The mechanical statue loomed over him, its wooden limbs jointed and stiff, swinging slowly but deliberately.
Lino gritted his teeth and raised his wooden sword. He swung with everything he had. The dull thud of wood hitting wood echoed across the training yard. The statue barely shifted.
"Again!" Master Rohn barked, his voice sharp. "A real opponent won't wait for you to find your balance. If you can't strike this, how do you expect to strike a living enemy?"
Lino's arms trembled. His chest burned. Every part of his frail body screamed, but he forced himself to stand tall. Fifteen repetitions. He had barely completed five.
The mechanical statue pivoted on its base, swinging one wooden arm toward him. Lino dodged, his legs shaking. Another swing, another block—he barely managed to keep pace.
A group of village boys snickered from the edge of the yard. One, tall and blond, shouted, "Careful, Lino! Don't let a statue flatten you!"
Lino's face heated with anger, but it did nothing for his strength. He gripped the wooden sword tighter, focusing. Why am I always this weak? Why can't I land a proper strike?
A memory of his mother came unbidden. "Strength isn't everything, Lino," she had said that morning, her tired smile gentle. "Even your father… he had something different."
He didn't know his father. Mother said he had died long ago, before Lino could remember. No time to dwell. He had to keep going.
The statue swung again. Lino sidestepped and brought his wooden sword down in a horizontal strike. The dull thud rang, but the statue barely moved.
Master Rohn's eyes narrowed. "A tiny bit of progress—but still pathetic. Keep moving. Fifteen repetitions, now!"
Lino sank to his knees for a moment, shaking, but forced himself up. Each strike, each dodge, drained him. But he had to continue.
He lunged. The statue swung. Lino dodged. He struck. The statue wobbled slightly. Not much—but it moved.
For a brief heartbeat, Lino felt a flicker of pride. The villagers' laughter didn't matter. The statue was relentless, but he had made it budge.
Lino exhaled and braced himself for repetition sixteen.
Because he wouldn't stop. Not yet.