The sun spilled lazily over the rolling hills, brushing gold across the open fields. Arthur stretched, feeling his muscles stiff and numb from the past weeks of training. Each joint protested as if reminding him that he was still small, still learning but something inside him stirred, restless. Today, he decided, he would try something different.
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Kay was already in the yard, hefting a wooden bucket with effortless motion, muttering under his breath. He glanced at Arthur and smirked. "Decided to join the living today, have we?"
Arthur gritted his teeth, ignoring the teasing. Instead, he adjusted the grip on his practice sword, shifting his weight, testing a new stance he had worked out during the quiet hours before dawn. It wasn't much, just a subtle change, but it felt right. His body responded in ways it hadn't before it felt, steadier, more precise, almost instinctual.
"Trying something new, little brother?" Kay asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur scowled. "Want a punch to the face And yes I am trying something new. Now stay quiet and Watch."
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From atop the fence, Merlin—no, the trickster, with his hair catching the light like spun silver, he leaned casually on the rail. " I am curious, You're thinking," he said, voice teasing, "but thinking and doing something dangerous, You might hurt yourself."
Arthur shot him a glare. "I can handle myself."
The magician hopped down lightly, landing with an almost theatrical flourish. "Oh, I'm sure. But danger is not always obvious. Watch carefully; sometimes it comes out of nowhere."
Arthur ignored him, focusing. He could feel the faint pulse beneath his skin, subtle and rhythmic, a whisper of something big he didn't yet understand. He shook it off and moved toward the wooden post Kay was already was practicing with.
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"First, experiment," Ector's voice cut through the morning air. He stepped into the yard, hands clasped behind his back. "But remember: precision beats force. Even the strongest man fails if he doesn't show proper respect to his enemy's ."
Arthur nodded, tightening his grip on the sword. He lunged forward, attempting the new stance he had practiced alone, and the wooden sword rang against the post. He moved again, faster this time, trying to anticipate his own rhythm.
Kay snorted. "It looks like a dance."
Arthur shot him a look. "If dancing saves my neck, Then I'll dance forever."
The trickster chuckled, circling them, eyes gleaming. "That is… amusing. You adapt well, Arthur. But remember, adaptation alone is not enough."
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Hours passed in a blur of movement. Arthur tested the new stance against Kay's in a sparring, Ector's guidance,and the subtle teasing interventions of that trickster Merlin .The magician would flick his staff or create a small gust of wind, forcing Arthur to adjust instantly, thinking on his feet. Arthur stumbled at first, almost falling, but recovered. The pulse beneath his skin thrummed louder with every correction, every instinctive movement.
Finally, Ector called a halt. "Enough for now," he said. "Observe what you've learned. Then Reflect."
Arthur wiped sweat from his brow, muscles trembling. He felt both exhausted and exhilarated. Today had been different less repetition, more challenge, more… growth.
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By midday, the yard had emptied. Guards returned to their chores, Kay sat panting on the steps, and the magician drifted toward the shade of the trees, smiling faintly. Arthur, however, was restless. He wandered to the edge of the field, letting the warm wind wash over him.
Ector joined him quietly, standing for a moment before speaking. "You're thinking too much about what you cannot control, boy."
Arthur glanced at him. "I'm trying to control what I can."
"And yet," Ector said, voice calm but firm, "you must accept that some things are beyond reach. Even strength has limits."
Arthur chewed on the words, looking down at the wooden sword in his hands. "Limits," he muttered. "Then I must learn to see past them."
Ector placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying, grounding him. "Exactly. A sword does not make a knight; understanding does. Patience, observation, and judgment. That is what separates a boy from a man who can survive."
Arthur nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. Something deep inside stirred—the faintest hint of the pulse he had felt earlier. He flexed his fingers around the sword, testing weight and balance. His body remembered more than he consciously did.
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Next week arrived with heavy sun. Ector procured a set of real practice swords, dulled but steel nonetheless. "Time to apply what you've learned," he said. "The wood was practice. But steel requires control. Inpect it."
Arthur's heart raced. He felt the weight differently, heavier and uneven weight. He squared himself to face Kay. The wooden sparring was gone; every swing, step, and parry now carried consequence.
Arthur nodded. The words were steadying, a tether to the man who had raised him, guided him, shaped him. Ector's presence was a calm weight, reminding him that mistakes were lessons, not failures.
Kay lunged first, a swift diagonal strike. Arthur barely parried, the clang of steel echoing across the courtyard. His arms shook. Kay smirked. "Is that all you've got?"
Arthur gritted his teeth, countered with a horizontal swing, forcing Kay back a step. The guard-like precision Kay wielded was frustrating, but the movement stirred something in Arthur—something sharp and immediate. Reflexes faster than thought, a balance deeper than mere muscle memory.
Merlin hovered nearby, leaning casually on the fence. "Good, Arthur. Observe his tells, predict the rhythm, let your body answer before your mind questions."
Arthur scowled at the advice. "I know," he muttered, not trusting the magician's grin.
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Strike after strike, they traded blows. Wood had been easier— predictable— but steel demanded calculation. A misstep could end a limb, a moment of hesitation could leave him open. Arthur's focus sharpened. He noticed the subtle shifts: Kay's shoulder tensing, the flicker of his eyes, the pivot of his feet.
He ducked, rolled, and countered with a rising strike that forced Kay to step back. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging, but his grip never faltered.
"Not bad," Ector said quietly. "You're adapting."
Merlin's laugh was light, teasing. "Adapting, yes. But don't forget anticipation. You can't rely solely on reflex. There's foresight in every motion."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. Foresight. Reaction. Balance. Each swing, each step, became a lesson etched in muscle and bone.
He dodged, struck, blocked, and stumbled, muscles screaming, breath short, senses sharp.
The trickster floated above, glancing down. "Ah… now you see. Motion is meaningless without consequence. Reflect carefully, Arthur. A single misstep in that could… well, injure you severely."
Arthur shot him a look, but he could not deny the truth. Every move mattered. Every instinct mattered. And beneath the ache and effort, the faint pulse within him thrummed in time with his heartbeat.
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Evening came. Arthur leaned against a tree, catching his breath. The yard was quiet now, shadows stretching long. Kay sat nearby, polishing a practice sword, smirking but saying nothing. Ector stood off, observing, silent. The magician had disappeared somewhere—probably testing something unseen.
Arthur looked toward the horizon, imagining himself just beyond these hills. He clenched his jaw. He would need every skill, every ounce of awareness, to face what lay ahead.