Chapter 15

  The sticks felt wrong in Francis's hands. They were too light, poorly balanced, and one was five inches longer than the other.

  They’ll have to do for now. It’s all just another challenge. Something tells me I’m going to get a few repetitions on this moment.

  Francis watched the barbarians spread out around him. Hroden, Vornak, and Eirik formed a loose arc in front. Selka moved to his left, Helga to his right. Harald hung back, spear and shield ready but clearly meant to observe.

  A crowd was already forming. Warriors paused their training to watch, apparently drawn by the promise of a southerner getting beaten. Francis could hear their voices, some curious, others already placing bets.

  "Twenty copper, he doesn't last a minute!"

  "I'll take that bet. The boy's still standing, isn't he?"

  Great. An audience. Just what I needed.

  Hroden's hand dropped.

  Vornak charged first.

  The stocky barbarian came in fast, his practice hammer swinging in a wide arc aimed at Francis's ribs. No finesse, just raw power meant to test if he would fold under pressure.

  Francis sidestepped, letting the hammer pass inches from his body. He tapped Vornak's shoulder with one stick as the man's momentum carried him past.

  "First hit," Francis said, keeping his face neutral

  The crowd murmured while a few laughed. Vornak spun around, his face reddening.

  Eirik came next, both practice axes moving in a scissor pattern. Francis ducked under the first, parried the second with his longer stick, and drove his shoulder into Eirik's chest. The lean barbarian stumbled backward, and Francis's shorter stick caught him across the thigh.

  "Second."

  Battle Sense told him that there was movement from his left. Francis turned just as Selka's practice axe came at his head. No warning, no buildup. She was going for a real hit, the kind that would leave most unconscious if it connected.

  [ Iron Wall ]

  Francis crossed both sticks above his head, catching the axe between them. Selka's eyes widened slightly.

  She put real force behind that swing.

  Before she could pull back, Francis shoved forward, breaking her stance. His foot swept her legs, and she went down hard on her back.

  The crowd erupted in shouts. Some cheering, others jeering.

  Selka rolled to her feet, fury written across her face.

  She's not playing anymore. If she was ever playing to begin with.

  Hroden attacked while his attention was focused on Selka.

  The pack leader moved differently than the others. His attacks were controlled and precise, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next. His practice axe came at Francis in a series of attacks that forced him backward, defensive, working to keep the weapon from landing.

  He's good. Really good.

  Francis parried twice, blocked once, then had to dodge as Hroden reversed his grip and came back with a strike aimed at his knee. The axe grazed his leg, enough to count as a hit.

  "Point to me," Hroden said calmly.

  Then Vornak and Eirik came at him together.

  Francis moved without thinking, his body reacting to patterns he'd learned through hundreds of deaths. Vornak's hammer came high, Eirik's axes came low. Francis dropped to one knee, letting the hammer pass over his head, and swept both sticks across Eirik's ankles.

  The wiry barbarian went down cursing.

  Francis rolled forward, came up behind Vornak, and tapped him twice on the back.

  The crowd's noise grew louder. Francis caught fragments of conversation.

  "Did you see that?"

  "He's faster than he looks!"

  "Selka's going to kill him!"

  That last comment proved accurate.

  Selka came at him as if he owed her something. Her practice axe moved in a blur, each strike aimed to hurt rather than test. Francis gave ground, using both sticks to deflect and redirect rather than block directly. The impacts sent vibrations up his arms with each contact.

  She's not holding back at all.

  [ Guarded Stance ]

  Francis's body hardened, his defensive abilities kicking in. Selka's next strike caught his shoulder, but instead of what she had obviously expected to happen, her weapon stopped. Almost as if she had struck stone. Her eyes widened in apparent surprise.

  Francis used that moment. He stepped inside her guard, too close for the axe to be effective, and drove his elbow into her stomach. Not hard enough to truly injure, but enough to drive the air from her lungs.

  She gasped for air, stumbling a few steps back as she did.

  "Enough," Hroden called out.

  But Selka wasn't done, ignoring the barbarians words. She straightened, face red with anger or possibly a bit of humiliation, and swung wildly at Francis's head.

  [ Riposte ]

  Francis's stick caught the axe mid-swing, deflecting it past his ear. In the same motion, he brought his other stick around and tapped her temple. Gently. Just enough to make the point.

  "You're dead," he said quietly. "If this were real."

  Selka froze as her axe struck the frozen dirt, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. The crowd had gone silent.

  "I said enough!" Hroden's voice cut through the tension. He moved between them, glaring at Selka. "Stand down. Now. Do not dishonor yourself or us again."

  Selka backed away, breathing hard, her eyes never leaving Francis. The way she glared at him felt like a promise that this wasn't over.

  Hroden turned to Francis. "Not bad. But you're not done yet."

  Before Francis could respond, all five of them came at him at once.

  Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

  Hroden from the front, Vornak and Eirik from the sides, Selka from behind, and even Helga charged, having drawn a practice knife. They moved in coordination, not giving him space to breathe.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Francis activated everything he had.

  [ Quick Attack ]

  [ Flurry ]

  His sticks became a blur. He tapped Eirik's wrist, Vornak's knee, deflected Hroden's axe, spun to catch Selka's weapon with a cross-block, and kicked backward, catching Helga in the shin.

  The crowd roared.

  Francis kept moving, never staying in one spot long enough for them to pin him down. He wove between attacks, his enhanced perception letting him track all five opponents at once. Every opening, he took. Every mistake, he exploited.

  A tap to Vornak's ribs.

  A strike across Eirik's shoulder.

  A jab to Helga's arm.

  Hroden came at him hard, forcing Francis to focus. The pack leader's attacks were relentless, each one setting up the next. Francis parried, dodged, and gave ground when he had to.

  Then Selka rushed in from his blind spot.

  Francis sensed rather than saw her coming. He dropped low, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc. Selka's feet went out from under her for the second time, and she crashed into Vornak as the warrior tried to rejoin the fight, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs and cursing.

  The crowd was loving it. Cheers, jeers, and laughter mixed together in a cacophony of noise.

  Eirik tried to tackle him. Francis sidestepped, used the barbarian's momentum against him, and sent him stumbling into Harald, who'd been trying to flank from the other side.

  That left Hroden and Helga.

  Hroden's axe came at his head. Francis blocked with both sticks crossed, but the force of the blow sent him skidding backward. His feet slipped on the packed snow, and he barely kept his balance.

  He's strong. Stronger than the others.

  Helga darted in with her practice knife, going for his ribs. Francis twisted, caught her wrist with one stick, and pulled her off balance. She stumbled forward, and he tapped her back with his other stick.

  "Out," Francis said.

  Helga stepped back immediately, nodding in acknowledgment. She didn’t seem to hold any anger.

  Now it was just him and Hroden.

  The pack leader smiled. "Impressive. But let's see how you handle this."

  Hroden attacked with everything he had. His practice axe moved in patterns that Francis recognized. They were professional, efficient, and designed to overwhelm. Each strike flowed into the next without pause, giving Francis no chance to counter.

  Francis gave ground, his sticks working overtime to keep the axe from landing.

  He's testing me. Pushing to see where I break.

  Francis waited for his opening. It came when Hroden overextended slightly on a downward strike. Francis stepped inside the attack's arc, too close for the axe to reach him, and drove both sticks toward Hroden's chest.

  But Hroden was ready. He released the axe with one hand and caught Francis's wrist, using his superior weight to shove Francis backward.

  Francis rolled with it, letting the momentum carry him into a backward somersault. He came up on his feet, sticks still in hand.

  The crowd was screaming now, completely invested in the fight.

  Hroden charged.

  [ Quick Attack ]

  Francis moved faster than he had the entire fight. He slipped past Hroden's guard, tapped his ribs once, twice, then spun and brought his stick down on the pack leader's shoulder.

  Hroden stopped, lowering his weapon.

  "Three hits," the pack leader said, slightly breathless. "I'm dead. Or at least out of the fight."

  Silence fell over the Commons.

  Francis stood there, breathing harder than he had expected to be, his sticks still raised in case someone attacked. The other pack members were scattered around him. Some were on the ground, while others stood, but they were clearly defeated.

  He'd beaten all of them.

  The crowd erupted. Some cheering, some cursing, many exchanging coins as bets were settled.

  Hroden extended his hand. "You're faster than you look, southerner. And stronger. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

  "I've had a lot of practice," Francis said, accepting the handshake.

  More than you could ever imagine.

  Vornak picked himself up, rubbing his ribs. "That hurt. Even with practice weapons."

  "You held back," Eirik observed, dusting snow off his furs. "You could've hit harder. Faster, even."

  "No point in hurting people who are supposed to fight beside me," Francis replied.

  Harald laughed, clapping Francis on the shoulder. "I like this one. He doesn't show off!"

  Helga nodded in agreement. "You move well. Better than most southerners I've seen. You'll do."

  Selka said nothing. She stood apart from the group, practice axe gripped tight in her hand, staring at Francis with barely contained rage. The humiliation of being dropped twice in front of everyone was written across her face.

  She's going to be a problem.

  Hroden noticed the tension. "Selka. Stand down."

  She spat into the snow and walked away without a word.

  "Don't take it personally," Vornak said. "She's got... history with southerners."

  "I gathered as much," Francis said. “Hopefully she can get over it.”

  Hroden clapped his hands together. "Alright. Rest period's over. Francis, you've proven you can handle yourself in a fight. Now we need to see if you can work with us. Tomorrow, we run formations. Learn how we move as a pack."

  "Understood," Francis said.

  As the crowd began to disperse, still talking about what they'd just witnessed, Francis dropped the practice sticks and flexed his hands. He felt good. Better than he had in a while.

  I proved myself. Now I just need to make it stick. Perhaps one day I’ll figure out this group of people.

  Helga appeared beside him, offering a waterskin. "Here. You earned it."

  "Thanks," Francis said, taking a long drink.

  "You fight like someone who's fought many battles… like someone who's almost died," she said quietly.

  Francis nearly choked on the water. "What?"

  "You move like you already know what's coming," Helga continued, her dark eyes studying him. "Like you've… seen the patterns before. Most fighters learn from watching or training. You fight like you've already… lived through the mistakes."

  She's too perceptive for her own good.

  "I've had good teachers," Francis said carefully.

  Helga smiled slightly. "I'm sure you have." She turned to walk away, then paused. "Just don't get any of us killed out there."

  "That's the plan," Francis said.

  As she walked away, Francis let out a slow breath.

  One day down. One day to train with them before the raid. Better make it count.

  He looked across the Commons to where Selka stood in the distance, still watching him with that same burning hatred.

  And somehow, I need to figure out how to work with her. Or this whole thing falls apart.

  Francis picked up his practice sticks and headed toward where the pack was gathering.

  One day, he’d find a way to be accepted, but if it wasn’t today, Francis knew there would be many more to come.

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