Eofa stood waiting—silently, back turned and arms gently crossed.
Similar to all other days, Heath's approach is what made him turn, morphing from a silent calm to a demoralizing foreboding. Ankles deep in water, eyes sharp and on guard, he merely waited for his inevitable assault.
Heath, as if to match his growth, was oddly similar. No longer did he have a gruff scowl or analytical frown that covered his face, nor were his movements frantic and unthoughtful. He was calm and collected, not a single tell growing on his soft face, and movements a similar energy to that of a cat; delicate yet calculated.
His walk was slow, gradually approaching the idle man with his hand beginning to pull the shaft from a small leather holster tied to his side. The metal made a screeching gleam as it emerged, soft light beaming off from its face and almost into his own eyes.
The patter of his footsteps against shimmering water almost matched the rate and depth of his own heart, slowly rising and climbing before he managed to calm it back down.
This continued until only a mere few feet bridged the distance between them, blade already outstretched and pointed towards Eofa's neck.
They didn't share any words, they didn't share any formalities... the match simply began.
Heath had made the first move; Sliding his blade underneath his traditional arc and closing the little gap that remained between the two with unnatural, nurtured speed. The swing of his blade was slightly delayed, though much of his actions were due to delicate intention. Eofa expects him to attack fast... so he wouldn't.
Only by a few milliseconds, every action he did was ever-so-slightly behind. Eofa kicked the weight of the twisting sword back, only for Heath to spin to his other side and prepare a sequel. This time, he ramped up the intensity, more force and power behind the swipe than the amount he'd meticulously trained to follow.
Heath had realised it about himself the night prior—he was predictable. For years, he'd set a pace for every action he took to avoid losing stamina at a rate that was detrimental. Due to this, Eofa never had to change the speed of which he defended it.
Now... things were different.
For every strike and cuff that was indistinguishably off-timed, an immense, almost blinding attack would be quick to follow. He had learned to change his pace amidst the heat of combat.
Still, execution was everything, and Eofa seemed to pick up on this. The hefty swing from his side was expertly dodged, this time not giving room for a follow-up. He balled his fist, booming his arm like a missile towards Heath's stomach.
Without a second thought, he spun his blade back around and lowered the core of his body, arms falling just between the knuckles and his belly.
The force was unbelievably strong, a gust of wind flinging alongside it as if to exemplify its power. His boots skid across the rocky floor, even the water forming lines at its immense force. For a brief moment, the stones beneath his feet were completely devoid of water; Pressure having blown away the layers that surfaced them.
In an instant, Heath could feel his own essence deplete. A single strike, and he felt as though his arms were on the edge of total collapse. As though every bone, muscle and tendon had been severed, broken and crumpled into a million pieces, only to later be restored, then beaten again...
...It was a miracle they were still standing.
His eyes winced with the ache, body seething and quivering at the pain. Never before had Eofa used a strike of such magnitude, as if saying, 'try that again and it'll be more than just pain.'
Heath, however, didn't take that as a deterrent... rather, it was proof that this was the key. For the first time, Eofa had been scared.
A shaky smirk began to creep on Heath's face, warily resting his arms and squeezing the handle. He looked at Eofa—at the blank expression that somehow still coated his face, at his posture, which never seemed to slant or fall out of line.
His eyes pierced like daggers, his feet planted and firm. For a man who never gave any tells... his biggest weakness was going too far in the opposite direction. In this scenario, at this instance, it was clear as day.
Once more, Heath charged. More careful this time, movements defined and unsloppy. More than anything else, he prioritized consistency. He left behind the notion of shifting pace, only for a moment, and focused on stability. Action.
Like all these years prior, Heath would launch a series of attacks, only for a well-timed counter from Eofa to cancel it. Over and over again, that's what occurred.
For the longest time, the goal behind every swing and every prediction Heath had made was exclusively with one goal in mind: To land a blow. The blow. That's all he needed to do.
Now, there was a different purpose. He wasn't swinging to strike, but swinging to flow. For every counter that Eofa had done, secretly, locked away into the furthest depths of his mind, Heath had internalized them. Envisioned them. He knew the ins and outs of how he worked...
And now was the time to finally unlock that knowledge.
To any uninitiated, their training in the spring would've simply looked like a choreographed dance, water kicking up with their feet and movements refined and exact. Both would trade swings, yet none would ever hit, masterfully countered to allow for further combat.
And thus was the crux of Heath's plan... he began to change the pace.
He twirled his sword—wrist spinning in circles as the glistening metal acted like a baton of light. He struck from side to side, Eofa each time deflecting with the ball of his elbow. What he didn't expect, however, was for that twirling to see a drastic decrease in speed.
Ironically, the change happened so fast he couldn't even comprehend it at first. His elbow jutted out to the side in an attempt to block, though the blade wasn't even close to connecting.
Heath had disrupted their flow.
Next, he sped it up. faster than his previous movements, his wrist flicked at a speed that gave the cracking of bones in his ear, yet he didn't stop. Eofa had already moved in defense, and much like Heath had expected, subtly began to curl the fingers of his other arm.
He was going for a counter, and if was anything like his last, Heath already knew how much force he was putting into it.
And so, he flipped his blade.
The elbow that had once erupted from Eofa's side slid against nothing but air, and the twisting blade flung out of the way and directly in his hurling fist's path. By now, there was already too much force behind it. He couldn't stop, though in a desperate attempt, he outstretched his digits in an attempt to catch the speeding blade... but it was pointless.
As contact was made, Heath could hear it in his ear—the unceremonious squelching noise of cut flesh, followed by the incessant dripping of blood against water. His eyes widened once he saw it for himself; a lone cut down the center of his palm, drowned in red and progressively expanding with time.
He had done it- he had made the blow.
At first, he didn't know how to react. He only felt his heart drop, his blood pump, and finally, serotonin. So much, he couldn't hold it in. He cheered. He yelled. He cried. The blade he once held so tightly clanged against the spring's floor, knees giving out as he collapsed in pure joy.
Eofa, on the other hand, stood still. Silent. For the first time, expression showed on his face—that of pure bewilderment and surprise. You'd be forgiven for thinking he'd just seen a ghost, because for Eofa, that's exactly what had happened.
He had done it- he had made the blow.
Slowly, he tilted his bleeding palm towards his own face, fingers folding at the stinging pain as the look of utter surprise stained against his face.
That didn't last long, however. Then came a smile. One so large, one so prominent, it would make even the gods themselves shiver. Eofa gave the final whistle once the devilish grin finally subsided... "Training... is officially over."
He had done it- he had made the blow.