A circle of students formed around them. They were whispering, their faces full of excitement. A duel. Prince Ivan was in a duel.
Marcus stood tall, a proud look on his face. He loved being the center of attention.
Ivan just focused on his breathing. His lungs burned. His legs were shaky. He was tired. He needed a moment.
He used words to buy that moment.
A small smirk appeared on his face. "You know, Marcus," he said, his voice clear enough for everyone to hear. "You're like a hyena. You wait for someone to get tired, then you move in for the easy hunt."
Marcus's proud look vanished. His face turned red. Ivan had called him a coward.
"I have nothing to prove by beating you, Ivan," Marcus said loudly. "You're weak. I'm just going to beat you up for fun. It's not a flex."
He was trying to sound tough, but he just sounded angry. Ivan's words had hit him.
Ivan took one more deep breath. The fire in his lungs was a little better now. "Then let's not wait," he said. "Let's start our match."
He sounded ready.
Inside, he was not.
'Why am I doing this?' he thought. 'This body is so weak. It won't move right. I don't think I can win this.'
He looked at the instructor. Commander Valerius was just watching. His arms were crossed. He was not going to stop the fight. This was a test.
There was no running away.
"Get the swords," Marcus ordered a friend.
The friend brought over several wooden training swords. They were thick and heavy. They wouldn't kill you, but they could break your bones.
Marcus grabbed a long, two-handed sword. It was built for power.
Ivan looked at the swords on the ground. He couldn't win with power. He needed speed. He picked up two shorter, lighter swords. One for his right hand, one for his left.
The students murmured. Fighting with two swords was not common.
Marcus laughed. "Trying to look cool, princess? Those little sticks won't help you."
Ivan ignored him. He got into his fighting stance. Left sword forward to block. Right sword back to attack. It was a stance for survival.
'Just survive,' he told himself.
"Begin!" the instructor yelled.
Marcus charged.
He ran like a bull, heavy and fast. He swung his big sword in a wide circle, aiming for Ivan's head. The sword cut through the air with a whistle.
Ivan's mind saw the attack. It was a clumsy swing. Full of mistakes. An older, stronger Ivan would have ducked under it and ended the fight.
But this body was slow. He couldn't dodge. He had to block.
He lifted his left sword.
CRACK!
The two wooden swords hit each other. The sound was loud. The force of the hit went up Ivan's whole arm. It hurt. The block pushed him back one step.
Marcus was already swinging again. A straight overhead chop.
Ivan used both his swords this time. He made an 'X' shape to block the hit.
THWACK!
His knees almost buckled from the force. The difference in strength was huge. Marcus was just using pure power.
And it was working.
'This is not good,' Ivan thought. 'I can't just block all day.'
He had to do something.
Marcus swung again. Another wide slash. This time, Ivan didn't block it directly. He used his left sword to push the attack away. Marcus's sword missed his shoulder by a few inches.
For just a second, Marcus was open.
Ivan saw his chance. He pushed forward. He jabbed with his right sword, aiming for Marcus's chest.
It was a perfect, fast attack.
But Marcus was bigger. He just leaned his body back. The tip of Ivan's sword slid off his shirt. It missed.
The attack failed. Now Ivan was too close.
Marcus grinned. He let go of his sword with one hand and threw a punch.
Ivan saw it. He tried to move his head. He was too slow. Marcus's fist hit his cheek. It wasn't a hard punch, but it was enough.
His head snapped to the side. The world felt shaky. He stumbled back to make some space.
The crowd cheered for Marcus.
Ivan tasted blood in his mouth.
'He's playing with me.'
The anger inside him became cold and sharp.
"Is that all?" Ivan said. He spit a little blood on the ground. "You swing like a farmer."
"I'm just starting," Marcus yelled, and charged again.
This time, Ivan moved his feet.
He didn't try to block the power. He started to dodge. He let Marcus chase him around the circle. Every time Marcus swung his big sword, Ivan would use his small swords to tap it, to push it, to make it miss.
Clack. Thwack. Clack.
The sounds of wood hitting wood filled the air. Ivan was only defending. He was moving, dodging, trying to stay alive. He was waiting for Marcus to get tired.
But Ivan was already tired. His arms felt heavy. Every block was painful. He was breathing hard.
He saw a mistake. Marcus swung too hard and was off balance.
'Now!' his mind screamed. 'Attack!'
He tried to step in and hit him. But his foot slipped in the dirt. His leg didn't move right. The chance was gone.
Marcus recovered and attacked again.
'Fuck this body!'
To the other students, the fight looked amazing. They saw their weak prince fighting back.
But Ivan knew the truth. He was not fighting back. He was losing.
He was being hunted.
His moves got slower. His blocks got weaker.
Marcus saw it. He smiled. He knew he was going to win.
He changed his attack.
He dropped the tip of his sword down to the ground. Then he roared. He swung the sword straight up. It was a powerful upward swing, made to break through a defense.
Ivan saw it coming. He brought both his swords down to block it. He crossed them in front of his body.
It was the wrong move.
CRACK!
The sound was sharp and ugly.
Marcus's sword smashed right through Ivan's block. It shattered the wooden sword in his left hand. Splinters flew everywhere. The hit continued, slamming into the sword in his right hand and knocking it out of his fingers.
His defense was gone. He was wide open.
Before Ivan could even think, Marcus kicked him. His boot hit Ivan hard in the chest.
All the air left his body. He flew backward and landed hard on the ground. His head hit the dirt.
The world was spinning. He tried to get up.
"This fucker..." he coughed.
He was too slow.
Marcus stood over him. He was a dark shape against the bright sky. He lifted his wooden sword high with both hands. He was ready to swing it down, like an executioner.