Back to the Roots

Episode11: The old enemy

Chapter 11

I opened my eyes before the sun had fully risen. A thin shaft of light filtered through the stone walls of the palace and fell into my room. Above my exhaustion lingered the king’s words in my mind: “Be ready at six tomorrow.”

It wasn’t so much sleepiness as a strange tension inside me. For the first time, I felt like a leaf tossed by the wind, drifting from one place to another, unsure where I was going or what I was supposed to do. Control was not mine.

I took a deep breath and straightened up. I faced the mirror, splashed my face with cold water, and looked at myself. I combed my hair back, picked a thin white shirt from my wardrobe, and put on trousers and sturdy boots that allowed me to move freely. Whispering to myself as I stepped out:

— This morning will not be an ordinary morning.

As I walked down the corridor, a few attendants stepped aside to let me pass. Around every corner, a commander’s gaze or a brief gesture directed me. It was as if everyone knew better than I did where I was supposed to go. The king had said we would be learning combat techniques… but would it really be fighting? Or just tactics?

Finally, I reached a large, heavy door. From inside came voices, laughter, and the sharp clanging of wooden swords. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The hall was vast, with a high ceiling. Light filtered in through the windows, breaking the dimness. The earthen floor caught my attention—it seemed they wanted to create a true battlefield atmosphere.

More than ten soldiers and commanders were present. Some were talking, others practicing moves with wooden swords. As I entered, several heads turned, their gazes resting on me.

One of the overseers stepped forward and spoke loudly:

— If everyone is here, we can begin. Take a wooden sword in your hand!

Everyone moved toward the swords. I took one, turning it in my hand. It looked simple, but its weight and stiffness almost mimicked a real sword.

— Pair up first and begin warming up! — the overseer continued. — Then we’ll intervene. Afterwards, the chosen ones will fight one-on-one.

It made sense. I looked around and caught the eyes of a relatively young commander I had seen near the king. He extended his wooden sword toward me—a silent offer to work together.

I touched my sword to his. That meant I accepted.

The commander seemed calm and humble. In a gentle voice, he said:

— Let’s start slowly. Let’s see how you handle yourself.

Normally, I would have laughed at such words or even mocked them, but his expression was genuinely warm, showing a desire to teach. I only nodded.

He lifted his sword and struck toward me. I blocked it with a sharp clash. Then he drew back and attacked from the opposite side. I stepped back, then swung my sword to meet his. The impact echoed across the earthen floor.

At first, this rhythm continued: he attacked, I defended. Every step matched, swords clashed with force, and the sound merged with the soldiers’ movements. Then he pressed harder, pushing my sword aside and launching a new attack toward me.

But I was trained. My body moved instinctively. This time, I counterattacked, pushing him back. Now the roles had switched: my blows drove him back, and he skillfully defended.

For a while, the rhythm continued. The clash of wooden swords, heavy footfalls, and the hall’s hum created a tense symphony.

Suddenly, he came dangerously close. As he brought his sword down from above, I bent low and struck upward, my sword grazing his chest. He stepped back—barely, but I had touched him.

He smiled, warmth and respect in his eyes.

— Well done, better than I expected.

He extended his hand, and we shook firmly.

— Let’s rest a moment, he said, stepping aside.

I placed my sword on the table and exhaled deeply, my eyes drifting over the other dueling soldiers. Unconsciously, I got lost in watching them.

Then… something happened. My eyes caught a very familiar face. For a moment, the whole hall seemed to pause.

I tried to look away, pretending to twirl my sword. But I knew what I had seen. That face was engraved in my memory.

A bruise still lingered by the eye, the nose lightly bandaged. I could never forget it—the spy I had seen around my house, cornered in the dead-end street, the one I had attacked with my dagger…

I never imagined I would meet him again. Yet here he was.

When I glanced back, he was looking at me too. He must have recognized me as well, just finishing his own practice. His eyes carried a threatening expression, a faint smirk at the edge of his lips…

My heart raced. At first, I tried not to take it seriously, but then one thought hit me: because of me, he had failed his mission, and I had attacked him from behind with my dagger.

I hoped he harbored no thoughts of revenge—I couldn’t handle dealing with him now.

A burst of laughter pulled my attention. I turned toward it. Nearly all the soldiers had finished their practice and were resting at the sidelines. The remaining real contest was happening there.

It was Lucas… Commander Lucas. Laughing, while facing another of Valen’s commanders. I didn’t recall his name clearly—perhaps Commander Harsen.

Their wooden swords clashed with such speed and force it seemed like tree trunks cracking. Each strike echoed, drawing instinctive cheers from the watching soldiers. This was no ordinary practice—it was a duel.

Observing them, I noticed the distance between them. Most fighters left room to breathe, but these two did not. Were they courageous, or did they trust each other completely? Perhaps it was simply their supreme confidence in their swords.

Every strike seemed to carry meaning, as if they were speaking through the wood: “I am here,” “You cannot pass me.” One could barely distinguish offense from defense. The roles changed constantly.

At one point, their swords locked. Neither yielded. Their wrist strength resisted each other, the wooden boards creaked, and the soldiers’ cheers filled the hall. The outcome seemed clear: the stronger wrist would win.

At that moment, an instructor laughed and stepped in:

— Enough, gentlemen! Draw!

The hall erupted in laughter. “Oh no!” some muttered. Lucas and Harsen nodded calmly and shook hands.

I had only one question: had the instructor not intervened, who would have won?

Lucas always seemed too serious and authoritative to me. He was the most influential near Valen. But Harsen’s skill in combat was undeniable. I watched their every move, trying to learn from them.

Then I took my sword and joined the circle, keeping my head low to avoid meeting that familiar face.

Two instructors stepped into the center, wooden swords in hand, their voices serious, eyes sharp. The hall fell silent.

— Pay attention, one said. Your sword is wooden—but your enemy’s is not. They will wield steel: blind, sharp, merciless.

He swung at the other instructor, who skillfully blocked.

— This is a critical moment! — he continued loudly. — When you block an enemy’s strike, his body is exposed. Step forward and deliver a hard kick to the abdomen… his grip weakens. That’s when you gain the advantage!

He feinted a kick, and a few spectators nodded while some clutched their own stomachs involuntarily.

— Remember! — he said, scanning the room. Every move in battle either saves your life or ends the enemy’s.

The hall was silent for a moment, wooden swords’ cheerful clashing replaced by the weight of reality.

Then the instructors stepped back and asked:

— Any volunteers?

Normally, I would have stepped forward immediately. This time, I wanted to avoid attention. I waited for someone else. One young commander raised his hand. Then another. The instructors said:

— Good. Step forward. We will intervene when necessary. Everyone else, watch.

The circle opened, and the two began to fight. Their efforts were serious, wooden swords striking with sharp sounds echoing in the hall. Sometimes they retreated, sometimes lunged forward. Some moves were especially impressive; speed and balance mattered more than sharpness, highlighting their agility.

But then an unfortunate moment occurred. One fighter swung and caught not the sword, but the hand holding it. The opponent screamed in pain, tossing the sword aside. A few nearby soldiers giggled. The instructors intervened:

— It’s alright. These things happen.

The soldier writhed in pain, stepping aside helplessly. Then I heard a mocking voice:

— You didn’t get hit by a real sword. Relax.

A few nearby soldiers laughed. I turned to see who it was—and again, it was him. The spy soldier. Bandaged nose, slight bruise… . Clearly healing, but traces remained.

This time, I did not look away. His threatening smirk fixed on me, unnervingly close. I turned back, but unease lingered inside me.

The instructor spoke again:

— Any other volunteers?

Silence. No one raised a hand. The instructor quipped:

— These soldiers are too scared. Shall we choose?

Some experienced commanders laughed. “They’ll learn,” they said.

Yet I still felt he's gaze on me. Unable to resist, I leaned slightly toward him and whispered:

— Do you have something to say?

He replied loudly:

— No, what would I say?

The tone was deliberate, drawing attention. I kept my composure.

— I don’t know. You stare so much, that’s why, I whispered back.

— I don’t know, — he said, raising his voice further, — maybe I have a sneaky plan concerning you.

His teasing tone drew curious glances. I frowned.

— What are you talking about? — I snapped.

He suddenly spoke even louder, so everyone could hear:

— Don’t worry. I never attack anyone from behind.

The hall froze. All eyes turned to us, trying to decipher our words. He was referring to the moment I had struck him from behind with my dagger in the alley. I swallowed hard.

— You’re right, — I said louder this time. — But to strike from behind, one must first be unnoticed. Learn to approach without being seen.

His face tightened. Some soldiers smirked, noticing the tension between us.

Then one instructor stepped forward sharply:

— Both of you, — he said, — fight with swords, not words.

He gestured to the center of the empty duel space.

Without hesitation, the spy soldier—now I knew his name—said:

— Sure thing.

He raised his wooden sword and stepped into the center, followed by cheers:

— Bravo, Alpaz! Go, Alpaz!

And that was the moment I first learned his name: Alpaz.

Now all eyes were on me. Everyone expected me to step forward and face him.