The mountain of a man that was Sir Titus Huxley did not react, immediately. This was because he was busy driving his sword through the straw dummy from a holstered position. He did tilt his head slightly as the killing blow pierced the training dummy's torso, metal sticking out of its back.

Titus was quite sure he didn't recognize that particular voice. He glanced over his shoulder and withdrew the sword from the late training partner in one motion, turning to look at whomever.

He sized up the legionary before him, not answering straight away--instead he gave his sword a swing, sending stalks of straw off the blade and to the ground before sheathing it and resting a hand upon it.

"Have we met?" he decided to open with. Breaking bones was not a reliable way to make friends, so Titus had become slightly more cautious when getting into scraps in the training yard as of late.

Titus shook the man's hand, curious.

Dresden Drake. Didn't ring any bells at all, but he supposed there were only a few people who knew the name Huxley--and only because of his new job--so it made sense. The Royal Guard's eyes flicked to the quite deceased dummy, then he looked back at Dresden.

"I have more experience not cutting bits off," Titus said, which could have been assuring maybe, though Titus wasn't particularly concerned with it. He stepped away from where he had been training and went to an open space where soldiers usually sparred.

Titus didn't need to warm up or stretch--he'd been playing at murdering the poor straw dummy for close to an hour, now. He stood at the ready, nodding at Dresden as the man drew steel. The Royal Guard had no idea of any rumors regarding Dresden and Scout--or indeed any--Kane. Having served in the Kane army, he likely would have had some opinions that might have cast this 'spar' in a very different tone.

He did not draw his blade, merely watching Dresden for a moment. Titus was quite familiar with the 'rush down the big guy before he gets a chance' strategy that opponents often used with him. It was a good idea, the problem was Titus had years and years of experience dealing with it.

His sword flashed as it shot out of its scabbard, parrying both blows as the Knight stepped backwards. Not bad. Titus did not move to offense, yet, sizing up Dresden's stance, his sword free.

Titus adjusted his grip very slightly, keeping the point of the blade aimed at Dresden's face--it served two purposes. One being it made the exact length of the blade harder to judge, which was practical. The other was that it had a fortunate side effect of psyching out opponents who weren't used to having blades pointed straight at them. Much less useful in a fracas than in a duel, but still. Every advantage counted, in combat.

A slight step to the side and instead of directly blocking these strikes, Titus angled his sword so that they slid along the blade and away from the larger man's body, swinging such that they cut into the air instead of flesh.

Not bad, Titus thought, as he deflected the second blow. Now that they were a little too close for traditional sword combat, Titus drove his knee upwards towards Dresden's midsection, aiming to wind the man and hopefully put a swift end to this duel.

Titus, strictly speaking, did not duel. In the Legions his job was to kill, and now that he was a Royal Guard, his job was to look intimidating and then to destroy with extreme prejudice should something attempt to hurt the royalty.

He slipped back without doing further damage once his knee connected, his sword immediately finding itself back at the ready position. This time he blocked outright, steel clashing loudly. He batted the stab to the side and raised his katana, bringing it down towards Dresden in a heavy overhand chop.

The sound of swords scraping together echoed around the training yard as Dresden and Titus sparred.

Ringing metal echoed, causing a few of the people who had been watching the fight to jump a little. Titus was pleasantly surprised he did not cleave Dresden in two, despite their swords vibrating from the impact.

"Anyone who says they know where a fight will go is either a liar or a fool," he said, stepping back and sheathing his sword in a fluid motion. Titus did not consider 'sporting' duels to be real fights.

"Good reaction time, though," Titus praised.

Titus inclined his head towards Dresden, assuming the interaction was done.

And, like so many times before, Titus was wrong and someone kept talking. Titus wondered if something was needed of him specifically or if this Dresden fellow was trying to work out some frustrations that couldn't be managed in a healthy way. Titus had done the same himself when training to be a knight--after all, it wasn't self-harm if you trained against someone much stronger than you until you couldn't move. Or so he'd assured himself at the time.

"If you're certain," said Titus, adjusting his scabbard, securing the blade. It wouldn't really be much in the way of fisticuffs if a sword slipped loose and cut one or both of them open. There had certainly been much dumber injuries occuring during training. He'd have to try not to break Dresden's leg, he reminded himself, assuming a fighting stance.