Good morning! Another chapter for y'all! A bit short, but action-packed.
Rule #13: Do not forget what you have learned
"How many?"
"Three," she panted, the word floating away in a cloud of steam as it met the freezing air. Readjusting her hands around the hilt of the blade, Stormkrigeren struck at her teacher with a low sideswipe, but he easily deflected it.
"Sloppy," Mr. Wilson rebuked her, replying with a slash to her left bicep, "I was told it was eighteen."
She inhaled sharply at the pain in her arm, ducking low to avoid his next hit and thrust at an undefended shin.
"Eighteen total, but only three are certified. The rest I did at my own pace or never turned in," she corrected, breathing hard as he quickly shielded against her thrust.
"Bullshit. Why not?"
Wilson swept his foot and sword out simultaneously, forcing her to defend from both with a raised leg and a hurried parry.
"No university in their right mind would believe that I completed multiple four-year courses, with two-hundred-page theses for each, in only a year," she replied. Wilson frowned and merely grunted in agreement.
"In what areas?"
Stormkrigeren swore under her breath as his blade slammed against her's with the screech of steel on steel, but managed to shove his aside and once again slip out of his attack zone.
"Medicine and Pharmacology," she began. Her sword struck against his armor, causing nothing more than a light bruise, but he would praise her later. Hits were hard to get. "Physics and Astrophysics."
His boot impacted her shoulder and she rolled with the blow, coming up beside him. "Official certification for Mechanical Engineering, another certificate in Electrical Engineering."
Mr. Wilson expected the move and grabbed her by her tank top. "Thesis in Psychology."
Stormkrigeren chopped at his wrist with her sword and he released her as she continued to recite. "More in Computer Science and Cyber Securities"
A swift hail of blows rained down on her as she struggled to keep her ground. "Thesis for Jurisprudence and another official certificate in International Law."
She managed to fend off a thrust to her hip only to earn a stab in her shoulder, wincingly retaliating with a chop in his blind spot. "Accounting, Management, and Business."
Sword met armor and she smiled, knowing it'd be more than a light bruise. The smile vanished as he knocked the blade from her hands. "Government."
Her body automatically assumed a fighter's stance and she moved to retrieve her weapon only to have Mr. Wilson ram her into the cold wall.
"World History." She gasped, summoning the strength to wrap her leg around his and set him off balance. "Journalism, too."
A sharp back kick and two swift punches to his jaw nearly put him off, but he was stronger and within moments had her back against the wall, his sword at her throat. The digital clock high on the mirrored eastern wall buzzed to signify that training was over, but he still did not free her.
"You said eighteen," he growled. She smiled, unfazed by the murderous hand press tightly against her throat.
"A thesis in Linguistics."
He released her and she stumbled away from the white concrete wall, massaging her sore neck. Small rivulets of blood flowed from her fresh wounds while the older ones had already dried, in total amounting to twenty-three deep gashes and forty-eight scrapes, but she wouldn't treat any of them beyond running water over it.
Mr. Wilson was already seated on the floor, wiping the bloodspots off his katana and she joined him, taking up a cloth to clean whatever marks her weapon may have acquired. They sat in silence, the only sounds in the white Room being the swish of cloth against steel and the low hum of the air conditioner bringing the temperature back up from negative-thirty-six degrees Celsius, the cold having been meant to increase her stamina in harsh conditions.
"You need to focus," he commented. "More effort. More training. Put your head in the game."
She grunted in response, knowing any form of backtalk would be treated with lashes, but he wasn't done yet. "Maybe it'd be a bit easier for you if you weren't such a submissive bitch-"
Her blade clashed against his and she pushed him away, attacking with a whirlwind of intricate strikes to put him on his guard. It worked and he thrust at her with a lower left arch, but she expected it, using her agility and small figure to duck under the blow and vault over his shoulder while he was bent low. The movement got her onto his back and in an instant, her sword was at his throat.
"I am not… a dog," she panted. "I surrender to none."
Mr. Wilson smiled. "As it should be."
He pitched forward suddenly without any warning, effectively loosening her grip and dropping her to the floor. Stormkrigeren rolled with the fall, fighting back a wince as she got up off the concrete, but more upset that she had been caught off guard than at the pain. Knowing that the lesson was over, she obediently gave her blade one last wipe before sliding it into its sheath as her teacher did the same. Mister Wilson picked up the small duffel containing their training weapons, nodding curtly to his student, and headed for the door leading out of her Rooms. Just as he reached it, he paused and swiveled on his heel to throw the spike in her direction. She reacted immediately, dropping low so that the weapon would fly past her and catching it deftly by its 'safe end'. Wilson's silver whiskers lifted in a small smile at her reflexes.
"Hang onto that. Schreyer said it was yours."
The reinforced steel door hissed shut behind him, leaving her alone once again with only her thoughts and the mirrored wall.
Stormkrigeren sat down on the concrete floor to examine the throwing spike, twisting it in her hands so it's dull gleam caught the light of the fluorescent lamps on the ceiling. It was small, maybe about the size and length of her second finger tapering down to a point that wasn't quite sharp enough for it to be considered a weapon, but she knew anything could be a weapon if used correctly. The top was flat and slightly angled, shaped sort of like a five-sided shield emblazoned with an embellished capital S while the rest of the spike was lined with grooves dented and pockmarked so mechanically it could only have been intentional. It was obviously made of some sort of alloy, maybe steel and magnesium, colored a dull silvery grey. The design reminded her of a bone structure or maybe even some sort of key. All she knew for certain was that it belonged to her.