After a total week of recovering from the quest of the root giant, Michael was able to move comfortably again. Comfortably enough to continue his training of being beaten by Mave.
Both of them used wooden swords to not risk any accidental injuries. Stefan could control his impulses towards a greedy child but Mave couldn't. Stefan's goal was to train and Mave's goal was to win. That was one quality from her that Michael found relatable.
The party sat in the backyard, watching the heated duel between Michael and Mave. It was early in the morning, the same training curriculum they've planned for Michael ever since he joined the party. He would wake up, fight around with Mave and lose, then he would have to suck up that frustration and go on their quest, or take care of chores if they were free that day.
In the afternoon, he'd train with Stefan about his mana or lessons about swordfighting. Then at night, that was the only time he had for himself. But sometimes, Stefan wouldn't let him get all cozy with Evelyn and rather pushed him to condition his body. Through lifting heavy weights or testing his endurance, he needed more meat on his bones as said directly from Stefan.
Aside from all of that, he mainly looked forward to learning how to properly fight. Michael surprisingly had learned a lot. For someone like him, who had no real experience with swords, he was a quick learner.
Stefan taught him how to move. Though Michael had to give twice the effort because he wasn't that tall compared to other adventurers. The level of his stride and the quickness of his dash were shorter but it was still pretty far from a beginner.
Michael had spent a year rummaging as a slave through Almore, shoving through crowds and running away from the town guards. He was already familiar with being a nuisance.
Stefan taught him how to swing a sword. Recalling their anti-climatic fight, Michael couldn't even manage to force Stefan away from the spot he stood. It wasn't because of his small muscles, it was because his attacks were just too blatantly easy. He fought like a child throwing a tantrum, which Stefan meant in that literal manner. Michael then was set on a simple course of sword swinging fundamentals. On how to correctly grip a sword, how to thrust, how to swing, and basically the distribution of his weight.
And Stefan taught him how to think. In the heat of battle, decisions were made in less of a second. The enemy would never spare the time for him to think. The next move should have already been made in the mind as that sword crosses in front of his face.
Stefan taught Michael how to read the enemy based on their direction, the angle of their sword, and the gaze in their eyes. Obviously this part of the lesson was harder than the rest. Stefan was asking for Michael to somehow replicate his own way of thinking. How could an infatuated boy with a magical sword match the thoughts of a seasoned adventurer?
But all of this was just the surface of his lessons. A man could train under the best teachers and pay for the sharpest swords. Still, he would lose because he would lack battle experience and instinct. That was where Mave's training came into play. Stefan's help did play good factors for Michael's chances of winning, but the real teacher was his failures.
Mave had to make Michael endure the bitter taste of defeat over and over, carving out the flaws from his body.
Mave swung her sword with confidence, blocking and parrying every attack that Michael had thrown. She was more mobile than Stefan, as nobody else could replicate his standing act of superiority.
Though that didn't mean she was any weaker. The wooden swords were more light which made their blows less impactful than a regular sword. Because of that, the fight would stretch longer than usual. Mave didn't really like that. And it didn't seem like she moved on from that incident when he kicked her out of spite.
Michael gritted his teeth and dashed around, just like he practiced with Stefan. He tried to change the rhythm of his attacks and even tried to catch her off-guard by quickly thrusting his wooden sword. But as that all happened, he still had to watch his own skin. Mave still moved fast and he had no idea if she was using any mana against him.
Probably not, Michael thought, because who could ever take a runt like him seriously? If she did use mana, then the fight would have been over with.
Mave's form was admittedly intimidating. There was no space between her attacks. It was almost like each swing was intertwined together. Her defense was something to take note of as well, just as formidable as her offense.
Michael wasn't trying to underestimate her. Mave most likely trained just as much before she had registered as an adventurer. Knowing that she was a noble, he would guess she had a better education than anybody else.
Michael inched back, weaving one of the swings from her wooden sword. He's already grown accustomed to fighting people with longer limbs, specifically Mave herself. He's been fighting her practically everyday, it would be depressing if he didn't find a way to win.
Mave dealt her fights with power swings. Some harder than others, some lighter but much quicker. She wasn't one to give him mercy, as everybody here could already tell, so she mainly aimed at the vital points on his body. The head, the legs, and his sword arm. She never had the chance for his neck because of his short height and scurry nature. But she would still win in the end.
And with every loss, Michael was getting closer to victory, even if it was by some small percentage.
Michael pulled his wooden sword and swung against hers. It was hard to tell if he was on the offense but there was barely any time to think about that.
Mave dragged her sword away and drawed back. Was this a thrust attack? Was it going to be a swing from the left? Michael couldn't tell by the look in her eyes.
She thrusted her sword from below, too fast for him to react, and flung his sword out from his hands.
Michael's eyes widened. He saw her arm coiling around her body, ready to follow up into a devastating swing.
Mave shouted and swung her sword as if she was trying to decapitate the head from his body. But she saw nothing. She hit nothing.
Michael dashed under and ran for the nearest wooden sword. He could feel the heavy footsteps trailing behind him. She was angry. He heard Stefan cheering from the side as he ran past. The fight had already gone long enough with neither of them planning to lose. Michael was just an insect that was too hard to kill.
Even under the thumb of an overwhelming foe, he refused to die that easily.
He grabbed his sword and immediately swung behind him, deflecting the attack that Mave had lined up. By the look on her face, she didn't expect him to recover at all. He firmly planted his foot in front and pushed as hard as he could. It was a gamble though when was that ever a bad thing for him?
Michael shouted and thrusted his sword towards her abdomen. In this fraction of a second, he had to make use of this opportunity.
But, unfortunately, Mave saw this coming from a mile away. She turned her body to the side, making Michael lunge through the air. Then she kneed him in the stomach.
Michael dropped to the ground, coughing a round of saliva and groaned painfully. It felt like he had slammed his body into the end of a table.
Mave tossed her wooden sword aside and untied her dark hair, walking away in a manner of disrespect. She wasn't broken in sweat compared to Michael, who was always soaked at the end of their lessons.
"Wait," Michael pushed from the ground. "We're—not done..."
Mave glanced back, noticing how he was clutching his stomach.
He gripped his sword again, trying to lean on it for balance. Michael was still trying to catch his breath. It looked like that knee hit had reset every muscle in his body. Every inhale he took felt like that same pain was surfacing again.
"Look at you. How could you possibly still fight me?"
"I—" Michael hesitated. "I can still move."