Tycondrius' blade plumted down towards the Vanzano footman's head at the relatively slow speed of gravity.
With an almost insulting level of nonchalance, Tanamar stepped to the side and reached his forearm out. He blocked Tycon's swing at the wrist, deflecting its force to the side.
Naturally recovering his montum, Tycon swung his sword again-- horizontally at the boy's temple. The silver-haired youth responded with a tilt of his head, lowering his body... simultaneously shoving Tycon in the chest.
Slightly disappointed, Tycon allowed himself to stagger backward. He could have used mana to force his position... but the Holy Lancer had yet to use even a sliver of his own.
Admittedly, the two-strike exchange was technically impressive. It shook Tycon's ego, but that was permissible, considering the circumstances.
He glanced back to Athena and the others.
The young woman looked rather aggrieved, "Really, Sir Tycon? Why the hells aren't you trying?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Miss Athena Vanzano was not a... subtle woman.
Returning his gaze to Tanamar, he flourished his sword.
The reason he wanted to duel Athena and her n was to gauge their skill levels, using the data to better appropriate their training regins. As Tanamar had yet to reveal the extent of his abilities... logically, it was permissible for Tycon to increase his pressure.
Yes... it wasn't a stronger, older, more-handso gentleman brutalizing a teenage boy for being rude... it was a teacher asking for the best from his student.
Tacitly. And with violence.
...And spite.
Tycon pointed his sword forward.
This would hurt.
He moved forward, leaning his body weight into the strike. Tanamar tried to deflect with his hands, but the montum wasn't enough. Tycon's sword found his mark, striking deep the footman's abdon.
The young man keeled over and dropped to a knee, dry heaving with an amusing musicality. It didn't look like he was used to taking damage.
A sha.
Tycon raised his sword up, ready to inflict his next lesson.
"Tanamar, watch out!!" Athena yelled.
Yes, Tanamar. Watch out. Tycon scoffed as he swung his arm downward, expecting the bloody crack of wood against a human skull.
A brilliant flash of silver birthed a glowing rod in Tanamar's hands-- a spear, or a... holy lance, as his class suggested. The kneeling man raised his arms, blocking the attack and deflecting the blow to the side. In a solid counterattack, Tanamar whipped the side of his spear across Tycon's chest, forcing him back.
Just as quickly, the weapon dissipated back into mana. The action was quick enough that Tycon doubted Athena and Victorius witnessed what exactly had transpired.
Tycon rubbed his chest, "Good hit."
It was more of a push-blow than an impactful one, suitable for training. But as revenge for Tycon's earlier strike, it was woefully lacking.
Tanamar returned to the standing position, still slightly hunched over from the strike he'd taken earlier. He frowned as if disgusted, "What weapon would you like to choose?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow in surprise before adopting an arrogant grin.
The Holy Lancer implied he had options available to him... Interesting.
Tycon kept his voice low... just loud enough for the young man to hear, "Choose a weapon that can prevent from embarrassing you in front of your little girlfriend."
Tanamar furrowed his brows and his lips curved upward. The strange smile didn't reach his eyes, "Oh, so is that how it's gonna be?"
Tycon grimaced, confused. Was that a real question?
"Yes?"
"So be it," Tanamar chuckled. The footman then began to walk counter-clockwise, remaining alert for the next attack.
He was subtly creating distance. Very interesting... What was his purpose? ...He did say he was an Archer... was he most comfortable at that distance?
Tanamar reached out a hand to his side, wrapping it with a silvery charge of mana, "Luckily for you, there's a good hospital nearby."
The young man was a thoughtful individual.
Tycon did not hate that, "Noted."
The Holy Lancer's mana coalesced into a large stylistic pilum, the shape reminiscent of a ballista's arrow. He threw it forward, aid at Tycon's chest.
It was quite fast... but its speed was only at the level of an Iron-Rank.
Tycon sighed inwardly. An Iron-Rank wouldn't be able to block or counter-- only dodge the speedy attack. He properly leapt out of the way, rolling onto the beach sands and back to his feet.
Its power and distance was impressive. Tycon pursed his lips as he watched the thrown mana spear rocket past, forming waves of power as it tore over the ocean waters.
As he was distracted, Tycon noticed another object moving in his peripheral vision. Tanamar had hurled a second, more compact spear.
That one, he didn't need to dodge. Tycon channeled mana into his practice sword, protecting it from damage. He casually swiped at the attack.
The holy lance shattered... and too easily.
Oh, that wasn't good.
In a brief instant, a dozen shards of mana surrounded him, then began to unerringly fall upon his body in brilliant flashes of energy. He was blinded, disoriented-- not hurt, but severely annoyed.
What in the seven hells was going on? Who makes a stupid illusory spear attack? Tycon felt a mana arrow strike him in the stomach... hard.
There it was.... that was the revenge hit... He doubled over and held his gut, blinking repeatedly and willing his vision to return. Two more blunted mana spears struck him in the face and chest, staggering him backward. Errrrgh...
Tycon was growing more and more irritated. He slamd a mana-charged fist into the sand, dispelling the miasma of power in the air, then sprinted forward towards his opponent-- who was bracing a Holy Lance, waiting patiently for him to blindly rush in.
Shite. Tycon again sighed inwardly. He could have used mana to forcibly redirect his montum... but that's not sothing a normal Iron-Ranker would be able to do. He took yet another blow to the abdon.
Ow.
Tycon swiped his sword at Tanamar's head, plonking him properly in the temple.
Hah. Serves you right.
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