"Fight me," Armsmaster demanded, his voice resounding low and clear within the hall so mouth-wateringly close to the dining area.
For a moment, Artoria suspected she had misheard.
The request had been so abrupt, devoid of any preamble, that she couldn't believe he meant what he spoke. However, though his words were not shouted, his stance and tone resonated with a fierce spirit that left no room for ambiguity.
Even with his halberd folded behind his back, it was clear that this was a man who had come for battle.
"Why?" She quired softly as tensions mounted with each passing second. Had she inadvertently levied insult? It was possible. Despite her efforts to adopt, she remained ignorant of the customs and etiquette of the modern world. But, the thought of her transgressions being significant enough to warrant a duel seemed improbable.
Could she dissuade him? Would a simple apology for any unintentional offense suffice? But if it wasn't...
Artoria glanced at his arms. As a Tinker, Armsmaster relied heavily on his tools. However, his equipment necessitated functional hands.
Armor was always the weakest at the joints. If it came to a duel, a swift, lateral strike to the crease of the elbow with the flat of her blade could shatter—no… Such a wound could be crippling. A closed-fist strike to the front of both shoulders would dislocate the sockets and bring the battle to a rapid end.
Armsmaster gritted his teeth at her question and seemed reluctant to answer. After a brief, tense hesitation, he reluctantly confessed. "I need to be better. Stronger. Solo training and improving my tech will eventually yield diminishing returns. I need experience—against opponents stronger and faster… Please," he grinded out.
"Oh, training," she responded, the tension evaporating from her body as she breathed a silent sigh of relief. In place of a frown, a genuine smile graced her lips, and her hunger was forgotten. "I would be honored to assist."
….
The training ground of the Protectorate bore the scars of rigorous use. Once, its walls might have stood pristine and the floors unblemished. But constant wear and tear stripped the place of any aesthetical value in favor of an air of raw functionality.
Artoria and Armsmaster stood apart, alone in the wide space without a single soul as a witness, their armored forms tense and ready. In place of their usual weapons, reinforced substitutes were within their grasp.
Artoria held her blade with a two-handed grip, the hilt low and tip pointed towards her opponent's throat. Armsmaster, on the other hand, held two spears – one short and one long—in a stance of his own.
For an instant, Artoria was reminded of Diarmuid, but she swiftly shook herself free from distraction. To be preoccupied during a spar would be an insult, and she would not dishonor her learner.
"To the first strike?"
"First strike," he agreed with a grunt.
Without further words of pleasantry, Artoria charged forward, employing just enough speed and strength to overwhelm her opponent, but not to an impossible degree. Armsmaster desired to be pushed to his physical limits, and she was determined to oblige.
The armored man gracefully sidestepped her charge, parrying her incoming attack with the long spear and flicked the tip of its shorter counterpart at her throat. Against most, the move would've proved lethal, but Artoria was not most. She twisted aside, trapping his long spear between her sword and leg, and barreled into his chest.
Despite the force of the impact, Armsmaster merely grunted and managed a controlled somersault, seamlessly recovering his footing. Without a second's hesitation, he readied both his spears for combat once more.
"Again," he growled.
Artoria obeyed without uttering a word. This time, instead of an overhead slash, the tip of her sword led her charge. Correctly reading her movements, Armsmaster lunged forward, meeting her thrust with one of his own.
In a contest of thrusts, the warrior with the longer reach held the advantage. His long spear had double the length of her sword thus its tip would naturally reach her heart before hers could reach his.
However, Artoria flowed away from his strike like water parting before a stone and turned her lunge into a slice that descended onto his hand. The blow connected, sending his long spear hurtling into the air. Before he could attempt a retreat, she struck once again, her blade slicing at his flank.
Armsmaster raised his remaining short spear in a desperate attempt to defend. Despite being off balance, his movements were seamless, and his technique superb. However, even his armor aided strength proved woefully inadequate. His defense crumbled against the force of her blow, and her weapon crashed the length of his spear into his side, propelling him to the ground once more.
"Again," he insisted as he rose. This time, he initiated the attack, thrusting his long spear toward her chest while gripping the butt of the shaft, attempting to maintain maximum distance.
She swatted his thrust aside, only to receive another in return. Every time she attempted to advance, he would retreat, his repeated thrusts thwarting every opportunity for a charge. At the ninth thrust, instead of deflecting his spear, she seized it with her palm and yanked the weapon from his grasp.
Thrown off balance, Armsmaster tried to recover, but despite his remarkable agility, he proved too slow to stop the blade that slammed into his stomach.
"Again," he gasped between breaths, even as he heaved from pain.
Not one to disappoint an eager student, Artoria happily obliged.
…
Artoria felt the day's stress and tension melt away as she slammed the hilt of her sword into Armsmaster's back, sending him face-first into the ground, just like the first several dozen times. In all her time in the new world, she could not recall a moment when she had been happier.
While he had failed to land a single strike, his failure was owed more to her strength than his shortcomings. In terms of skill, Armsmaster easily surpassed many of her knights and was second only to the Round Table.
To see that the modern world could still produce exceptionally skilled warriors in traditional arms was a delight to witness. She had intended to give advice, but for him, only experience would prove beneficial.
"Well done!" She shouted as her sword slapped into the black of the knee, forcing him to kneel. "Your progress is remarkable," she praised without restraint, beating him into the ground, once again. Her elation all too evident in her voice. She didn't even attempt to hide it, for how could she when she experienced a joy that she hadn't known in a long time?
To refine the skills of another and serve as the whetstone for the future generation were among the greatest honors a knight could receive. Witnessing her student surpassing his own limitations filled her heart with warmth, especially when his improvement was so dramatic.
Initially, during their first few dozen rounds, he struggled to defend against just two of her blows. Now, he could confidently fend off four.
Ignoring her words of encouragement, Armsmaster fought to rise. But it was a battle he was losing. His armor was cracked and splintered in more areas than the times he was on the ground. Sparks crackled with open wire, and entire segments of plating had crumbled away.
"Again," he gasped, his arms and legs trembling under the weight of his own body. By all rights, he should have fallen many minutes ago. But what he lacked in strength, he made up with sheer will.
With a fond smile, Artoria smashed her plastic substitute into his armored temple. While her strike was far slower compared to her previous, Armsmaster failed even to react. With a heavy thud, he slammed into the ground, unconscious.
A whistle broke the silence that followed.
"Can't say I expected that," a familiar voice remarked from behind her. "Thought you would talk him down. You know, give him your motivational speech and tell him he's being stupid."
Artoria turned, dismissing her armor as she did so. "If I tried, he would've taken it as an insult and pushed himself even harder. I know his type."
Much like Shirou, Armsmaster possessed an unwavering drive that far exceeded that of an average individual. But unlike with Shirou, she wouldn't waste time attempting to persuade a bull-headed man who refused to admit when enough was enough.
She had made that mistake too many times with her former Master to repeat it here.
"It's good to see that you're safe, Sophia," Artoria continued with a warm smile. "Especially after…"
Her fellow Ward interrupted with a disgusted snort. "Better out than in. Anyways, I'm fine. Got checked out by Panacea. No left-over bio-plagues or anything like that. Just fainted from shock and exhaustion, apparently."
"Then, shouldn't you still be resting?"
"If I say no, will I get the same treatment as him?" Sophia smirked, nodding toward the unconscious Armsmaster.
"If necessary."
Sophia laughed, then stopped when she realized Artoria wasn't entirely joking. "Chill. I've had my rest. But can't say the same about you. Rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say? Heard you were very active while I was napping."
"Our limits are different. The powers that we each have change our needs," Artoria gently explained in a way that wouldn't offend the prideful Ward.
With a nod, Sophia made her way to a bench and slumped down, taking a seat. She remained silent for a several seconds, gathering her thoughts while Artoria seated herself by her side, patiently waiting for her to speak.
"Heard you killed the Nine? That true?" Sophia asked softly.
"Most, But not all," Artoria corrected.
Sophia let out a shivering sigh and ran her hand through her hair. "Damn," she muttered, a frown forming on her face.
"Is something wrong?
Sophia didn't answer immediately. She fell into another silence as if she were struggling with something internally. "The Nine were assholes. Literal fucking murder hobos. But they were the biggest predators around."
"They were dangerous," Artoria agreed.
"They couldn't be stopped. They did what they wanted. And nobody could do anything about it. More often than not, even the Triumvirate didn't try to fight them. Until now. You killed them. Pretty easily, by the sounds of it."
Artoria nodded uncertainly in agreement.
Sophia laughed, as if finding something amusing. "Really? Not going to brag? Most people would be proud as hell."
"Sophia, what are you trying to say?"
"Isn't it funny?" Sophia asked with a self-mocking tone. "That the biggest predators, in the end, are just prey to someone else."
Artoria frowned in concern. "Sophia…" she began.
"Zip it. I don't need to hear it. But… I think I'm starting to understand what you meant."
"…"
"Anyways, I didn't come here to complain," Sophia continued. "My mom's funeral is in a few weeks. Stop by if you've got time."
"I will be there," she vowed. "But why so late?"
"It's not like there's enough of a body to rot," Sophia scoffed. "We can't really have a funeral in this shitty mood, can we? Not when the entire city's bitching. Just going to wait till shit calms down. Anyways… Thanks. Thanks for avenging her. I'll see you later," she said, standing to leave.
"Wait," Artoria called out, stopping her. "Sophia… would you like to spar? Sometime in the future"
Sophia paused, halting midstride. "You know… I think I'd like that," she said with a smirk.
With a faint smile, Artorias stood, observing her fellow Ward exit just in time to avoid the embarrassing growl of her stomach that roared with the ferocity of a dragon's rage. The light exercise had undeniably worked up her appetite.
Thus, Artoria left the training hall, cradling an unconscious Armsmaster in her arms, with nothing else hindering her from a well-deserved meal.
...
Probably not the kind of Armsmaster bashing you were expecting. But he got bashed nonetheless.
As usual, all reviews and comments are appreciated.