"What you paid me was money to kill people," Bronn said, completely unconcerned. "If you want me to say nice things, that'll cost extra."
He smirked. "If the coin is good enough, I can even help you with your training. My methods are far gentler than his, and cost a lot less."
Ian rolled his eyes, ignoring the sellsword's jape. He knew what Bronn was getting at. Rohr's training methods were extreme, essentially a series of controlled beatings designed to force improvement.
And as everyone knew, getting beaten was the fastest way to learn how to fight.
At this stage, however, Ian believed that maintaining his image was more important than a rapid, brutal increase in strength. His near-leadership status within Sir Wylis's alliance was built on two pillars. The first was the name Lannister. The second was the carefully cultivated persona that Sir Wylis himself had described as having "the unearthly calm of a god descended to earth."
Getting beaten black and blue in training, his face swollen and bruised, would shatter that mystique in an instant.
Still, Bronn's advice held a kernel of truth. Compared to the pseudo-combat Rohr favored, practicing fundamental movements with diligence might be more beneficial for him right now.
With that thought, Ian shot a questioning look at Rohr.
Rohr gave a slow nod, acknowledging the feasibility of the idea. He waved a hand at Chigen, dispatching him to the manor's training yard to fetch two scarecrows. As Chigen departed, Rohr turned back to Ian.
"Very well. Today, we will begin with the simplest, yet most essential movement—the thrust. We will train the stab."
"The stab?"
"Slashing is most effective against unarmored or lightly armored foes," Rohr explained patiently. "But in a battle between knights, the thrust is the true purpose of a sword. A knight proficient with the thrust can easily pierce chainmail, lamellar, and most forms of plate. If the angle is right, he can even penetrate some plate of average quality."
Ian nodded, his mind already processing the information. He had read experimental papers on the subject before. It took over 130 joules of energy to break through even crude plate armor. The energy generated by a swinging blade or axe typically ranged from 60 to 130 joules, with only the most powerful, two-handed swings reaching a maximum of around 200 joules.
This meant that against a fully armored knight, trying to kill him with a slash was a fool's errand.
The thrust was a different matter entirely. Since all the force was concentrated on the very tip of the sword, the energy required to penetrate a given defense was significantly lower than that of a slash, assuming the armor's hardness and toughness remained constant.
That was why Rohr called the thrust the ultimate technique for knightly combat.
"Then what if your opponent is wearing high-quality, custom-fitted plate or heavy siege armor?" Ian wasn't arguing; he was genuinely seeking knowledge from a man with far more practical experience than his own book learning.
"Then you look for the gaps, of course," Rohr grunted. "But when facing an enemy like that, I'd rather have a war hammer ready as a secondary weapon. It's an easier solution than mastering a sword technique that might take you years to perfect."
Well, that certainly makes sense, Ian thought wryly. Rhaegar, now do you see where you went wrong against Robert?
"Alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves. What you need to learn now are the fundamentals," Rohr said, cutting off any further hypotheticals. "Forget those complex scenarios for now. Tell me, do you know the core secret of the sword?"
"Stab them with the pointy end?" Ian recalled Jon Snow's first lesson to Arya.
Rohr burst out laughing, his wine-stained whiskers bouncing with amusement. "The pointy end? By the Seven Hells, do you think you're a child just starting your lessons? Were you planning to stab him with the hilt instead? Hah!"
He took a moment to compose himself. "The pommel of a bastard sword can be used to attack, but you smash with it, you don't stab. When you can't find a flaw in your opponent's guard, or if the posture is just right, you can consider cracking him over the head with the weighted pommel."
Rohr's expression grew serious again. "If the angle is true, it can sometimes have the same effect as a hammer. But what I am teaching you now is the thrust."
He raised his sword, holding it level with his shoulder. "Watch carefully. The core secret of the thrust is this: the sword and the forearm must be in a single, straight line!"
With that, he pushed the sword forward. Just as his arm was about to fully extend, he snapped it with a sudden burst of force. The power shot down the blade to its tip, which punched straight through the scarecrow's chest and deep into the wooden stake at its core.
"That is the most basic thrust—the lunge," Rohr said, pulling his blade free. "Now, you try."
At first, Ian hadn't thought the move looked particularly remarkable. But when he stepped up to the scarecrow and saw the deep, splintered hole Rohr had left in the thick wooden post, he understood. Rohr hadn't just pierced the straw; he'd pierced solid wood.
Ian took a deep breath. He raised his own arming sword, mirroring Rohr's posture, and stabbed forward. The point of his blade sank into the straw but then glanced off the hard surface of the stake, sliding harmlessly out the scarecrow's back.
"When you thrust, the tip must point straight ahead! No tilting to the left or right," Rohr corrected sharply. "Again."
Ian focused, replaying the image of Rohr's perfect strike in his mind before thrusting again.
Thunk!
This time, his blade bit into the wood, sinking in just slightly. The shock of the impact vibrated up the steel and into his arm, making his jaw ache.
"Not bad," Rohr nodded. "You learn quickly."
My swordsmanship is already at an advanced level! Ian cursed inwardly, the jarring pain still ringing in his bones.
"But you still haven't grasped the core secret I told you," Rohr said, taking a swig from his wineskin. "The sword and forearm must be in a straight line!" he repeated, walking over to Ian.
"Let your forearm become part of the sword." Rohr gripped Ian's wrist. "Relax, boy. Relax."
Ian felt his wrist being clamped in what felt like iron pliers. He had no doubt that if Rohr chose to, he could snap the bone with a simple squeeze.
Rohr's strength attribute is only about ten points higher than mine, Ian thought in alarm. There shouldn't be such a terrifying gap. Is this the difference that pure skill in applying force makes?
"Relax," Rohr repeated, his grip unyielding. "If your fingers and wrist are too tense, the blade won't maintain a straight line with your forearm when you thrust. The force won't be fully transmitted to the tip of the sword. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Ian nodded, feeling as humbled as a new student on his first day.
"Again." Rohr released him and handed back the sword. "Remember, as you thrust, relax the web of your thumb slightly. Let your little finger and ring finger do the work of clasping the hilt."
Ian stabbed out once more. Just like the last successful attempt, the tip penetrated the wooden stake, sinking in shallowly.
"The form is much better than before," Rohr grunted, satisfied. He took another long pull from his wineskin. "Practice this on your own. Your current level is a long way from that of a qualified swordsman. There's no need to rush."
Ian didn't reply. He simply began his training, silently recalling Rohr's every movement and correction, his world narrowing to the sword, the scarecrow, and the singular focus of the thrust.
He continued until dusk began to settle over the manor. Just as the light was fading, a man-at-arms arrived from Sir Wylis, bearing a message.
Sir Symond of House Darry had arrived at Sir Wylis's castle.
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