Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius' sword swings would be deflected by the young Athena Vanzano. After such, she would counterattack, aiming at a vulnerable point. When not deflected, the young lady would also dodge, weaving her body acrobatically, keeping her balance well. After such, she would... counterattack.

It was quite skillful. Tycon was only able to trivialize the fight because of his superior vision, his rank, and that he was very, very skilled at swordplay. In fact, he'd have forgotten that the young lady was Unranked, if not for the fact that her attacks and movement lacked mana acceleration.

"Very good, Miss Athena," Tycon smirked, flourishing his wooden practice sword. "You've exemplified the basics of the Tyrion rapier."

The young lady pursed her lips and allowed her practice rapier to rest, pointed low, "Why doesn't that sound like praise, Sir Tycon?"

A deep frown etched into Tycon's face, "It was meant to be praise."

Athena tilted her head, "Oh. Thank you?"

"Optio Tycon has a somewhat sarcastic voice," Zenon offered from the sidelines.

"I have a sarcastic voice?" Tycon furrowed his brows.

"See? There it is," Zenon pointed.

"Ohhhhh," Athena nodded.

Athena's swordsmanship was good. She utilized a light sword style, which emphasized keeping her body tilted to the side to reduce her profile, and leaning back and forth to strike precisely and accurately. Her footwork was good, too, endless drilling obvious-- she performed excellently, as fatigued from the beach run as she was.

Tycon split up swordsmanship-- (most contests, really) to four stages of skill. In the beginner stage, combatants don't know what they're doing. They utilize their base strengths: their weight, their reflexes, maybe a lesson or two in form for effective strikes, in order to strike a successful point. Victory would be attained by... not performing as poorly as the opponent.

In the intermediate stage, combatants understood basic swordplay. Identifying mistakes becomes paramount in this stage, as well as understanding the flow of movement. Every swing, every step uses or risks balance-- perhaps opening up a vulnerability. A win is attained by capitalizing on the opponent's mistakes.

This was the level of Athena's swordplay.

Tycon sighed, "Anyroad... Miss Athena, I will increase the speed and vary the tactics. Are you prepared?"

"Wait, you'll what?" The young lady widened her eyes. "But you're so fast already?"

Tycon groaned inwardly. He had been moving at a slowed speed--painfully slow. He wasn't even boosting it with mana, in respect for Athena's Unranked level. It frustrated him slightly that his efforts weren't noticed.

Again, concerning the stages of skill... somewhere during the mid-to-late intermediate stage, each combatant no longer made mistakes in the short term. Matches were high-focus contests where a single blunder can determine the end of a match.

Beyond intermediate was the expert stage. In this stage, experts well-versed in their arts would seek to break the static nature of the fight.

The simplest way was to utilize the environment. Swordsmen tended to focus on their sword and not everything around them. Tycon tossed a ball of fine sand at Athena's face, aiming for her mouth. The cool, calm, collected Athena turned into a sputtering mess.

Attacking from wholly unexpected directions was also useful. Tycon slipped a wide rapier swing, ducking and swaying out of Athena's immediate vision. Ending up nearly behind the girl, he shoved her forward with his offhand.

Then there were unorthodox tactics. Tycon grasped the center of the practice blade in his offhand and loosely held the hilt with his mainhand. When Athena composed herself and attacked, Tycon deflected the swing with the hilt side of the sword, as he stopped the sword's wooden point before it bruised the area between her collarbones.

It was a movement he recalled from a Tyrion swordplay manual... and as Athena studied in a military academy, she might have seen such a movement, even if she hadn't the skill to utilize it in high-speed combat.

"Environment. Directionals. The entire body is a weapon. Unorthodox tactics," Tycon summarized. "Your basics are sound, miss Athena. From here, a wider array of experience will be best for your cultivation."

"What-- but... No... You?" Athena began to babble in confusion.

"Arrrrgh!!" She stomped her foot on the sand, upset.

"Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Would you like a second chance? I daresay your fatigue is mounting, young lady."

Athena glared, twisting her lips in resentment but she kept quiet. Shortly after, she clapped her palms against her face and sighed deeply. Her frown fading, she wore a bright smile, "Thank you for your guidance, Sir Tycon. Sorry, I got a little competitive."

Huh. Tycon nodded and smiled in response. Well, that was rather nice.

"Did you want to give it a go, Centurion Zenon?" Tycon clapped a hand onto the seated Centurion's shoulder.

Empty night, was he tall, for a human.

"What? Against you, Optio?" Zenon shook his head. "No, thanks."

Tycon glared, "I meant against Tanamar or Victorius."

"Oh! Hahaha!" Zenon chuckled. "I think those two's specialties are close-combat. I'm more practiced at a longer range, so I'll let you keep going."

Seriously? Zenon's uniform armor had two claws installed on his forearms-- and they sparked with lightning. Were those just for show?

Fine.

"Tanamar," Tycon called.

"Eh..." The young gentleman stood up, but he wore a look of hesitation. "Can we do this in private?"

...Odd. But why? Athena had displayed her skill willingly. Did Tanamar have something to hide?

"Maybe he's a bit fatigued from the run?" Zenon stood up and offered his thoughts in a low voice, "That should be fine, right?"

No... Tycon doubted that was it.

He frowned at the young Tanamar, "I'd like a reason."

The silver-haired gentleman smirked arrogantly, "I don't have a bow. I'm an archer."

Of all the... Tycon had clearly seen the young man dash into the dining area the other evening with a spear made of literal mana in his hands. Why would he need a bow?

And he was Iron-Rank. No, the boy's excuse was absurd.

"I'd prefer not attacking you unawares, young man," Tycon glared. It was a thinly veiled threat.

Tanamar let out a deep sigh, "Do we have to?"

Really, what was this human's problem? Tycon pointed his wooden sword forward, "I'm attacking."

Tanamar shrugged, "Very well."

Zenon reached his hand out, "Hold on, Optio. Tanamar hasn't chosen a weapon yet?"

Tss. Why would he care about giving the boy a weapon?

Tycon dashed forward, leaping up with an overhead swing. Decently fast. Very straightforward. Aimed at Tanamar's head of silver hair.

He found himself grinning. What are you going to do, boy? I know you're strong.

Show me.