, “Listen to me you dirty old man!”

Fenfreth yelped and leapt forward, hands on his rear. “You little punk!” He spun around and attacked Corrin, and the two were involved in a brief wrestling match. Fenfreth was tougher than he looked, so Corrin had to wrangle him into a full submission hold before he finally cried uncle. The woman was long gone at this point.

“What is it you want so bad you attacked your poor grandpa for it?”

“I wanted to know where we’re meeting for the festival. I have to wash off first, but I assume we’ll be meeting somewhere?” Corrin asked, annoyed.

The older man adjusted his glasses, “Really? I just assumed you would be off with that girlfriend of yours. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you stay out past curfew.” He waggled his eyebrows and patted Corrin on the shoulder before trying to walk away, like he was doing him some huge favor.

“Get back here you senile old geezer!” Corrin chased him for a bit, but the man was spry for his age, so he ran off, cackling wildly the whole time.

“I’ll just figure it out myself then!” Corrin yelled as he turned a corner out of sight. What a pain in the ass.