"If you give them even one moment to catch their breath, you might as well invite them for a meal."
Those words echoed in young Elmah's mind as he thrust his daggers at His Highness, leaving no room to breathe or regain his footing. This strike, in particular, targeted his eyes— practically saying 'this eyes need removing'.
As the tip of Elmah's dagger aimed straight for his eyes, Ajab reacted instinctively, using his own weapon to block the incoming strike.
"Why have two hands if they can't be used independently?"
Elmah's other hand moved at lightning speed toward His Highness's chest. Sensing the threat to his exposed torso, Ajab blocked again. The two weapons clashed, wood against wood, sending a sharp clack echoing across the grounds.
All who watched had their own thoughts on the spar unfolding before them.
At first glance, it hardly resembled a spar. The only indication was that both wielded wooden replicas, meant for friendly practice—kid gloves, as some would call them. Beyond that, it looked more like two sworn enemies clashing to the death, each strike aimed to kill.
The generals at the edge of the floor exchanged knowing glances. Was this normal? They all kept glancing at the Queen, hoping to read her expression, but she betrayed no hint—no surprise, no shock, nothing.
The questions were written all over their faces: Since when did prepubescent children become this extraordinary? Or are we simply too old, and the next generation is already surpassing us?
They had assumed the Duke's first and second children, hailed as prodigies at age fourteen, were unmatched. But seven and five? What could they even tell their own children now? Who could hope to compete?
On the bright side, Elmah was an anomaly—that was why they were present: to witness a genius born once in a thousand years. Some degree of abnormality was expected. But what could anyone say about the Prince?
Watching the spar, her warrior instincts thrilled, but her motherly instincts tugged with worry. From a young age, her son had displayed exceptional proficiency with every weapon, a trait of the royal bloodline—natural mastery over both handled and unhandled weapons. A child of the Thousand Fathers, capable of awakening all weapons, yet this ability usually lay dormant until later. To see it manifest at age three had even shocked the King.
As she observed the fight, every strike from Elmah seemed lethal—but she could tell they were mostly feints. He wasn't trying to kill the Prince, only probing, creating openings, testing his skills.
Being the one in the fight, Ajab could tell this much. He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. After blocking strikes aimed at his eyes and chest, he let his daggers hover in midair, then struck at Elmah's arms. Pulling him in, he rammed his head against Elmah's, then pivoted as Elmah lost balance—landing a precise kick to the gut that sent him stumbling back several steps.
"I will beat you to a pulp if you dare hold back again."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it resonated across the entire training grounds.
Hearing His Highness's words, a wild smile spread across Elmah's face. He didn't even know why he smiled—seemed being around the prince had left him with some fetishes.
His smile was mirrored by His Highness. In the next heartbeat, he charged again—this time with refined movements and precise strikes, aiming for vital points or critical blows. Ajab parried, evaded, or blocked each attack with a smile, the clacking of wooden weapons echoing across the grounds—loud enough to spark if they were real blades.
Two things were inevitable: the generals' eyes would bulge, or they would nearly pull out their beards in sheer amazement. These seasoned warriors were almost losing their minds over the spar, and perhaps it truly took an expert to appreciate such a display
The Queen watched, half amazed at her son and his attendant, half worried. It took a conscious effort to keep her inner turmoil from showing.
From his seat, Duke Ecnes sat with hands crossed, his charcoal eyes dark, unwavering, and devoid of warmth as they followed the spar. He chuckled softly, noting how the boy had built his techniques around his daggers—wherever he had picked them from.
Not far from their father, Anya watched his expression carefully and knew what he was thinking. Any technique not from the family was, in his eyes, worthless—the only exception being the Thousand Fathers, because it was the sole method the Ecnes family could not overpower, and it was in their bloodline. Watching her brother spar, she realized he was using a technique no one else present understood. Her face softened with sadness, torn between concern and frustration.
Ajab remained ecstatic as he continued to exchange clacks with Elmah, and the root of this ecstacy wasn't his weird fetish or anything but that he genuinely was amused, to think Elmah was implementing his lessons on him.
'Not giving him moments of rest and using his body parts separately as if they belonged to someone else', these were clearly father's instructions.
To think Elmah was the one paying attention.
But then, this had better not be all, where were Elmah's eyes?
Well, he had an ace. In the middle of their intense clashes, since he wasn't going to be given a breather, then he could use that too he thought, as he left his weapons again mid air. Seeing them leave his higness's hands and going for the floor, Elmah found his eyes following them down, losing focus for a moment, allowing his highness an opening he knew his Highness wasn't going to miss, but before he could react he got three kicks, hip, side and then face, sending him backwards.
Watching the scene unfold, Elmah wondered why the Ecnes family were even needed as swords—the Royal family seemed formidable enough on their own. Despite all his maneuvering, he hadn't landed a single effective hit and had already been sent backward twice. Seizing the moment, Ajab charged again.
Seeing His Highness charge, Elmah drew a deep breath, and the aura around him shifted. Ajab halted instinctively, noticing the change and taking a step back—ugh, father was going to kill him. Then Elmah vanished—from his sight at least—and suddenly Ajab felt a strike aimed for his neck from behind. He barely turned to block it before another came from his side, forcing him to retreat once more.
From Elmah's perspective, His Highness now appeared almost frozen—but only in glimpses. This was a huge improvement from his first attempt at this power. Elmah could now move in response, though there were still tiny pauses before each strike.
After being forced back for the third time, Ajab considered his next move. His eyes couldn't keep up, yet his body reacted instinctively. But then, as if caught off guard, Elmah ceased his flurry of movements and focused on frontal attacks. The first struck the Prince's midsection, the next his side—strikes landing perfectly against openings Ajab had left. Then Elmah saw it: blood at His Highness's mouth. Panic surged—he had lost control and might have seriously injured the Prince. He tried to stop, but before he could, everything went… blank.