Prologue

Hundreds of years ago, there echoes a legend. A legend of the second great war. It was said to be a thousand times worse than the first great war. With each battle, hundreds were slain. The war with the gerudos lasted several years. Fights were even in the winter; which was very uncommon.

But in that legend, there is another. One that tells of the strongest warrior of all. He was quick and agile, with lots of strength. He killed hundreds, and led the way to victory.

He hacked and sliced through entire Gerudo iron knuckles as if they were butter. He struck fear in the hearts of the enemy. In time, as the war was coming to a climax, it was said he rode out of battle, and straight to the heart of the desert, where he met Ganondorf, the King of Gerudos. They had a violent stand-off, in which the king lost his life. The hero, as he was now, left the desert, and left his tale to the princess of Hyrule. Afterwards, he was never seen again.

He was a legend...

The

Legend of

Link

The Warrior

Chapter 1: Spar

Sweat trickled down the side of Link's face. The sun was setting, and the air was growing cooler, yet he was burning up. Various parts on his body were screaming at him in pain as he clutched the cheap, leather hilt of his wooden sword, keeping it raised in front of his face. He eyed his opponent, his master, carefully. His master grinned, and Link knew what that meant. He was attacking.

With a cry, the two rushed at each other, blades colliding. Link felt the impact in his wrist, which caused him to stumble back. In that instant, his master's sword was raised again, ready to swing. With an annoyed grunt, Link was quick to dodge. With his speed, he managed to sprint behind his master. Turning sharply, he swung for his master's back.

If Link had been trained and experienced more, the back-slash technique could have ended that whole fight. But he was a tad bit too slow, and now his master had already turned around swiftly and parried the attack. Link frowned and jumped to the side to avoid another slash by his master. The next thing he knew, his master had swung again, hitting him in the shoulder, forcing the soldier-in-training to fall over, hand leaving his sword to grasp the pained shoulder. He yelped and looked up at his master, who was grinning down at him triumphantly. He had won the last spar of the day, as usual. He pretty much won almost all of them.

"A back-slash? Kid, you aren't ready to pull that one off. If that was a real fight, that would have gotten you killed. You need to keep to the basics, and work your way up. Like the spin attack, you won't be able to use that until... until, most likely, when you're out of youth-training; yet you still try and pull that one off. C'mon, kiddo, lets get out of here before curfew!"

He offered a hand, which Link took, and used for support to help himself back onto his feet. Pulling up his dirty rag shirt, he found his shoulder was cut and bleeding, hurt by the blow of the wooden sword that his master, Beal, used. Bending over slowly, he grabbed his sword, and tramped out of the sandy ring to the edge, where Beal drank from a massive pitcher of water.

He gave a weak smile and handed it down to Link, who took it and drank a few gulps greedily. He was sure not to drink much, or Beal might get angry. He just needed enough to get by.

Closing the pitcher tightly with a clay top, Beal tucked it in a satchel. Taking the satchels straps and throwing them over his shoulder, he lifted it up and started to walk towards the main camp. Link hurried after him, wincing when his shoulder moved too much. As they walked down the path in the woods, neither spoke. Talking was usually saved for the tent. But when emerging at the main camp, they had to look serious. Like they had been working hard, and had done their best. Which they had, of course. Both kept determined, proud faces.

Link looked up at his master. He was lucky to have him teaching swordsmanship. He was nice and very skilled. Link had heard other masters were a lot harsher, and some had very rough methods of fighting. But his master's technique - (it was self-developed, and didn't really have a name) - was about speed, and being able to kill someone as quickly as possible, and to be able to move on. His master had served in a few skirmishes with the Gerudo Patrol years back. His technique was successful in plowing through the groups of enemies.

Link sighed and turned his attention back to the road ahead. They had just passed the front gates, and were now walking down a worn path past several other students with their masters, and guard patrols, and a few other people and soldiers and tents. Flags, raised high on flagpoles, fluttered in the wind. Smoke rose from some log cabins, and a few tents. The cafeteria, which was essentially a massive tent which could hold about half of all the people in the camp at once, had the smell of stewed cuckoo coming from it. That made Link happy. Usually they made nasty things for meals here. The leaders and officers claimed it was to 'toughen soldiers up'. Link didn't really think that filth was doing him much good. But at least they had good things on some days, like today.

"I see you've had another unsuccessful day!" a gruff voice proclaimed, startling Link.

Both Link and his master turned to see a very muscular man, sided by a very strong looking boy. Both sneered insultingly. Link frowned threateningly at the boy. He had encountered this student before. He was nothing but trouble. Both were tall, and both had the same, greasy black hair. The man had a scar across his face, going across his right eye, which was sealed shut.

"Like you and your student can do better, James?" Beal retorted, putting his left foot forward.

"Yes. I train my student harder. Your training is a tea-party!" he spat.

"My technique is very difficult to master!" Beal exclaimed, his hands balling into fists.

James laughed loudly, turning around, starting to walk away with his student. He called over his shoulder:" We'll see who's better next year at the tournament!"

"Don't worry Link, you will be strong." Beal reassured him as he watched James disappear in the light crowd. He gave one last growl before turning the other way, heading towards their tent. He beckoned Link to follow.

----------

Upon arriving at their tent, Beal set the bag down and placed his wooden sword over his mat. Link did the same with his sword, placing it carefully on his cushions. Beal had taught him to treat his sword with respect. If there was a chance that he was going to survive a war, a sword would be most of the reason. The other was skill and valor. Swordsmen felt bravery and loyalty, and were taught it well, much like knights.

Link looked back up at his master, who was leaving the tent, heading towards the cafeteria. Link had to follow obediently. He walked beside his master, and anyone who saw him, would see him with his master, almost all day, showing that he was a proud student.

"I will teach you the jump-strike tomorrow. That is a very powerful, yet simple technique, boy. Mastering it can really be helpful when it comes down to the battle field. You will show James' boy at the tournament." his master told him as they walked past more tents, nearing the cafeteria.

"Thank you." Link said in a small voice, not looking up once.

"You are one silent child." his master observed.

Link did not know how to respond to that. Sure, he was silent, but what was he to say in response?

"Exactly!" Beal spotted, a bit of playfulness edged in his voice.

"I guess I am?" Link said, unsure.

"I guess you are."