As Thamolin headed out, I sighed. I understood what he wanted, the whole need to be a man. That's why I've been trying to show him there's meaning in what he's doing here. At his age, I thought it was all about adventuring and heroics, too. But then it hit me-I had a purpose, being a father to him. He's got his own thing now as a woodsman, helping families stay warm and fixing homes. I was even thinking of bringing him into the landlord business, but the lad's not quite there upstairs yet. Too much love for fighting and trouble, but if he could just hold back a bit, he could be one of the most respected men in Old Oak.
"You've done nothing wrong, William," my father said as if he could read my mind. "He's just at that age. You did the same thing, started your adventures at 16, remember? Lucky you made it home safe and sound, not even knowing how to hold a sword properly, or even having one. Remember what you had to work with?" He chuckled.
"A pitchfork, some makeshift wooden armor, a plank for a shield, a club on the side. Thought I was well-armed, lucky I didn't run into any monsters with that junk," I chuckled back.
"Yeah, but Kormac took you in," Mother chimed in.
"Kormac, good man. I owe him my life, almost lost it 'cause I didn't listen," I admitted.
"But you didn't, thanks to everything he taught you," my father added. Kormac, a tier-five wanderer, Gold rank, taught me how to fight. Tried to fight like him but never got as good with the greatsword. Memories of those times stir a mix of thanks and humility in me.
"Kormac was still a young man in his 30s and still in practice when he trained me. He was in his prime as a fighter, while I'm old with an aching back and out of practice. I'd get my rear kicked if I fought any other tier four swordsman."
"But Kormac was a stranger willing to train a lost boy who was going to get himself killed early in his career. You are Thamolin's father, who should be passing down your knowledge," Mother pointed out.
"But if I train him, I'll encourage him to go out. If I don't, he'll be too scared to face the things out there and come back home," I explained.
"Just like how you did, huh Willy?" my father teased.
"So you think I should train him and let him go out there in a world too dangerous for his old man? A world that almost killed me half a dozen times, with giants, werewolves, and other beasts that could readily tear a normal man limb from limb in seconds?" I reasoned.
"He's going to do it anyway. Might as well be with the best his father can provide him. With you, his chances have to increase a lot," my dad stated.
Once again, he was right. I sighed in defeat. "You're all a pain in my rear." I got up, headed to the door, and said, "We'll be back late," closing the door behind me as I entered the bright outside world.
If Thamolin was joining the militia, he'd be heading to the barracks, so I'd meet him there. These guys sucked and would get him killed if he encountered any real threats. I guess I'm partially to blame for that since I'm the only one in this town who knows how to properly fight. I didn't want to dedicate my life to training a bunch of people when we had trained soldiers, Kor'tish, and myself, clearing out bands of monsters before they got too big. No regrets, especially since I'm the only reason they have somewhat proper weapons in the barracks.
When I reached the barracks, my son Thamolin was deep in conversation with Robbie, one of the recruiters. Heading to the armory, I grabbed two sparring clubs, a shield, a gambeson, and a padded helmet. Carrying the gear, I returned to the front, tossing the equipment towards Thamolin.
"Morning, Robbie. I'm going to borrow my son."
"Sure thing, William."
Thamolin had just finished picking up the equipment when I tapped him with a club and pointed outside. His face lit up with a broad smile, unaware of the challenges that awaited him. Today, I wasn't just his dad; I was the man ensuring he wouldn't get himself killed, no matter the challenges we faced. We positioned ourselves just outside the fenced sparring ring.
"Put on the armor and the helmet."
He looked at me, puzzled. "Where are your pads? And your shield?" he asked.
"I won't be needing any of them, just this stick." I couldn't afford to worry about hurting his feelings. If sparing his feelings gave him a false sense of security, he could end up in real danger. But he didn't take offense; instead, he just smiled.
"You're going to regret that, old man. I won't take it easy on you just because you're my dad, so be ready!" he exclaimed as he geared up.
I could give him some incentive. It wouldn't give him a false sense of security if I actually tried my hardest.
"I'll tell you what. If you land a single lethal blow on me, I'll give you my most prized possession from my adventuring days. If you land a minor blow, like my fingers or graze my skin, I'll give you my sidearm."
He confidently walked into the ring, banging the club against his shield. "I'm getting that magic sword!" he declared.
I stepped into the ring and pulled out a blue powder, sprinkling it onto both of our clubs.
"This will show us if a blow landed, so there's no misunderstanding," I explained. Stepping back about 3 meters from where he stood, I asked, "Ready, boy?"
He nodded, and I took my stance, cautiously moving toward him. I chose not to rush, to make it seem like I took him as a real threat. While I could break his spirits by chargin', it risked allowing him to get a grazing hit on me. I needed to ensure he wouldn't touch me.
Throwing a few teasing thrusts, he deflected them with his shield. As expected from an untrained man, he covered his sight while defending himself. I knew exactly how to exploit this. I thrust toward his forehead, and as anticipated, he raised his shield too high. Seizing the opportunity, I delivered a powerful front kick, sending him a few feet in the air, and followed up with a thrust to his abdomen.
"You're dead," I declared.
"That's not fair. You just used your strength to overpower me," he complained, a bit winded but not yet frustrated.
"Monsters and demons don't fight fair, and they're much stronger than me," I explained. He chuckled and got up. "That won't happen again. I'll get you this time."
I took a few steps back. "Ready?" Again, he nodded.
We engaged again, and I observed how he adjusted. Curiously, he started to parry my half-hearted thrusts with his club rather than his shield. Anticipating his move, I threw a thrust to his forehead again, but this time, when his shield came up, I switched the direction of the club with a flick of the wrist to a horizontal slash. Simultaneously, he threw a slash of his own that would have hit my leg if I had thrown a kick again. I parried it after landing my slash to his right rib, then I executed an overhand chop to his left arm.
"If my slash didn't maim you, the chop would have disabled your arm. You're dead, again."
"Let's go again!" he insisted, his voice filled with that youthful energy that only the brave or foolish possess. The sweat on his forehead caught the sunlight, creating a shimmer that mingled with the dust kicked up by our practice.
About five more minutes passed, the gritty ground beneath us bearing the scars of our sparring. Each round concluded with a distinct thud, the sound of either my club making contact or the dull thump of Thamolin hitting the dirt. His gambeson, now sporting blue smudges like badges of effort, hinted at the intensity of our practice. Meanwhile, my own attire remained untouched, a silent comment on the difference in our skills.
"Again! I got you this time," he declared, a mix of pride and determination in his voice. The air was charged with the scent of exertion, a blend of our efforts and the earthiness of the sparring ring.
"No, now we work on technique," I insisted, the slightly metallic taste of the blue powder lingering in the air.
"I'm getting better, and we're just getting started," he asserted, the shuffle of his movements audible against the backdrop of our training ground.
"You'll get better faster if you learn how to wield a proper weapon, be it a sword, an ax, or whatever suits you," I advised. My words hung in the air, carried by the light breeze that swept through the training area.
"You have more reach than me. Give me a longer weapon, and I'll hit you," Thamolin said with confidence, the shuffle of his boots on the dusty ground punctuating his statement.
"No. I said I'd train you if you listened to me. I'm not here to stroke your ego; I'm here to keep you alive," I emphasized, the seriousness of my tone cuttin' through the ambient sounds.
"Come on, three more tries," he pleaded, the faint clatter of the staff I tossed to him resonating in the space between us.
We resumed, the rhythmic sounds of our clashes fillin' the air. The sun cast long shadows as we circled each other, and the distant hum of village life provided a backdrop to our training. Thamolin's efforts were visible, the occasional grunts and the shufflin' of feet echoin' the ebb and flow of our practice. Each round concluded with the thud of my victory, punctuatin' the determination in his eyes and the resilience in his stance. The dust settled as we paused, the training ground bearin' witness to our efforts.
"Now, let's talk basics. What kind of weapon do you want to learn?" I asked, waitin' for an answer.
The boy sighed, lookin' tired. He just shrugged, not botherin' to look my way. "I guess I've had my fill for today. We can do the basics another time," he mumbled.
"If you're walkin' away now, don't come back talkin' about adventures. It's now or never," I said sternly, ensuring he understood his choice.
"Alright, but can I at least grab a drink of water? I need a break," he asked, seeking a breather from the drill.
"No!" I hollered. "Out there, you might not get a chance to rest or grab a drink. It's do or die, and I need you to get used to that. I'm teachin' you to survive and make it out there in the wild, not to be some fancy swordsman winning duels." The hard truth hung in the air, just like the weight of the training he had to bear.
He let out another sigh, and I could see the reluctance in his eyes. Honestly, I hoped he'd push back, throw a fit, and reconsider this wild notion of followin' in my adventurous footsteps. Thought because of his pride, he might question the whole idea. But instead, he pulled his helmet back on and secured it.
"Well, I know what looks cool, but what's practical against monsters and such?" he asked, surprising me with his humility. It was a good question and a sensible one.
"Depends on the situation. Ideally, you'd wanna learn more than one weapon and style. Personally, I used a large sword in open spaces or against monsters with a longer reach. For tight spots like dungeons, I opted for an arming sword and a shield. Shields are great against humans, but some monsters can break through or hit hard enough to snap your arm. Not somethin' you'd usually find in a tight spot, though. For this week, pick just one and stick with it until you're pretty comfortable."
He nodded, eyeing the assortment of weapons. After a moment, he settled on a sparring two-handed ax. "This is what I've got the most experience with."
"Your edge alignment might be better with an ax from all that woodcutting experience, but sparring's a bit different. Swinging in different directions, parrying, feinting, even thrusting with the tip - these are skills you're not used to. It's a solid weapon, though, with power, reach, and the ability to hook around the shields of creatures you might face. Still want to go with the ax?"
Another nod. "Yeah, the ax feels right for now, I guess."
"Alright then, grab it. Let's get started."