A Friendly Spar

They went out into the fields, close to the forest and the magical barrier, and as far away from the house as they could be. The wind had picked up, but while Berus registered the cold, he didn’t really feel it. Not in this metal body of his. The ground was firm, and the grass danced in the breeze. Phorok looked as relaxed as he always did, even though his beard got tousled and his necklace was thrown around by the growing wind. Above them, no sunlight came through the ocean of grey clouds, but it was still bright enough that they could see each other. A low rumble came from the forest, but nothing rose from the dark emerald shadows.

Berus didn’t know what to expect, but he could feel excitement slowly burning inside of him. This was what he was made to do. This was what he wanted to do. The wooden sword felt strange in his hand, but Berus swung it around a few times to get a feel for it. It just wasn’t like any of his favorite swords.

“Are you ready?” Phorok asked, and pointed the tip of his sword towards Berus.

“I am,” he said, and answered by tapping the tip of his own sword against that of Phorok.

He opened his fighting menu, and Ki-Rai popped up, as she laughed with glee and twirled through the air. Once more, her eyes were filled with bloodlust, their argument all but forgotten.

Of course, she can’t withstand the allure of a proper fight, he thought. I can now make her wish come true, at least in part.

“Finally! Finally! Get some–”

Berus took a hit to the head, and he couldn’t hear the rest of her sentence. Phorok was, despite his age and build, faster and more nimble than he had any right to be. He stayed in Berus’ blind angles, striking at him from safety. Every time Berus turned around, Phorok was already gone.

“Oh, this is horrible,” he muttered, swinging his sword around uselessly. Phorok was already gone.

“Where are you aiming?” Phorok laughed.

“Yeah, where are you aiming?” Ki-Rai giggled. “Did you suddenly forget how fighting works? Cut him! Punch him! Draw his blood! Break his bones!”

“How can you be so fast with only one leg?” Berus huffed.

“Lots of practice,” the answer came immediately, paired with another hit to Berus’ head.

Slowly but surely, he was getting used to these hits, and he half suspected that was why Phorok continued to use them. But even if the older man both showed off to Berus and limited himself to a few moves, Berus could tell he was currently outmatched. And imagining this fight as Vrixus didn’t help him, either. He didn’t have the skills, the sword, or the body he was used to. A basic slash could only do so much, especially with a clunky, wooden sword.

“Argh!”

He spun around, again and again, trying to keep up with Phorok.

“That’s the spirit!” Ki-Rai cheered him on.

It was unrefined, undignified, but if Berus’ new body had one big advantage, it was that he wouldn’t tire. He just had to keep hitting the air until his sword finally connected with Phorok. And then–

Phorok hit him right where his solarplexus would be, and finished his combo with a slash along the carotid and across Berus’ throat.

“You can be happy that you’ve got almost too much armor,” Phorok huffed. “But if I used my skills, you would be dead.”
“I can see that,” Berus nodded.

He wanted to throw away this shitty excuse for a sword, but decided against it. After all, it was his skill that was lacking, not only the weapon. Phorok could do so much damage, even with a wooden sword and one missing leg. It was frustrating. And apparently, his reaction was so easy to read that Phorok commented on it.

“Don’t worry. There have been many more talented people before you that failed to hit me,” he said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means I can still teach you a lot. Iuria doesn’t like fighting, so it’s been a long time since I had a disciple.”

“A disciple, hm? Well, if you want to teach me, I’m all ears. As frustrating as this was.”

“Wonderful. I got to learn a lot about you, too. We should do this again,” Phorok laughed.

“Gladly. How about tomorrow evening, then?”

“Sounds good.”
“I might even get a hit in by then.”
“Oh, it’s far too soon for that.”

Berus wished he could grin. “We’ll see about that.”

But for the moment, both of them put their swords aside.

***

Their days continued, peacefully. Mikkah took to repairing the various magical gadgets around the house, and Phorok and Berus sparred every evening, with Berus’ victories few and far between. The nights he spent reading novels and nonfiction, rediscovering many things he knew from the game’s lore, while others were completely new to him. The chickens still distrusted him. It was nice, a rhythm that benefitted them all, and slowly but surely, all their initial suspicions seemed forgotten.

But something gnawed at them. As peaceful as staying here was, Berus knew that they couldn’t stay here forever. Not with the threat of the demons still roaming around. And in the forest, something dark slumbered.

So when darkness fell one day, and he joined Mikkah at the edge of their prison, he finally said what he felt for the last few days.

“We should tell them.”

She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“We can’t keep this up forever, and…”

“Mikkah! Berus! Are you two coming?”

“Ah! Of course. Thank you, Iuria.” Mikkah smiled at her, only to throw daggers with her glare at Berus in the next moment.

Then tension was thick while Phorok served their dinner, a hearty stew with the season’s vegetables and chicken.

“I think we have to talk,” Berus said.

“So you want to come clean finally, hm,” Phorok grumbled back.

“Only if you do so, too.”