A reassignment to staff duty meant that Ber had spent the weeks since the ball training on his own time rather than having one of his days dedicated to training. Continued participation in the assessments, however, meant that he had to find some way to keep up with the other soldiers if he was interested in keeping his job, and as a result, most of his evenings and much of his one day off were spent on the training grounds. Occasionally, someone allowed him to fill in for some other missing soldier when they ran their drills. Though the self-imposed schedule was brutal, it had worked so far. Ber was still a soldier, and that was the most important thing.

It didn’t mean he was happy in the moment, however. Swinging a sword at a dummy would never equate to swinging a sword at another person who could dodge or deflect the blows, which was part of why Ber sought out opportunities to spar against other people. However, this particular soldier, a young man about his age named Johnson, was hardly the challenge Ber had hoped he would be. Hesitant and clearly lacking in confidence, he had spent almost the entirety of their spar on the back foot, unwilling or unable to break his defense to attempt to retaliate against his opponent – which meant that Ber might as well have been striking a training dummy.

Irritated, he brought his sword down repeatedly on Johnson’s shield, each one increasing in strength as he allowed the momentum to carry him from one movement to the next, until suddenly Johnson disappeared. Eyes narrowed, the soldier drew to a halt and looked up at the witch who had intervened, recognizing her a moment later while she prepared to take his opponent’s place. As a matter of fact, Ber did mind, but he wasn’t about to protest an officer’s presence to her face; they both knew there was only one answer to her question: “No, ma’am.”

Raising his own sword again, he waited another moment until he knew Machenet was ready. Then he rushed at her, feinting a blow to one side before swinging the blade at her from the other.

Although he had started attempting to learn archery at one point, Ber was primarily a swordsman and a brawler. Like every other Nevermerean soldier, he had learned how to use a sword and shield as part of his training, and any other weapons that he favored would have to have been learned on his own time – as would the best ways to defend against them.

The challenge with squaring off against a halberd with a sword, he soon learned as he both backed up out of reach and deflected her blows, was that the longer weapon gave his opponent far better reach than he had: Machenet could stand there and poke at him with the halberd, whereas he stood no chance of hitting her with his sword.

And they said size didn’t matter.

If he could get in close, he thought that his shorter blade would be more maneuverable than the halberd’s long wooden pole. After another few attempts to test her defenses, Ber rushed forward, going for the officer’s legs in an attempt to destabilize her.

Somewhere amidst the adrenaline now coursing through his veins, a vicious satisfaction flickered through Ber as he successfully closed the distance between himself and Machenet. His efforts paid off - mostly.

As she fell back to put more space between them, she cast aside the halberd and managed to grab him while his momentum still carried him forward. Her solid, booted blow to his torso had him back-pedaling in turn, sword still clenched in his hand, before he regained his balance and raised the weapon between them.

Ber was not above pressing his advantage in ostensibly unfair fights. Though the officer was unarmed, he would try to hold on to his own weapon as long as possible. This time, he had the longer reach, so he kept his distance while he made a short, sharp jab at her torso. If all went well, there would be no large flourishes or swings from him, lest he mistakenly give her the opportunity to rush him just as he had her.

Machenet made a clear target in front of him— then suddenly his sword sank into the chest of a rotting beast that screeched and reached for him. Shocked at the unexpected appearance of magic and repulsed by the summoning itself, Ber flinched back and tried to yank his sword free of the creature’s body, but its flesh clung to the blade as it scrambled toward him, indifferent as to the wounds it caused himself.

The officer’s trick worked. Distracted by the summoning, Ber didn’t notice the blow coming toward him until it was too late to block. Her punch collided painfully with the side of his face, and his grip on the sword loosened as he fell back. Now as unarmed as his opponent, he turned to face Machenet again, rushing forward to try to land some punches to her side.

Machenet seemed to expect him to aim for her face, but Ber had a different target in mind. His blows landed with a satisfying solidity against her side, forcing her to retreat, and the soldier pressed his advantage, intending to keep her on the back foot as long as possible given that she had experience and size on her side. Attempting to change the tide, the officer rushed toward him in a desperate, off-kilter charge. Stepping to the side, Ber shoved her to redirect her momentum away from him, hopefully causing her to stumble and fall. If she remained standing, he would follow up with another punch to the side of the head, and then another to her side, and perhaps attempt to sweep her legs out from under her – whatever it took to get her to land on the ground and leave him standing the victor.

And just like that, the spar was over. Shoulders rising and falling with the exertion of the fight, Ber looked down at the officer sprawled across the ground. The ghost of a satisfied smirk had the corners of his lips twitching upward as he stepped back, casting his gaze around for the sword that he’d last seen impaled in the chest of her horrid summoning. It lay abandoned nearby, and as Machenet gracelessly pushed herself to her feet, he retrieved it. Her words had him turning to face her, admittedly in a far better mood now than he had been before.

She wasn’t Woodwick, so any acknowledgement of his victory from her was unnecessary; they both knew perfectly well who had won, and that was enough for Ber.

What words Machenet did offer him had him looking back at her for a moment before he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The words were agreeable, perhaps suspiciously so. Though he managed to school his expression into something respectfully neutral, he couldn’t entirely keep the sense of accomplishment from lacing his tone.