"Gah!" Mark dropped the lance he was holding as he clutched at his stinging face. As he removed his hand, he saw a line of red ran across his palm. A few drops of blood came from his left cheek and were hitting the polished floor of the corner of the barracks that Cordelia and he were occupying for sparring. The knight in front of him approached and used the blunt end of her weapon to deliever a blow to his stomach, buckling him over. Then a strike across his back with the shaft brought him to the ground. The tactician groaned as he turned over to find a lance tip pointed to his throat.
"The enemy wouldn't show quarter at a dropped lance in combat. I won't either." She had a stern expression on her face as she drew the lance away and extended her arm out to him. Taking it, he was lifted from the ground back upright. "Now, pick your weapon up and let's try again." Mark wielded the iron tipped polearm, and beckoned his teacher for the day towards him.
Cordelia began charging towards her friend spearhead first, and the weapon was deflected by Mark's own weapon. The pair began exchanging beats and thrusts with all parts of their tools, for a minute keeping all blows away from themselves. Finally, Mark feinted a sweep, but hooked his lance around to slash at Cordelia's arm. Preoccupied with blocking low, the iron caught the Pegasus rider in the arm, making an audible Clang and buckling her arm. Mark pressed the advantage after that, and noticed Cordelia's stance had changed. She had gone from pressing strikes and advancing footwork to strikes aimed at distracting and a more solid stance, standing ground and trying to recover. As he continued his assault, blood started to come from Cordelia's arm and streamed down her armor. Soon, another blow caught Cordelia, this time in the leg. Her face now had strain and frustration on her face. Her swings had more force, and the blows Mark absorbed made the shaft of his lance vibrate. Ducking and dipping around the dangerous end of the weapon, Mark continued to lead Cordelia on, until she thrusted forward far enough that it struck the wall behind the dodging tactician. The lance fell from her hands, and she stood looking at Mark for a second, before lunging at him and grabbing the lance in the tactician's hands. The two struggled for the weapon, before the knight managed to twist the lance in such a way that she was behind Mark and the wood of the lance was wrapped to the tactician's throat. The man struggled to alleviate the pressure from the hold, and managed to keep a steady flow of air. Summoning what strength he had, the strategist hurled forward and brought Cordelia to the ground. Unable to keep his balance, Mark fell on top of his friend.
Their faces were now inches from each other, and both were breathing heavy. They sat there, weapons both discarded, until Mark abruptly stood up. He scratched the back of his head and looked away from Cordelia. "I…I think I could call that match a win for me. I'm…I'm going to…you should get your wounds looked at." He blurted put as he crossed the room and made his way out the door. The knight herself rose up and collected the lances on the ground. She was still breathing heavy, and her face was red. It wasn't red from an injury, or exhaustion however.