Chương 11: The Final Sparring Session (2)

"Mercy given too early teaches the weak to mistake restraint for surrender." – Dravron Rudox, Patriarch of the Rudox Clan Sikkar slowly lifted his head from the dirt. His face was streaked brown, and his hair—his precious, carefully styled hair—had a clump of dirt stuck near the front. Aloric pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

"You bastard!" Sikkar yelled as he finally pushed himself up. For a moment, he looked wistfully toward Karro, who was watching from outside the ring with his ears perked. Then Sikkar turned back to Velron, anger burning away whatever caution he had left. This time, he didn't bother with the academy stance at all. He charged. It was not a careful attack. It was not even a clever one. Sikkar rushed forward with his clenched fist pulled back, roaring as he aimed straight for Velron's face.

Velron finally turned toward him. His glare sharpened, and for the first time since the fight began, he looked as if Sikkar had earned at least a little of his attention. Or maybe not. Sikkar threw his punch. Velron curved his body aside again, keeping just out of reach. At the same time, he stepped to Sikkar's outer side and drove an easy chop into the middle of his back.

It looked like there was barely any power in that halfhearted strike, but the Rudox clan's hand-to-hand fighting technique always looked simple and weak—until the moment it killed the opponent. Thankfully, Velron wasn't allowed to infuse mana into his strikes here. Sikkar lurched forward as if a hammer had slammed into his back. He tried to recover, boots digging into the dirt, but he had already rushed too close to the edge of the ring. He twisted hard, trying to turn back in, but his momentum betrayed him.

One of his feet landed outside the chalk line before he jumped back in.

"Winner, Velron Rudox," Teacher Daisor announced immediately. The fight had barely lasted long enough for the dust to settle from Yibleen's fall earlier. Velron did not wait for anything else. He walked out of the ring and moved back toward the crowd, stopping in an empty space slightly away from everyone else, as usual. He stood there with his arms crossed, looking like the entire fight had been beneath him.

"Hey!" Sikkar yelled.

"Come back! Our fight is not over yet!"

"You still lost, dog-breath," someone called from the back of the group.

"Shut up!" Sikkar shouted, still standing in the ring.

"I barely put a foot outside!"

"Doesn't matter," Teacher Daisor said.

"You still stepped outside, and that means you lost. Now leave the ring so the next match can start." Sikkar glared at the teacher for a moment, then seemed to remember that glaring at Daisor wasn't the smartest thing to do. He exhaled sharply and stomped out of the ring. Karro joined him halfway, brushing against his leg with a weak bark. Sikkar scowled at Velron.

"I'll show you next time, you bastard! Nobody can win against us when Karro and I fight together!" Velron ignored him, as expected. Sikkar and Karro had already fought together against Velron numerous times in the past, with the same result every single time. Nobody could defeat Velron. Teacher Daisor looked down at the scroll again and announced the next match. Compared to the previous fight, which had still lasted a few minutes, this one ended almost before it began.

Hovaru Yaboli reluctantly placed his pack of cookies just outside the ring before stepping in. His opponent, a clanless student Aloric recognized from the back row, took the academy stance and rushed forward the moment Teacher Daisor gave the signal. Hovaru didn't rush to meet him. He simply stood there. The other boy slammed into him, trying to drive him back with both hands. Hovaru's body rocked slightly, but his feet barely shifted. The clanless student tried again, lowering his shoulder and pushing harder.

Hovaru blinked down at him. Then he wrapped both his arms around the boy, lifted him off the ground with hardly any effort, turned, and dropped him neatly outside the chalk circle. The boy landed on his backside with a shocked expression. There was a moment of silence. Then Hovaru looked eagerly toward the cookies he had left outside the ring.

"Can I eat now, Teacher?" Teacher Daisor stared at the huge kid for a moment, then sighed.

"Of course. The winner is Hovaru Yaboli." With only a few students left to fight, Aloric knew his turn would come soon enough. His hands flexed once at his sides in anticipation. Before he could think too much about it, Teacher Daisor glanced at his scroll again. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"The next match is between Arla Farritz and Nemirie Qanza." Oh, the two rivals finally meet, Aloric thought. A murmur passed through the class as both girls walked toward the ring. Arla was short, barely five feet tall, with short red hair cut in a bob that moved lightly in the chilly wind. She stopped just inside the chalk circle and fixed her glare on Nemirie as if the match had begun before Teacher Daisor even gave the signal. Nemirie entered the ring without any of Arla's heat.

Her medium-length green hair shifted around her face as she took her place opposite the redhead, quiet as always. But there was a sharpness in her eyes that said she wasn't as uninterested as she looked. She tied back her hair in a knot before the start of the spar. Teacher Daisor glanced between them.

"Standard rules. No mana techniques. No weapons. Force your opponent out of the ring to win." Both girls nodded. He brought his arm down sharply.

"Begin!"

"You may have scored higher than me in previous written tests," Arla boasted, raising her fists as she began circling, "but that ends in the finals. I've studied far too much this time. There is no way you'll score above me again!" Nemirie mirrored her movement, keeping her weight low and her hands ready.

"And why are you chatting about written exams in the middle of a sparring fight?" Arla's eyes narrowed. Nemirie tilted her head slightly.

"Do you need a book here too? To help you in the fight? Or maybe a scroll?"

"You—" Arla lunged. It was not the wild charge Aloric half-expected from her temper. She came in fast and low, aiming a sharp palm strike toward Nemirie's shoulder while her other hand reached to catch the Qanza girl's wrist. Nemirie stepped back, turning the strike aside with her forearm, and tried to hook Arla's elbow to pull her forward. Arla twisted out of it before the grip settled. Their feet scraped over the dirt as they exchanged quick movements near the center of the ring.

Arla darted in again, forcing Nemirie to retreat a step, then immediately shifted sideways to cut off her escape toward the right. For all her anger, the redhead did know how to move when she remembered to think. Nemirie bent away from a shove, caught Arla's wrist, and pulled. Arla stumbled half a step but planted her foot before she could be dragged off balance. She jabbed her free hand toward Nemirie's neck, not hard enough to hurt badly, but enough to force the taller girl to let go.

A few students let out impressed sounds. Aloric nodded. This was more like it. Nemirie's expression was highly alert now. She came forward this time, one hand feinting high before the other swept toward Arla's side. Arla took the bait and raised her guard too soon. Nemirie's shoulder bumped into her, and the redhead slid back across the dirt, boots skidding dangerously close to the chalk line. Arla caught herself at the last moment. Nemirie didn't smile, but her eyes said enough. Arla's face flushed.

"Oh, don't look so pleased," the redhead snapped.

"I haven't even started."

"That explains... nothing," Nemirie snorted. The class reacted at once—some gasps, some laughter, and one quiet curse from Ralovit that sounded almost admiring. Arla's glare turned murderous. She rushed again, but this time her temper began to ruin her form. Her steps came too fast, her shoulders rose too high, and her stance widened in the wrong way. Aloric winced before she even reached Nemirie. As expected, Arla's foot slipped on the dirt just before contact.

Nemirie stepped neatly to the side and shoved her in the back. The short redhead stumbled forward, arms flailing for a moment, but somehow managed to stop herself before crossing the chalk line. A few students laughed. Arla turned around slowly.

"Aargh!" She clenched her fists in frustration, and whatever remained of her proper stance disappeared completely. She charged straight at Nemirie, who seemed ready for another punch or shove. That was not what Arla did. Instead, she went straight for Nemirie's hair. Her hand closed around a fistful of green strands, and she pulled sharply. Nemirie shrieked in pain. For a heartbeat, the entire class froze. Then Nemirie's hand shot out and grabbed Arla's red hair in return.

"You tiny little—!" Arla yelped as Nemirie yanked back, and just like that, the match collapsed into chaos. Only moments ago, they had been moving like actual final-year academy students, testing grips, footwork, balance, and timing. Now they looked like they had forgotten every lesson Teacher Daisor had ever taught them. Both girls pulled at each other's hair, trying to shove, trip, and scratch without giving the other even an inch of advantage.

All of these students were fourteen by now, close enough to graduation that they were supposed to become official Nourim soon. Watching Arla and Nemirie screech at each other in the ring, Aloric found that very hard to believe. To be fair, he had seen both of them fight well many times before today. Nemirie had occasionally even managed to defeat some of the boys during past sparring sessions, while Arla was not far behind her.

However, after four years of relentless rivalry that had grown more and more one-sided in Nemirie's favor with each passing year, this was the last sparring session of their glorious academy days. Somehow, that seemed to have made the redhead forget they were not supposed to be fighting like alley cats here.

"Get off of me!" Nemirie yelled, mostly trying to protect her face while still refusing to let go of Arla's hair.

"Not until you admit I'm beating you!"

"You're not winning! You're just pulling my hair!"

"So are you!"

"That's because you started it!" The rest of the class watched with the kind of morbid curiosity that made it impossible to look away. Sikkar was laughing openly now, Sulia looked delighted, and even Velron seemed to be watching with slightly more interest than usual. Teacher Daisor, on the other hand, looked like a man watching his hopes for Korsivir's golden future collapsing one hair-pull at a time.

"Girls," he said sharply.

"Enough!" Neither of them listened. Their struggle carried them sideways across the ring. Arla tried to shove Nemirie back. Nemirie twisted and dragged Arla with her. Neither of them seemed to notice where the chalk line was anymore—or perhaps they simply no longer cared. One step. Then another. Both girls crossed the line at almost the same time, still clutching each other's hair. Teacher Daisor's voice cracked across the training ground.

"The fight is over! It's a draw. Step back right now! Both of you!" For a moment, it looked like Arla might not stop. Her hand tightened once more around a fistful of Nemirie's hair, and Nemirie bared her teeth like she was fully prepared to bite her enemy. Then the redhead huffed and finally let go. Nemirie stumbled back, one hand flying to her head.

"You bitch!" she snapped, the rare curse making several students blink in surprise. She held up a few long green strands that had been pulled free. Arla straightened her clothes as if she had just won a grand duel instead of starting a hair-pulling scuffle in front of the whole class, then walked back toward the others with her chin raised. She glanced back at her rival and smirked.

"See? I told you that you wouldn't defeat me today! I didn't win, but you didn't win either. So I was right!" A few students facepalmed at that. Teacher Daisor stared at both girls for a moment, then shook his head.

"This is not what I taught either of you in this academy. You make me feel like I have wasted four years of my life." Then he let out a small laugh.

"Still, I suppose if you manage to grab an enemy's hair like that, it might be effective enough." Most of the students gathered there laughed, while Arla just grinned, looking far too pleased that she hadn't lost for once. Nemirie, on the other hand, looked away with an embarrassed flush, still holding the strands of green hair in her hand. Teacher Daisor glanced down at the scroll in his hand.

"Alright," he called out.

"The last match of the day will be between Aloric Sigast and Ralovit Vayot."